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Chapter Text

January 2004

I pushed my sleeves up and splashed cold water on my face. Almost six years later, and the nightmares still jolted me awake in the rare moments I managed to sleep without help.

"That bad, huh?" Alex asked from the doorway.

I tugged my sleeves down before turning toward her. "Why are you still up? It’s three AM," I responded.

"Just got home, that's all. Heard you moving about," she said easily.

"Just a nightmare. I didn’t take my meds before bed." I answered quickly. I still hadn’t been able to brew a version of Dreamless Sleep that could be taken nightly, so I suffered through the nightmares whenever I needed a break from it.

"I thought you were over those," Alex said quietly.

I sighed. Alex had been a lifeline when I moved to the States, but rooming with Muggles was a challenge. I couldn’t exactly tell them all about the war or the scars I carried from it.

"They don’t come as often. I’m fine, Alex, I promise," I assured her. "How was the date?"

Alex immediately launched into a ramble about her most recent date as we made our way to the kitchen. I started making us tea before sitting with her. Moments like this made me feel like a typical twenty-four-year-old. I let my mind drift as she gushed about Jack or Jake—whatever his name was.

"When are you going to start dating again?" Alex asked. "We know from Lyra that you’re no Virgin Mary."

I chuckled. "I trust Lyra with you and Katie. I tolerate daycare as a necessary evil. Other than that, I have my friends, and that’s all I need."

"Yeah, your friends with benefits . Why not something serious?" Alex pressed.

"When you find something serious, we can talk about finding me something serious," I retorted. "Besides, we have Katie to worry about—married by twenty-five, remember?"

"Katie always did have a plan. And she actually found a guy to go along with it," Alex sighed.

"And he’ll be here tomorrow with his cousin to get this show on the road. I still can’t believe she fell in love with a British guy while studying abroad," I muttered. I just pray England is a big enough island that she doesn’t come home with someone remotely related to my past.

Alex laughed. "Come on, Maia, be serious. Have you had anything serious since Lyra’s dad?"

"Come on, Alex. I was nineteen when Lyra was born. She’s been my whole world since then—plus school. You and Katie have been my rock when it comes to her."

Coming to the States at eighteen, pregnant with Lyra, three days before school started had never been my plan. It was a wonder they even accepted me. I called Harvard on August 9th, 1998—the day the stick turned pink. Harry and Ginny had been at the Burrow when I took the test at Grimmauld Place.

Three college acceptances sat on my desk: Harvard, Oxford, and Cambridge. Dual enrollment—Magical Studies and Political Sciences. The decision had been made: as far from London as possible.

McGonagall and I had talked about it as soon as the trials were done. She had sent in samples from my sixth year and my transcripts to the universities on my behalf. The Ministry had offered me positions, and Hogwarts had given me the chance to complete my seventh year. But after I made that call, I booked a flight, called the realtor Harvard recommended for off-campus housing, and was gone before Harry and Ginny even woke up the next morning.

That was how I met Katie and Alex.

"Have you ever considered reaching out to him? Just for support with Lyra?" Alex asked hesitantly.

I sighed. We had this conversation every few months—ever since they found out I was pregnant.

"Alex, we’ve been over this. I have the money to sustain my life with Lyra, and I don’t want his help or his money," I reminded her. "Besides, he got married two summers ago and has another kid now."

"Doesn’t that bother you? That he has a kid now—one he cares for—while you're here raising his firstborn alone?" Alex pushed again.

"Honestly, Alex, it doesn’t," I said, my voice quieter. "I know the pressure Lyra would be under in his family, and I don’t want that for her. I’m already dreading her eleventh birthday because I know that means she’ll be thrust into the world I ran away from."

"Why does she have to be?" Alex challenged. "You said it yourself—you ran away."

"Because it gave me so much." I exhaled, rubbing my temples. "The world she’ll be entering isn’t the same as the one I did. I want her to experience the place where her parents fell in love, the place I worked so hard to rebuild, the place where I made my best friends."

The war was over. Hogwarts was safe. McGonagall was Headmistress and eagerly awaiting Lyra’s arrival. She was the only person in the wizarding world who even knew about my daughter.

"Alex, I’m happy keeping up with him through the papers," I said, gripping my tea mug. "He’s living his sad life in what is most likely a loveless, arranged marriage that his father orchestrated the moment he found out he was getting a son. I don’t want his family using my daughter as a pawn."

"Would he have married you if they knew about Lyra?" Alex asked softly.

"I was eighteen, Alex. If I wanted to be married, I would have stayed in London," I admitted. " Because if it hadn’t been Lyra’s dad, it would have been one of my best friends. His mum had already been gunning for the wedding."

I thought about him . About Ron.

Molly had started pushing two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts—certain that our one kiss had sealed our fate. That we were madly in love. That we would marry and have redheaded babies running around the Burrow before the year was out.

But that kiss had been nothing more than two scared teenagers in a warzone, clinging to the last bit of hope they had left.

"Maia, we just want to see you happy and taken care of, that’s all," Alex said, her voice softer now. "Katie will be moving out by the end of the summer..."

She trailed off, hesitant to insinuate that she would leave me, too.

I bought a house in Boston shortly after graduation—paid for by a combination of my job and the Order of Merlin money. Harvard’s Magical Studies college had hired me right out of school, initially hoping I would teach advanced defense courses for those entering magical law enforcement. They settled for me in the Potions department instead.

Now, my current research focused on a long-term safe version of Dreamless Sleep. I also agreed to teach two courses, having earned my Potions Mastery by twenty-one—a feat most didn’t accomplish until much later.

"Alex, you don’t need to worry about me and Lyra," I reassured her. "We’ll be okay. Lyra will still have her aunties. You’ll just be living your own lives."

Alex nodded but still looked unconvinced.

"Now, come on," I teased. "You might be able to sleep in tomorrow, but the gremlin will be up in less than three hours. And we need to be presentable for Katie’s beau."

Alex laughed and bid me goodnight.

I did a quick clean-up of the kitchen before retreating to my room. My eyes lingered on the photo of Harry, Ron, and me from our last holiday together. My heart ached as I stared at the ceiling, wishing for a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

“Mama, mama, mama” Lyra sang as she kicked me in the ribs, trying to climb on top of me. I groaned. 

“Lyra, baby, go back to sleep, it's 6:30.” I pleaded. My 3 am chat with Alex did nothing to help with my sleep. Luckily the nightmares seemed content with the trouble they caused, so my two hour nap was peaceful. 

“Mama do the clock.” Lyra demanded. 

Lyra may only be four but she has quickly learned that magic is only done behind closed doors away from Katie and Alex.  I cast a tempus and the numbers appeared. 

“Six-thirty-four” Lyra announced.

This child is beyond brilliant. I fear for the Wizarding World's future with a child that has both my and her father’s brains and his stubbornness. Lyra will either be running the Wizarding World or blowing it up by 21. She  started reading in the last two months and had herself potty trained by her second birthday. Thank Merlin that I was able to find a wizarding daycare centre. The amount of accidental magic this child produces is unreal. At least I don’t think I was this much trouble  at her age. At least it’s subtle enough that Katie and Alex can brush it off as their eyes playing tricks on them.

“Mama, we look at the moving book?” Lyra asked. 

I sighed quietly, pushing myself into a seated position and grabbing my photo album. Lyra snuggled into my side, flipping through the pages and pointing out various photos of me, Ron, and Harry throughout our Hogwarts years. For the next hour, she demanded stories about each one.

“Mummy, I meet Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron?” Lyra asked as I tucked the album back in my bedside drawer. 

“One day baby doll, one day.” I replied softly.

 I missed my best friends. But for now, this was where Lyra and I needed to be. The thought of throwing her into the media circus that came with being the Hermione Granger—Gryffindor’s golden girl, one-third of the Golden Trio—was a nightmare in itself. And her father… there would be no denying her paternity. She was his through and through, save for my curls. I thanked Merlin every day that I left before anyone discovered my pregnancy. 

“Now I think someone is in need of some breakfast.” I said, scooping Lyra onto my hip. “Pancakes or eggs”

“Pancakes!” Lyra shouted. 

“Ly, remember Auntie Alex and Auntie Kate are sleeping, we need to be quiet.” I chided

“Can I wake Auntie Ali and Auntie Kay up?” she asked excitedly. 

“When I am almost done with breakfast you can wake up Auntie Katie, Auntie Alex isn’t feeling great and needs some more sleep.” 

We made our way to the kitchen, where I set Lyra down at the table with a coloring book and crayons. She immediately got to work on a unicorn, She immediately got to work on a unicorn, humming to herself as she carefully stayed inside the lines. She had a tendency to talk to the characters in her books and drawings, whispering little stories as she worked. I watched her with a sad smile as I started making breakfast.

It often crossed my mind how Lyra would feel about me once she inevitably met her father. Her brother would be two years behind her at Hogwarts, so by then, she would undoubtedly learn the truth about her lineage. Would she understand why I kept it from her? Would he fight me for custody? When it came down to it, had I done right by my daughter?

It was shortly after her third birthday that she came home from daycare crying. Katie said she had cried all the way to the car and home but wouldn’t or couldn’t explain why. As soon as I had picked her up she cried “Why don’t I have a daddy?”. 

The question had knocked the wind out of both of us. I struggled through explaining to her that she does have a dad but he doesn’t know about her yet. That her dad is taking care of grown up problems before he is ready to be in her life. That had seemed to satisfy her—for now. But I dreaded the questions that would come as she got older.

I worked through the motions of making breakfast, lost in my thoughts as they drifted to Katie’s upcoming wedding. Alex and I hadn’t met her fiancé yet, but we knew his relationship with his family was rocky at best. They didn’t like Katie because she was American, and he was going low-contact with them.

They were planning a summer wedding in Boston, and his parents likely wouldn’t attend.

Katie’s parents were coming into town this weekend to meet him for the first time, which meant I’d be moving into Lyra’s room. Since we only had one guest room, I had offered mine to Katie’s fiancé’s cousin so her parents could have their usual space.

Lyra had a full bed, so it would be comfortable enough to share with her. I had stopped taking Dreamless Sleep a week ago so I could save a few doses for the nights I’d be sleeping with her. For the rest, I’d just stay up until a reasonable hour and have Katie, her mom, or Alex watch her for an hour or two so I could power nap.

“Ly, honey, why don’t you go get Auntie Kay?” I asked.

 I plated the last pancake and pulled the last of the bacon off the stove. I moved quickly to clean the kitchen as Katie stumbled in, rubbing her eyes and groaning. “You sent the gremlin to wake me up again, didn’t you?” she accused.

I smirked. “You’re lucky it wasn’t with a drum this time.”

Katie slumped into a chair, glaring at me as she stole a piece of bacon from the plate. “One day, I will find an equally chaotic way to get back at you.”

“Doubtful. I have Lyra on my side,” I teased, ruffling Lyra’s curls as she giggled.

“Oh, by the way,” Katie said, grabbing another piece of bacon, “there’s a slight change of plans. Lee's cousin is bringing his son. Do we still have the extra car seat?”

“We don’t—we got rid of it. We can pick one up on our Target run, I can install it in your car before I run my errands. Alex waltzed in at 3 o’clock this morning so don’t expect any help before 11.” I replied. 

“Date night?” Katie asked

“You know how Alex is. It’s her off Friday so she goes hard Thursday.” I laughed. 

“Are you still okay to pick up my parents? I don’t want to drop Lee and his family with Alex and run right back to the airport.”  She asked

“As long as they’re okay coming with me to pick up Lyra from school.” I replied

“Okay with it? My mom will be over the moon, you know she thinks of Lyra as a surrogate granddaughter”. Katie laughed. 

Once breakfast was finished, I got Lyra dressed and ready for daycare before heading out for the drop-off. As I drove, my thoughts drifted to what the day had in store. Katie and I had a full morning of errands to run before her fiancé arrived in town. First on the list was a trip to Target for an extra car seat, groceries, and diapers.

After dropping Lyra off, I headed home to get changed and pick Katie up. I headed straight for my room where I charmed the photo on my nightstand to stop moving and locked my bedside drawer. I cast a quick cleaning charm on my room so it was ready for a guest before I finished getting ready myself. I peaked in on Katie, seeing that she was in the process of doing her hair before I snuck off to the basement. At first glance it was just a finished basement turned office and library. I had charmed a door behind the bookcase for a small lab. I did a quick check of my potion ingredients before heading back upstairs. Katie was waiting for me in the kitchen. 

“Those papers can’t wait till monday Professor?” She joked. 

“You know how I am.” I laughed. “Let’s get going.” 

By the time we got home, Alex had finally emerged from her post-date slumber. While Katie and Alex put away the groceries, I installed the car seat and made sure the house was ready for guests before heading off on my own errands.

By noon, I was on the road to Salem. The Wizarding World of America was primarily centered in a few cities: Salem, New York City, and Los Angeles. Salem, by far, was the closest thing I had found to Diagon Alley. Hidden behind the muggle tourist attractions was a thriving magical community, tucked away within the old, historical buildings.

My first stop was my favorite bookstore. The bell chimed as I stepped inside, and Bea, the shopkeeper, looked up from her counter with a wide grin.

“It’s been a while since I saw your face!” she called out.

I smiled. “I’ve been busy.”

Bea had been the first magical friend I made when I moved to the States. On my first trip to Salem, I wandered into her shop, searching for familiar comforts. She had recognized me from the tell-all novels coming out and introduced me to the magical section of Salem. She directed me to the advanced potion texts and before I knew it, I had spent hours discussing theories with her, and from that moment on, her shop became a second home.

“Did you see the newest Prophet?” Bea asked, sliding a copy across the counter before I could answer.

I frowned and picked it up. “My week’s worth of Prophet comes on Sundays.”

My stomach dropped as I read the front-page headline: End of a Fairytale: Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley Finalize Divorce After Year of Speculation.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered.

“Thought that would catch your eye,” Bea said knowingly.

I skimmed the article, my mind racing. I pushed the paper aside, shaking my head. I asked if Bea had my order of books on raising magical children and a new copy of “Tales of Beedle the Bard” for Lyra. Bea retrieved my order, and I headed to the apothecary before making my way back to pick up Katie’s parents.

The guilt churned in my stomach as I watched Katie's mom Audrey scooped up Lyra at daycare, showering her with love. She fit so seamlessly into their arms, laughing as Audrey kissed her forehead and Louis ruffled her curls.

My parents should have been here too. But they weren’t—and that was my fault. I had Obliviated them, sent them away to Australia for their own safety, and when the war was over, I had tried desperately to restore their memories. But no spell, no potion, no amount of magical intervention had been able to bring them back to me. They had built a new life, new identities, and I was nothing more than a stranger to them now.

Watching Katie’s parents embrace Lyra, their love for her so effortless and pure, was a painful reminder of everything I had lost. The way Audrey smoothed down Lyra’s curls, the way Louis’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled—so much like my own parents. And yet, they were here, and mine were not. My choices had stolen that from me, and there was no magic in the world that could fix it. 

Katie's parents welcomed us with open arms, their warmth and immediate acceptance making us feel truly at home. They became Grammy Audrey and Grandpa Louie to Lyra from birth and treated me as a bonus daughter, offering the kind of unwavering love and stability I had longed for. Their presence in our lives was a gift I could never fully repay. 

We chatted happily on our drive home, their warmth wrapping around me like a familiar embrace, but I was nowhere near prepared for what awaited us.

Chapter Text

Our after-school routine was chaotic on a good day. Coming home to an overflowing house with an overexcited four-year-old wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done—but it’s not something I’d like to repeat.

By the time we pulled in the driveway, Lyra was bouncing out of her seat at the idea of showing Audrey and Louis all her toys. It took all the energy I possessed to wrangle Lyra inside and into her room to change out of her dirty daycare clothes. Katie had this bright idea that we would all go out to dinner tonight so everyone could get to know each other, so Lyra in paint-covered daycare clothes was not an option. Alex came to check on us a few minutes later.

“I think you’ll really like him, Maia. He’s really sweet on Kate, and his cousin doesn’t look half bad either,” Alex said.

I laughed. “Not half bad as in you're interested? No judgment—just keep it out of my bed.”

Alex smirked. “He’s cute in a boy-next-door way. His son is adorable, and I think Lyra is going to have so much fun having a friend to play with.”

“Hopefully,” I said, keeping the thoughts of her keeping the accidental magic at bay to myself.

“Auntie Ali, look at my twirly dress!” Lyra demanded, spinning in circles.

“Very nice, pretty girl. Why don’t we go meet Auntie Katie’s fiancé and his family?” Alex beamed. I stood from my spot on the floor and dusted myself off.

“Auntie Ali is right. Want to go find Grammy and Grandpa?” I asked, taking Lyra’s hand.

“Yes!” she yelled, pulling my hand as she tried to run out of the room. We followed Alex down to the family room where everyone had gathered.

“Oh, Lee, Harry, you met Alex already. Behind her is Hermione, but we call her Maia, and her daughter Lyra. Lyra’s four,” Katie said as we entered the room. I couldn’t see past Alex yet, but I felt my stomach drop. 

Harry. No—it couldn’t be. Harry was a common name in England. And he didn’t have a cousin named Lee. There was no way, in any shape or form, that this was my Harry. I pushed the nerves down in my stomach as Alex walked further into the room. I looked down as Lyra ripped her hand out of mine, bounding toward the bookcase on the far end of the room.

“And that is James, Harry’s son. He’s two,” Katie finished. I looked up and scanned the room quickly. My eyes locked with the bright green ones I’d recognize anywhere. I watched as realization dawned on Harry’s face, his gaze darting between Lyra and me. My stomach twisted. There would be no denying who her father was and it was clear Harry knew.

I fought to keep my expression neutral, forcing a polite smile. “Hi, Lee, Harry. It’s great to finally put faces to the names. Katie has told us so much about you.” My voice was steady, my smile practiced, but inside, panic clawed at my chest. I willed Harry to go along with the conversation. My mind raced—where on earth had Katie found and fallen in love with Dudley Dursley? And how had he and Harry reconnected? Those were questions for another time.

“Hi, Maia, it’s great to meet you,” Dudley responded. It was clear he didn’t remember meeting me before, not that I could blame him. Any prior encounters had been brief and almost a decade ago. Harry, however, remained frozen until Dudley—not so subtly—elbowed him in the ribs.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maia,” Harry said quickly.

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Katie and Dudley, thankfully, returned to discussing wedding plans with Alex, Audrey, and Louis. I turned my attention to Lyra, who was inspecting the books on the bookshelf with extreme precision. Once she finally made her selection, she skipped over to Louis and demanded he read to her. As she settled onto the couch next to him, she looked at me.

“Mummy, I would like a snack, please,” she said politely.

“Very nice manners, Lyr. I’ll go get you something,” I replied, grateful for the excuse to step out of the room—if only for a moment. I hurried into the kitchen and began putting together snacks for both kids. I knew the second Lyra had one, James would want one too.

Seeing Harry again had rattled me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. The look in his eyes, the recognition—the silent questions.

I had spent years crafting this life, building a world where I was safe, where Lyra was safe. And in a single moment, Harry’s presence threatened to unravel everything.

James was a carbon copy of Harry. Not a single trace of Weasley in him, which honestly shocked me. Ginny must have told Harry to take him when news of their divorce broke. With spring training for the Quidditch season approaching, she was likely fully invested in that.

I wasn’t surprised when they married three years ago—mere weeks after Ginny’s Hogwarts graduation. But I was surprised when the pregnancy announcement came right after the end of her first season with the Holyhead Harpies. By then, Harry was a full-fledged Auror. Everyone had rushed into marriage so quickly. Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass wed within a week of Harry and Ginny. George and Angelina, Neville and Hannah, Luna and Rolf—even Percy—all married within two years of the war.

It hurt to think about all the moments I’d missed.

Every so often, I wondered about Ron. There hadn’t been any announcements—no engagement, no long-term girlfriend. I hoped he found what he was looking for, someone who could truly complete him. But when I tried to picture myself married, I couldn’t see it.

And then my thoughts drifted—to Lyra’s father.

The summer after the war. After his trial. After I kept him out of Azkaban.

Harry and Ron had looked at me like I was insane when I vouched for him. But he had been a kid caught in the middle of a war, just like we had. I saw the difference between his true self and the persona the world expected of him. Some days, it felt like I was the only one who truly knew him.

Falling in love with Draco Malfoy had never been the plan.

The Triwizard Tournament had turned everything upside down. Harry and Ron had been fighting, and I had been doing my best just to keep my head above water. Spending time with Harry made Ron angry, and spending time with Ron… well, that wasn’t always my idea of fun. I withdrew, spending more and more time in the library. My usual table became too crowded, so I moved farther back—until one day, Draco was sitting at my new spot. I wasn’t in the mood to find another one.

“Shut up and let me study,” I had snapped.

And the rest was history.

Draco became a permanent fixture at that table, and slowly, he started growing on me. He was sharp, always ready with a retort that matched my wit. Studying next to each other became studying together. Even when Harry and Ron made up, I still carved out time for Draco.

He was charming, funny—when he let down the pureblood mask. We spent fifth year finding ways to see each other in secret, and by sixth year, it had become second nature. I could still hear his ragged sobs the night he revealed his Dark Mark to me, his horror that I wouldn’t care for him anymore. He swore he never wanted it. Confessed the plan to kill Dumbledore.

Draco had been just as much a scared child as the rest of us.

Like Harry, the adults in his life had failed him.

Even while I was on the run with Harry and Ron, he found ways to get messages to me—warnings that helped us avoid skirmishes with Death Eaters more than once. He had tried to protect us at Malfoy Manor, had helped us escape. Before we fled, he had slipped as many healing potions as he could risk into my bag.

My thoughts drifted to the summer I got pregnant before they were abruptly interrupted.

“Need some help? I’m pretty handy in the kitchen.”

Harry’s voice cut through the silence, hesitant, almost wounded—like he couldn’t think of anything else to say. I couldn’t blame him. I had disappeared without a word, without a goodbye, without a note.

I took a slow, measured breath. “Is James allergic to anything? I’m just putting together a snack for the kids.” I gestured toward the fruit and vegetables I was arranging on the board, keeping my hands busy, my focus steady.

“Not a thing,” he said.

I forced myself to finally look at him, and the weight of it hit me like a punch to the gut. I missed him. More than I had let myself acknowledge. He had been my best friend, the closest thing I had to a brother. And now, here he was—going through a divorce, blindsided by my reappearance, by her.

I knew he had never stopped looking for me. Every few months, another article in The Prophet —pleading for leads, speculating on new theories. How they never thought to check Muggle flight records was beyond me. My chest ached as my mind flickered to the box on the top shelf of my closet, filled with letters—ones I never sent and ones I read over and over. Every letter he had written, I returned unopened, after I had made a copy.

“So, you and Draco?” Harry’s voice pulled me from my thoughts again.

I grimaced. Lyra was Draco’s through and through—there was no denying it.

“Me and Draco,” I confirmed, the words feeling heavier than they should.

Harry exhaled sharply. “Is she why you disappeared?”

I nodded.

His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “We would’ve helped you, Mione. I would have loved to be a part of her life. To have kept my best friend.”

“Harry—” I started, but my voice faltered. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to happen. I thought I had at least eight more years to prepare for this.

“I thought you were dead, Mione.” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “Every unopened letter, every lead that went cold. Every Jane Doe that popped up in London—I was the first on the scene, praying it wasn’t you. And you were here. All along.”

The guilt crashed over me in waves.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Harry, I promise I will explain everything. But if we don’t go back in there and plaster smiles on our faces, everyone is going to know something is up. And I can’t do that to Katie.”

I picked up the tray, gripping it a little too tightly.

Harry studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Promise me one thing,” he said quietly. “Promise me you won’t disappear on me again.”

His voice held no anger, only quiet desperation.

I softened. “I promise,” I said, offering him a small, shaky smile.

For now, it was the best I could do.

Chapter Text

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, and the kids managed to behave through dinner. By the time we got home, it was late—both of them were knocked out in their car seats, and everyone else was more than ready to call it a night.

I volunteered to help Harry get James settled so Katie could spend some time with Dudley. I missed the days when Lyra was small enough to fit in an infant carrier. Getting her out of her seat without waking her was like defusing a bomb. As I struggled with her buckle, I caught Harry watching me before he glanced down at James, still out cold. Then he looked back at me with something that looked suspiciously like pity.

“You take James,” he said, keeping his voice low. “He’s a deep sleeper and smaller than Lyra.”

I huffed a quiet laugh and gave him a soft smile. He wasn’t wrong—Lyra wasn’t big, but she was all arms and legs. Moving her without waking her up was a challenge on the best of days.

I walked around the car and lifted James while Harry carefully scooped Lyra up. My breath hitched as she instinctively curled into him, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck. My heart clenched at the sight.

For a second, I let myself picture it—Harry holding her when she was just a newborn, rocking her back to sleep. I shoved the thought away just as quickly. There was no use going down that road.

I adjusted James against my shoulder and led Harry inside. We moved quietly, tiptoeing through the house. In Lyra’s room, I laid James down on Lyra’s bed before I pulled back the covers so Harry could lay Lyra down. She stirred for a moment, brow furrowing, before turning on her side and settling back into sleep.

I made myself move, setting up the pack-and-play for James while Harry stood by Lyra’s bed, watching her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Once I was done, he gently transferred James over, tucking the blanket around him.

A beat of silence stretched between us before Harry finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can we talk now?”

I exhaled slowly, my eyes flicking toward the sleeping kids. “That’s why I set James up in here.”

With a quick flick of my wand, I set an alerting charm in case either of them woke up. Then I peeked into the hallway, relieved to find it empty, and led Harry into my room.

As soon as the door shut, I double-checked the wards and soundproofing spells, making sure everything was still holding. The last thing I needed was anyone overhearing this conversation.

"Where do you want to start?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed.

Harry settled into the chair across from me, arms crossed. "How did you and Draco end up in this situation? How did it start?"

I sighed. "Depends how far back you want to go. Technically, fourth year."

I walked him through it—every twist and turn, every unexpected moment that led me to where I was now. When I finished, Harry let out a sharp exhale.

"So, you let me spend all of sixth year stalking Draco, convinced he was a Death Eater, when you already knew?"

I met his gaze. "I couldn’t exactly tell you, Harry. You would’ve gotten suspicious." I hesitated before adding, "Besides, Draco didn’t have a choice. Voldemort didn’t allow minors into the Death Eaters—not officially. There were only two exceptions."

Harry frowned. "Who was the other?"

"Regulus Black," I said quietly.

His eyebrows shot up. "Sirius’ brother?"

I nodded. "When Sirius ran away and joined the Order, his parents needed an heir to prove their loyalty. They offered Regulus to Voldemort in his place."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell." He shook his head, the pieces clicking into place. "It makes sense why you went to bat for Draco."

I didn’t have to answer. He already knew.

A beat passed before he spoke again. "Did you read any of my letters?"

I nodded. Without a word, I stood, crossed the room, and pulled down a box from the top of my closet. My hands hovered over it for a second before I set it on the bed. The first stack I pulled out was worn, softened from being handled too many times.

Harry’s voice was quieter this time. "Are those mine?"

"Yours. Remus’. Even one or two from Ron. And Draco." My throat tightened at the thought of Draco’s letter.

Then I reached for the second stack—this one bound with twine, the envelopes still sealed, never sent. I placed them in Harry’s hands.

"These are every letter I wrote back but never had the courage to send."

Harry turned them over, running his fingers along the edges before undoing the twine. He pulled out the first letter, and I watched as his eyes scanned the words.

August 9th, 1998

Dear Harry,

I am so sorry.

I’ve kept so much from you for the last three years. I have fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, of all people. You’re at the Burrow with Ginny right now. I was supposed to be there too, but I was too nauseous to come. Now I know why.

Harry, I’m pregnant. And I have to leave.

I can’t get pulled any deeper into this world than I already have been. If Molly finds out, she’ll assume the baby is Ron’s and force a wedding. If Draco’s family finds out, I’ll be forced to marry him. And London—London will eat me alive. The world is still too unstable for me to bring a child into it. So I’m going to find somewhere safe. Somewhere far away.

Please don’t try to find me. I’ll come back when it’s safe—or when this child turns eleven. Whichever comes first.

Please, Harry, don’t be angry. Just know that I love you. You’re my best friend. Live your life. Enjoy your life. Don’t let Molly push you into marrying Ginny before you’re ready—you have time. You have so much time. You’re going to do incredible things, Harry, and I’ll be watching from wherever I end up.

All my love,
Hermione (and Baby G)

Harry swallowed hard, gripping the letter before slowly reaching for the next one.

May 3rd, 1999

Dear Harry,

You have a niece.

Lyra Katherine Malfoy Granger was born on May 2nd, 1999, at 3:51 a.m. It almost seems fitting—she came on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. This time last year, the world was drowning in darkness. Now, it's filled with light.

Harry, you made the world safe enough for me to bring my daughter into it, and I can’t thank you enough. I’m counting down the days until you meet her.

I hope it comes as no surprise that you’ll be her godfather. There is no one on this earth I would trust more.

All our love,
Hermione and Lyra

Harry stared down at the letter, jaw tight.

"Godfather," he murmured.

I met his gaze. "There’s still no one better for the job."

Harry continued down the stack. Reading through each letter with careful precision. Every word I had written about how lonely it was raising a newborn alone. How grateful I was for Katie and Alex. How much I wished he had been there. He read about Lyra’s first accidental magic at a year old. My scattered thoughts about everything he had shared with me over the years.

Then he got to the letter congratulating him on his marriage to Ginny. His expression twisted, and I looked away.

Slowly, he finished the last letter and set the stack down. "I can't believe I missed all of this," he said quietly.

I exhaled. "I think that to myself every day."

Harry rubbed a hand over his face as I continued. "I watched your lives continue through letters, and through photos."

"I'm guessing you know about Ginny and me?" he asked hesitantly.

"I saw it in the Prophet this afternoon." I didn’t push. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.

Harry let out a slow breath. "I have so many questions."

"We have time."

His gaze flickered to mine, something desperate in it. "Please, Mione. Don't shut me out again when Dudley and I go back to England."

I swallowed hard. "I don’t think I could if I wanted to. Just this morning, Lyra was asking when she could meet Uncle Harry. We’ll figure out what to tell Katie and Dudley. Maybe a knee-jerk reaction since we haven’t seen each other in nearly six years."

Harry gave a half-hearted laugh before sobering. "Would you ever come back to England?"

I hesitated. "I don’t know, Harry. I’ve built a life here. A career. Friends. Lyra’s never known anything else."

He nodded, taking that in. "Was going back to England ever in the plan?"

"Not until Lyra starts Hogwarts."

Harry’s head snapped up. "She’s going to Hogwarts?"

"McGonagall put her on the roster the day she was born."

He looked so lost, like his world was unraveling at the seams. I knew that feeling well.

"Ginny and I were talking about having another child," he admitted, voice quiet. "Then another Auror dropped the papers on my desk last week."

I didn’t say anything. Just let him talk.

"By the time I got home, all of Ginny’s stuff was gone. But James’ things were still there, exactly where they had been. It was the most awkward trip to the Burrow of my life, going to pick him up."

"Was Ginny there?" I asked hesitantly.

"No. Molly didn’t even know where she was. She was shocked when I handed her the papers."

He shook his head. "Why was I so stupid? How did I not see that my own wife didn’t love me? As soon as James was born, she was right back to focusing on her career, her friends. She never really... took to motherhood. Molly and Arthur helped where they could, but I ended up getting restricted to desk duty because Ginny couldn’t be trusted to show up and take care of James if I got called in."

His voice was laced with frustration, regret.

"I don’t even know if I want to be an Auror anymore, Mione. My life has been nothing but Dark wizards, like I can’t ever escape it. How did you do it?"

I sighed. "I had Katie and Alex. We worked out a schedule while we were all in school so I didn’t have to put Lyra in daycare. When she turned one, my friend Bea helped me find a magical daycare in Boston. The magical community here is small, mostly an offshoot from Salem, but it’s been enough."

I hesitated before continuing. "I threw myself into school, Harry. Got my Potions mastery, a bachelor’s degree in political science, and now I’m teaching advanced Potions at the college here. I can’t picture myself working at the Ministry now. I can’t picture anything else. I had to adapt, had to figure it out. Lyra’s accidental magic has been kicking my arse lately, though, and it’s only getting stronger."

Harry was quiet for a long moment. Then, in barely more than a whisper, he said, "I don’t want to lose my best friend again, Mione. And I can’t raise James alone."

I exhaled shakily. "I don’t want to raise Lyra alone anymore." The words were out before I even realized I was saying them. "Katie’s leaving this summer, and Alex won’t be far behind."

We just looked at each other. Two people who had spent years carrying everything alone, finally admitting how heavy it was.

I glanced at the clock. Nearly two in the morning. "You must be exhausted. Do you need a Dreamless?"

Harry shook his head. "I have a stash."

I nodded and grabbed my pajamas, disappearing into the ensuite to change. When I came back, I met his eyes again.

"Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll move James in here."

Harry gave a small nod, and I stepped away to shift the kids around. For the first time in years, the weight pressing on my chest felt a little lighter.

"Goodnight, Harry."

And for the first time in years, I wasn’t saying goodbye.

Chapter Text

June 2nd, 1998

Sitting at the table in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen, I looked down at the letter in my hand, my fingers pressing into the parchment hard enough to crease it. My thoughts raced, looping in circles as I read the same lines over and over. Each time, the words refused to change. I kept setting it down, only to pick it up again minutes later. I told myself it would be different this time—that I would read it and put it away, make a decision, move on.

But I hadn’t moved in an hour.

It was the first time I’d been truly alone since the battle. Harry was at Hogwarts, assisting with the reconstruction efforts, and Ginny was at the Burrow, helping Molly process Fred’s death. She was a frequent guest at Grimmauld Place, staying for as long as Molly would allow. The house had never felt this quiet.

Remus and Teddy were also regular visitors, as Tonks had died in the war. Every few days, Remus would bring Teddy over to spend time with Harry. It was bittersweet—watching Teddy’s presence bring joy while knowing what had been lost.

But my thoughts kept drifting back to the letter in my hands.

Draco Malfoy wanted me to testify for him. A lifetime in Azkaban—or worse, a Dementor’s Kiss—was on the line. Lucius deserved nothing less, but Draco? Draco had barely been an adult when all of this started. I didn’t know enough about what he had been doing while we were on the run to make a sound decision.

My stomach twisted. I knew what the world saw when they looked at him—Death Eater, Malfoy heir, privileged coward. But what did I see?

Who was Draco Malfoy to me now?

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the parchment against my lap as if it would somehow dull the weight pressing down on me.

It had been a year since I last saw him. Since I last trusted him.

Did I still trust him?

I didn’t know.

I had spent the last hour trying to answer that question, and the longer I sat here, the more uncertain I felt.

Once, I wouldn’t have hesitated. A year ago, if someone had asked me if I loved Draco Malfoy, I would have said yes without a second thought. I had known why he did the things he did. I understood.

But I hadn’t spoken to him since the night I wiped my parents’ memories.

Should I have listened to him back then?

A lump formed in my throat as guilt settled deep in my chest.

A few days after Fred’s funeral, Harry and I had traveled to Australia, desperate to reverse the spell. We worked with the best local Healers, but we failed. The spell held. My parents were happy, they had friends, they had each other . But they didn’t have me .

Would Draco have been able to stop me from making that mistake?

Would he have tried harder if he knew what it would cost?

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. None of that mattered now. The past was gone

It had taken him two years to confide in me—two years before he rolled up his sleeve and showed me the Dark Mark on his forearm. I still believed he had been coerced—forced under the threat of the Cruciatus, or worse, to take the Mark, repair the Vanishing Cabinet, and aid in Dumbledore’s death. His childhood had been far from idyllic. He’d admitted as much to me before, in rare, quiet moments. Lucius had never hesitated to use a curse or his ever-present cane, and I doubted Voldemort had been any kinder.

What I did know of Narcissa Malfoy was that she was fiercely protective of Draco. Harry had told me she lied to Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest to save his life. In the end, Draco had helped us win the war, whether he meant to or not.

He saved us from the horrors of his childhood home.
No one had ever saved him from it.

And yet…

A sharp tapping at the window pulled me from my thoughts. Draco’s owl, Hunter, was back—again.

I hesitated. I could ignore it. Pretend I never saw the letter.

But I was already standing, my feet moving before my brain could catch up. I swapped the parchment for the biscuit I had been nibbling, watching as Hunter greedily accepted the exchange. But the owl didn’t take off immediately. He was waiting.

He’s pushing for an answer.

With a sigh, I unfolded the letter.

H,

Park Plaza, 8pm, Room 514. Dress nicely.

-D

My heart clenched.

Park Plaza.

I swallowed hard.

Once, a note like this would have sent my heart racing for an entirely different reason. I would have been excited. Giddy.

We had spent so much of last summer sneaking away to upscale Muggle hotels, slipping away from prying eyes to steal a few moments of something that felt normal . Draco had been fascinated by them—by the way Muggle spaces felt so different from the cold, sterile halls of Malfoy Manor.

But this wasn’t last summer.

There were still too many Death Eaters on the loose.

And worse—I didn’t know if I still knew him.

One of the last times I saw Draco was in Park Plaza—for his birthday. We had gone out for a nice dinner and spent hours talking about everything and nothing at all. He told me how his house had been overrun by Death Eaters, how Voldemort held court there almost daily. Sometimes it was just the high-ranking officials—his father, Snape—other times, Draco had been forced to sit in.

He noticed the increase in meetings. How long they lasted. How desperate they were becoming.

That night, I told him my decision to Obliviate my parents and send them out of England. I never told him where—just in case Voldemort decided to rifle through his mind. Draco had tried to talk me out of it, argued for a Fidelius Charm, urged me to send them into hiding.

It felt too risky.

My parents would be sitting ducks. The Order was already spread too thin, and Moody wouldn’t spare anyone to guard them. This had felt like the only way to keep them safe—away from the wrong side of a Death Eater’s wand.

It was hard to see Draco as a Death Eater when he was just… my Draco.

He still laughed at the same jokes. Smiled the same way when I talked about my latest interests. His expression softened into that dopey grin whenever he discussed the latest Quidditch broom or how his favorite team was doing this season.

My thoughts switched the last time I saw him before I went on the run.

The night I Obliviated my parents.

We had talked about it since his birthday, but no matter how many times I turned it over in my head, I couldn’t find a better way.

It had killed me all day—pretending everything was fine.

Having breakfast with them like nothing was wrong.
Agreeing when they suggested lunch out and a turn about the bookstore.
Listening to them proudly discuss my future, their pride at my almost-graduation.
I had kept the war as far from them as possible.

That night, as soon as Draco opened the hotel room door, I collapsed in his arms, dropping the small bag of all my possessions I had hastily packed.

The dam broke.

Draco held me that night in Park Plaza while I sobbed into his shirt, his arms tight around me like he could somehow keep me from breaking. To his credit, he never judged me. He never made me feel horrible about my choice.

When we parted the next morning, I knew it would be the last time until the war was over.

Draco had thought I would be on the Hogwarts Express come September 1st.

But I was going to the Burrow. There would be no sneaking out.

I turned my attention back to the letter in my hands and crumpled it, pressing my forehead to the table.

“If you’re that tired, you should go to bed, Hermione.”

Remus’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I lifted my head slightly, shifting the letters into my lap as he chuckled.

“Not tired. Just stressed,” I admitted. “Harry’s at Hogwarts but should be back in an hour or so. You’re welcome to stay.”

Remus transfigured a dining chair into a high chair, settling Teddy in. “What’s got you out of sorts?”

I hesitated. Do I tell him?

I had told no one about Draco. Harry and Ron would react terribly. But Remus…

“What would you do if an old friend asked you to meet up right now?” I asked carefully.

Remus tilted his head. “Do you want to tell me who?”

“Not particularly.”

He hummed in consideration. “What side did they fight for?”

“Not particularly keen on answering that either.”

He studied me for a long moment, then sighed.  “Then I’d say—make sure someone knows where you are and when you’ll be back. Bring your wand. An emergency Portkey, if you have one. You’re a smart witch, Hermione. An adult. If you trust this person enough to meet them, don’t let the fear of Harry and Ron’s reactions hold you back. But if you think it’s a trap—don’t go. If you want someone there, bring them. You fought a war. You know how to handle yourself.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Would you keep it from Harry if I asked you to?” I asked quietly.

“If you felt strongly about it.”

I exhaled, making my decision. “I’ll be at Park Plaza at 8 PM. Not sure when I’ll be back, but definitely before morning.”

“Send me a Patronus when you get home. I don’t care what time it is. If everything’s fine, tell me how the jam was. If you need help, tell me how the biscuits were.”

I smiled. “You’re not going to push for more details?”

“You’re an adult, Hermione.” He shrugged. “I just appreciate that you trusted me enough to tell me in the first place.”

And for the first time in a while, I felt a little lighter.

I left the house quietly, ten minutes to eight, as Harry and Remus chatted happily in the kitchen. Harry had no idea where I was going. No idea who I was about to see. I was scared. Not of a trap—not really. Voldemort was dead, and Draco had no reason to lure me into anything sinister. But fear had settled deep in my bones anyway, irrational but insistent.

The night air was cool against my skin, but I barely felt it. My thoughts were too loud.

I rushed the few blocks to the apparition point, but the closer I got, the more I questioned if I was making a mistake. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and my fingers worried at the hem of my dress, tracing invisible patterns in the fabric. I forced myself to stop—a nervous tell Draco would have recognized instantly.

Would there still be feelings there?

Was he still the Draco I fell in love with?

The Draco who loved pumpkin pasties and Quidditch. The Draco who was content to spend a night with my head in his lap as we lazily read our books. The Draco who had loved me despite everything he had been raised to believe.

Was he the same person who used to sneak me pumpkin pasties at breakfast because he knew I skipped meals when I was stressed?

Or had war changed him, the same way it had changed all of us?

He always noticed when I was anxious. He used to reach for my hand when I did this.

I curled my fingers into a fist instead.

I twisted the emergency Portkey ring on my finger, grounding myself in its presence. It would be fine. It had to be fine.

And yet, when I apparated, the breath I exhaled was shaky.

I arrived as close to the hotel as possible. I had learned quickly that at places like this, you had to walk in like you belonged. Adjusting the hem of my green cocktail dress, I tucked my wand into the holster beneath my sleeve and stepped inside. The heels I wore weren’t great for running, but this wasn’t the kind of place where I could afford to look uneasy.

I moved quickly to the elevators, pressing the button for the fifth floor before I lost my nerve. The seconds felt stretched thin, my pulse loud in my ears. When I finally knocked on the door to room 514, I barely had time to brace myself before it swung open.

Draco stood before me, looking utterly disheveled.

I had expected nerves. Perhaps even guilt.

I hadn’t expected this.

His normally pristine hair was tousled, the way it only got when he was frustrated or lost in thought—when his fingers found their way to it absentmindedly, running through the strands for hours. His shirt was untucked and mostly unbuttoned, trousers wrinkled, and he was barefoot. There were heavy bags under his eyes, exhaustion written into every inch of him.

He looked… smaller somehow. Less like the arrogant, sharp-tongued boy I had grown up with. Less like the perfectly-polished teen I had fallen for. And yet, even now, in this state of disarray, he still looked like my Draco.

That was the part that terrified me the most.

I scanned the room behind him instinctively—habit. I could see nearly all of it except the bathroom. No sign of a trap.

Draco exhaled sharply, almost like he hadn’t expected me to come. “You came.”

“I told you I would.” My voice was even, but my stomach twisted at the sight of him. 

Draco stepped back, holding the door open in silent invitation. I hesitated for only a second before stepping inside, subtly scanning the space as I passed him. The room was just as disordered as he was. Clothes strewn on the floor next to the bed. His trunk open, its contents spilling over the edges.

 "Please, make yourself comfortable," Draco said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I— I wanted to take you to dinner. I just… lost track of time.”

That wasn’t like him. Draco was punctual to a fault. I knew that firsthand. The night after he showed me his Dark Mark, I had been late meeting him because Ron and Harry wouldn’t stop talking to me. When I arrived, Draco had been panicked.

I lowered myself onto the couch, taking in more of his hotel room. The desk was littered with parchment—court documents, I realized, spilling onto the couch across from me.

His trial started in three days.

What a shitty eighteenth birthday present.

Draco disappeared into the bathroom, and when he returned a few minutes later, he looked like an entirely different person. The dark circles under his eyes were still there but less severe after a splash of water, and his clothing was immaculate again. His hair was styled just right. He pulled on his shoes quickly and grabbed his suit jacket from the bed.

I had always loved seeing Draco in a suit—it was one of my favorite things about meeting in the Muggle world.

“I’m so sorry, I lost track of time,” Draco said, finally looking at me properly. “Are you still up for dinner?”

I had promised myself I wouldn’t leave the hotel with him.

“Dinner where?”

“Just downstairs in the restaurant,” he replied. “I haven’t been leaving the hotel much.”

That was sufficient.

“Let’s go, then.” My tone remained even. Draco hadn’t earned my trust back, but he didn’t deserve my disdain either.

As I stood, Draco’s gaze flickered over me. “You look beautiful, Maia. I’m sorry I didn’t say it when I opened the door.”

“You clean up well, Draco.” I stepped past him, heading toward the door.

I didn’t fear him hexing me—his wand was on a pillow on the bed.

As we entered the hallway, he placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the elevators. I didn’t shy away from his touch. If I closed my eyes, if I forgot the last year, it would feel like any other date.

Draco didn’t speak again until we were seated at a table, muffliato in place.

“Thank you for meeting me, Maia.”

I met his gaze. “Why are you here, Draco?”

He didn’t flinch at my bluntness.

“I’m distancing myself from my parents,” he said. “They locked down most of the family accounts, but somehow overlooked my heir vault, so I have some finances available. I’ve instructed Gringotts to release small amounts to my parents’ house-elf for groceries, but otherwise, I’ve gone no-contact. The Ministry is monitoring my wand—I assume you already knew that. Aurors placed a tracking charm on it before they returned it to me after I made bail. I use it as sparingly as possible.”

At first glance, it seemed like Draco was trying to do the right thing.

“You want me as a witness. Walk me through the last year—starting from our last meeting.”

I knew bits and pieces. The Malfoy Manor incident. The notes he sent to help us avoid skirmishes. His actions in the final battle.

Draco exhaled. “Hogwarts was hell. The Carrows were like Umbridge times two. I spent most of my time healing younger Slytherins after punishments. We were luckier than the other houses—we weren’t targeted as much. Voldemort never sent me on raids or missions, but I had to stand there and watch him distribute orders, watch him torture people. I did my best to stay out of his way.”

His jaw tightened. “I got in trouble with Bellatrix once, but she didn’t want to disgrace herself by telling him. I did as little as I could during the final battle. I focused on evacuating younger students, then protecting my mother.”

Instinctively, I reached for my forearm—the scar Bellatrix had left me.

Draco winced.

I met his eyes. “Would you testify? If I can help arrange a plea deal?”

He hesitated. “It terrifies me, but… I’d consider it. If there were protections in place afterward.”

I nodded. “What do you hope for your parents? I won’t testify for them.”

“I know my mother isn’t innocent, but she never raised a wand against anyone and never took the mark. Her greatest crime was marrying my father and letting him pull us into this mess.”

“And Lucius?”

Draco’s voice turned bitter. “For all I care, he can take the Dementors’ Kiss. I hate what he did to me. What my mother let him do.If I had my choice I would have fought for the order”

I believed him. He had told me once—after he got his mark—that he had written to Dumbledore, begging for asylum at Hogwarts. He had known Sirius Black was alive, and had tried to contact him as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black begging for asylum as a child of the House of Black. Dumbledore ignored him. Draco couldn’t get a letter through to Sirius. And by the time I found out, it was already too late.

We talked long into the night. There were no mentions of Quidditch or books or inside jokes. Just the past. The weight of it. Draco’s responses, his fears for the future and regrets for the past made me confident in my decision. 

“I’ll vouch for you,” I said as we walked back to his room. “I’ll owl your lawyer first thing in the morning.”

Draco looked at me like he didn’t believe it. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“When this is over, I’d like to see you again, Maia.”

“I’d like that,” I admitted, leaning up to kiss his cheek before turning away.

When I returned to Grimmauld Place, I cast a Patronus.

“Find Remus Lupin. Tell him the jam was spectacular.”

Oathing myself to Draco’s defense set everything into motion. The following weeks blurred together—long nights of testimony prep, Harry and Ron’s anger so brutal they even staged an intervention. Endless Wizengamot questioning.The weight of my decision settled over me like a second skin.

In the end, Draco walked with a deal. He would help identify, track, and convict high-ranking Death Eaters, and in exchange, he was allowed to live freely.

Lucius wasn’t as fortunate. He was sentenced to life in Azkaban, his title stripped from him and transferred to Draco immediately. He was no longer just the heir apparent—he was Lord Malfoy. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I had always known this day would come, had accepted long ago that Draco would inherit his family's legacy. And yet, seeing it happen—watching him step into the role—made it feel more real. More impossible.

I had assumed, like many others, that the Malfoy family would be stripped of their title after the war, that the Wizengamot would see their name as too tainted to retain such status. But somehow, they had managed to hold onto it. And now, Draco bore the weight of that name alone. Not that it changed much. I had known for a long time that whatever existed between us had very little chance at a real future.

Narcissa was sentenced to five years of house imprisonment at Malfoy Manor. Draco, however, chose not to return. Instead, he moved into a townhouse not far from Grimmauld Place. And after the trials were over, I began seeing him weekly. I wasn’t sure if it was out of obligation, curiosity, or something else entirely.

Chapter Text

July 1998

“Lord Malfoy, huh?” I sipped my tea, eyeing Draco across his kitchen. His plea deal had been finalized last week, and this was my first visit to his new home. Lucius was now locked away—quite comfortably, I might add—in Azkaban, and Narcissa was confined to Malfoy Manor. The Malfoy estate included a townhome, Amwell Court, eerily similar to Grimmauld Place.

Draco had explained that many of the ancient houses maintained townhomes as summer residences, clustered together in the same district. That explained why his was only a ten-minute walk from Grimmauld Place.

This was one of our first real conversations since that night at Park Place. The crushing weight he had carried before the trial had lifted—at least in part—but the exhaustion still clung to him. We had spent countless nights holed up with his legal team, discussing strategy, negotiating terms, and working to convince the Wizengamot, the DMLE, and the Minister himself to accept the plea. His lawyers had confided in me more than once that they believed I was Draco’s only real chance.

Kingsley had only just been elected Minister when the trial started, which led to a particularly interesting conversation between us. Apparently, Harry and Ron—brilliant detectives that they were—had gone to him, utterly convinced that I’d been Imperiused into defending Draco. That little stunt had earned them a very pointed earful from me after I was subjected to a thoroughly unnecessary evaluation at St. Mungo’s to prove otherwise.

“It’s weird to hear,” Draco admitted, dragging his fingers over the rim of his cup. “I thought I had at least another decade or two before I’d have to.”

“How’s your mother handling it?”

“She’s relieved we got to keep the Lordship,” he said, his voice carefully even.

“And you?”

Draco spun the signet ring around his finger, the same way he used to fidget with his heir’s ring.

“I’ve been preparing for this my entire life and still don’t feel prepared enough. My first Wizengamot session as Lord Malfoy is next week, and I’m curious how I’ll be received. The light faction holds the majority, the neutrals are fairly stable, and the dark side…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Most of them are either awaiting trial or have heirs taking their seats. Theo Nott took up his family seat after his father followed mine to Azkaban.”

“I know Harry took up the Potter and Black seats,” I offered.

Draco scoffed. “I’m sure he was beside himself watching me walk free.”

I winced involuntarily. 

Grimmauld Place had been tense since the trial. Harry had been furious when I vouched for Draco. Granted, he didn’t have all the information I did. The only thing we could agree on was that Draco didn’t deserve the Dementor’s Kiss. Ron, on the other hand, had been colder. He refused to come around Grimmauld when I was there. Molly had deemed it a “lover’s spat,” much to my frustration. She had been pushing for Ron and me to get married for weeks.

But I couldn’t picture a future with Ron. He was a good friend—at times, I even enjoyed his company—but he was too needy. Our months on the run had left me feeling more like his mother than his friend. Ron could barely handle his own laundry, let alone the responsibilities of running a household. He would need someone exactly like Molly. Unfortunately, that wasn’t me.

“Things still tense with Potter and Weasley?” Draco asked, noting my wince.

I hesitated.

“Maia, you know you always have a place here if you want it. This house is far too big for just me.”

“Your mother would have a fit,” I said dryly.

“I didn’t mean in my bed—though I wouldn’t complain.” That stupid, charming grin spread across his face.

I smacked his arm lightly. It almost felt like old times—our banter slipping back into place, easy and familiar.

“Things are fine with Harry,” I admitted. “Ron and I… aren’t on speaking terms.”

Draco raised a brow. “Does Potter know where you are?”

“No. I haven’t told him you and I are even on speaking terms. Ron wanted to visit tonight, so I told Harry I’d make myself scarce.”

Draco rolled his eyes at that. 

“Potter offered you a home. He shouldn’t be kicking you out for the Weasel’s comfort.” Draco remarked

“You know how I feel about you calling him that” I sighed. Even when Ron was pissing me off, I felt the need to defend him. 

“My apologies.” Draco held up his hands in mock surrender before his expression turned sly. “Is his mother still giving you grief” 

I let out a dramatic sigh. 

“Even if I was currently welcome at the Burrow, I wouldn’t go out of fear that Molly would force me into a wedding dress. She’s deemed my and Ron’s current state as a Lover’s spat.” 

“You and Weasley, lovers?” Draco let out a low chuckle, giving me a knowing look.

Outside of my brief dates with Cormac McLaggen and Viktor Krum, Draco had been my only lover. But I hadn’t brought that up yet. It didn’t feel right—not when we were only just slipping back into something resembling normalcy.

“This,” I said, snatching up the stack of newspapers on the table, “is even more comical.”

I flipped through the headlines, each one more ridiculous than the last:

• "Wizengamot Divided Over Malfoy Verdict—Granger’s Testimony Tips the Scales!"
• "Golden Trio Cracks: Granger and Weasley Feud Over Malfoy’s Trial!"
• "War Heroine Defends Death Eater: Has Hermione Granger Lost Her Way?"
• "Sleeping with the Enemy? Granger’s Defense of Malfoy Raises Eyebrows!"
• "A Malfoy and a Muggleborn—What Would the Dark Lord Say?"
• "Has the Brightest Witch of Her Age Lost Her Mind – or Her Heart?"
• "The Battle for Granger: Is Ron Losing Hermione to Draco Malfoy?"
• "Malfoy, Weasley, and Granger—Oh My! The Trial That Could Break the Golden Trio!"
• "Golden Girl’s Divided Loyalties—Does Hermione’s Heart Belong to a Weasley or a Malfoy?"

Draco scanned the headlines and smirked. “These are hilarious. Do you have a favorite?”

“I’m torn,” I admitted, flipping back to one in particular. “This one is so dramatic.” I pointed to "Has the Brightest Witch of Her Age Lost Her Mind – or Her Heart?" “But I also appreciate how quickly they decided we were lovers.”

Draco chuckled. “Maia, we were lovers.”

“Key word here is were ,” I shot back, though I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped.

Draco and I had been careful since Park Place. We only met in the presence of his legal team. I always left the courtroom with Harry or Remus—never Draco. We hadn’t gone out together, and this was my first time at Amwell Court.

We had exchanged letters, of course, but even that had been done in secret. Draco had trained Hunter to deliver them directly to my bedroom window instead of the kitchen. It was starting to feel like last summer all over again. The stolen moments. The letters. The careful dance of unspoken words.

I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Too much had changed. We had changed. But with every letter, every conversation, every lingering glance or quiet laugh, it became clearer—my Draco was still there. At least, behind closed doors.

Draco watched me closely, fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. “We could be again,” he said, voice measured but his eyes almost hopeful.

I took a slow breath. Could we?

“What about Astoria?” I asked carefully.

I knew about the contract. Draco had told me about it years ago, how Lucius had drawn up an agreement with Lord Greengrass the moment Astoria had been born. Daphne had already been betrothed by the time Draco came along, so Astoria was the next best match.

Draco sighed. “If you’re asking whether I love her—the answer is no.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” I said. “You’re Lord Malfoy now. Are you planning to marry her?”

“I have my legal team looking into the contract,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t put it past my father to have buried clauses or stipulations that force me into it—even if only long enough to produce an heir.”

He exhaled sharply, frustration etched across his face. “I’d rather not. Astoria is… boring .” He made a face, and despite myself, I let out a small laugh.

“She’s perfectly poised. The ideal pureblood wife. But that’s not what I want.” His voice softened. “Not by any means.”

I stayed quiet, my fingers tracing the rim of my teacup.

“Maia.” He leaned forward, his tone low and serious. “You know I meant everything I ever said to you, right? Ever since that day in fourth year when I apologized.”

I met his gaze, my chest tightening at the memory. The hesitant words. The first real bridge between us.

“I know, Dray,” I murmured.

“I still love you, Hermione,” Draco confessed. “I never stopped.”

The words hung between us, heavy and unguarded. My heart clenched at the sound of my full name—something he rarely used. It was a rule we had set back in fourth year, after he had jokingly complained that my name was too long and complicated, especially after hearing Viktor struggle to pronounce it. One afternoon, almost offhandedly, he had suggested, “What about Maia?” And just like that, it stuck. To Draco, I had been Maia ever since. He only ever called me Hermione when it truly mattered—when the moment was too serious for anything less.

“I was terrified you wouldn’t come.” Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper. “That I’d be left sitting there alone, waiting for a savior who would never arrive.” He exhaled slowly. “And I wouldn’t have blamed you.” He let out a slow, measured breath. “I know you sent me that note saying you’d come, but I lost track of time that night, pouring over every document, searching for another way— any way—to save myself without your help.” His voice lowered. “A part of me expected you to laugh in my face. That you’d walk away, and I’d never see you again.”

My stomach twisted.

Even when I had been furious with him, when I hadn’t understood his choices, I had never stopped loving him.

Draco had once been an obnoxious schoolboy, a product of his upbringing, a boy who had made mistakes. But somewhere along the way, that boy had grown into a man—charming, sharp, kind in ways that mattered. He had played the game of life with the cards he was dealt, just like the rest of us.

How could I blame him for the actions his father had forced upon him? Who could?

Was I ready to tell him I still loved him, too? That I never stopped?

My heart still leapt at every letter he sent. Each one unraveled another layer of the past year—things he hadn’t had time to tell me at Park Place. The good, the bad, the ugly. The things he had done. The things he regretted. The things he wished he had done differently.

With every word, every story, the pieces of us slipped back into place.

At this point, the letters were almost daily. And now, sitting in his kitchen, the space between us felt like the turning of a page.

A new beginning.

I took a deep breath. Draco was working on the contract. Was there any space for our relationship in his life? The long nights around the table at his lawyer’s office, seeing him struggle through his trial. Reading every single letter a million times. Recognizing the amount of faith and trust he put into me showed me he was still the boy I fell in love with, just with more battle scars.

He had even shown me the letter from Dumbledore refusing him asylum for the summer at Hogwarts, a crucial piece of his defense, proving he never wanted to be a Death Eater.

My heart pounded as the words slipped from my lips before I could stop them. “I still love you too, Draco.”

The air felt thick, charged. His expression flickered—relief, uncertainty, something else I couldn't quite place. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he tucked a loose curl behind my ear. The touch was featherlight, careful, like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

“I want to be a better person, Maia. A person worthy of your love,” he said quietly, measured. He hesitated for half a second before adding, “I need your help to get there, starting with this.”

Draco handed me a list of various charities.

“Pick two of them,” he said simply.

I stared at the list, my mind blank for a moment before I forced myself to focus.

“What for?” I asked.

“A quarter of the current Malfoy assets will be donated. Then going forward, a quarter of our yearly profits will be donated,” Draco said, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

I blinked. I knew he was trying, but this? This was more than I expected.

“If it was me,” I began slowly, “I would focus on this one that works on rebuilding things destroyed in the war and this one focusing on children orphaned through the war.”

Draco studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Then it’s settled. Those will be our charities of the year. We’ll revise annually, and going forward, charities will be able to apply.”

I exhaled, still processing. He was serious about this.

“Draco, that’s incredible, but you just flipped a serious conversation. We both still have feelings for each other—what does that mean?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

Draco’s lips twitched in something almost like amusement. “What do you want it to mean? Do you want to go public and prove a few of those news articles correct? Do you want to take our time and figure it out behind closed doors? We could also pick and choose who we want to share with and swear them to secrecy.” He shrugged. “It can mean whatever you want, love.”

My chest tightened at the pet name. It had been so long since I’d heard it, and yet it still settled over me like something familiar, something safe.

“I want to figure out what your betrothal contract means first,” I said seriously.

“We have time, love. Astoria can’t marry for another year, after she finishes Hogwarts. Assuming Lord Greengrass even wants to enforce the contract,” Draco said.

It felt like we were delaying the inevitable. I stared down at the floor, unsure what to do next.

“Do you want to tell Potter and Weasley?” Draco asked, standing up and coming to kneel in front of me. He grabbed my hand, his thumb brushing against my knuckles, and with the other, he tilted my chin up so I had to meet his gaze.

“Maia, I know how much they mean to you, and I just want you to be happy, regardless of whether that involves me or not.”

My throat felt tight.

“I want my future to involve you. Everything feels so raw, I don’t know how to integrate you with everyone else… and we need to figure out the damned contract,” I admitted.

“And we will. For now, why don’t we keep it like last summer? We meet when we can and enjoy our time together. We can still go on dates in Muggle London, and you can come here whenever you’re able to sneak away from Potter and Weasley,” Draco said calmly, standing up but not releasing my hand.

“Now,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I believe we still have an hour or two before Potter loses his loving mind over where you are. And I have something I want to show you.”

He gently pulled me from my seat, leading me upstairs. At the end of the hall, he pushed open a door, revealing a modest yet elegant library. The scent of parchment and aged leather filled the air, and the warm glow from a few enchanted lamps made the space feel almost otherworldly.

“Go pick something that tickles your fancy, and let’s enjoy the evening.”

“Draco, this is incredible,” I said, already beginning to wander the stacks.

“The one at the Manor is more impressive. Once Mother is settled elsewhere, I plan to relocate that library to one of our other estates,” Draco said simply.

He must have noticed my wince when he mentioned the Manor, but he let it slide. Instead, he humored me as I wandered the shelves, letting the moment stretch. Eventually, we both settled in the sitting room, books in hand. I was content to spend the remainder of the evening with my head in his lap, a book in my hands, and, for the first time in a long time, a quiet kind of peace.

Chapter Text

January 2004

Waking up was disorienting at best. Sleep had not come easy—though not for the usual reasons. My mind had replayed last night’s conversation with Harry on a loop, and when I finally drifted off, Lyra’s relentless kicking had me surrendering to the couch sometime around three. By five-thirty, I gave up entirely.

The faint sounds of movement in the kitchen caught my attention just after six. I pulled myself up, stretching out the stiffness from the too-small couch, and padded toward the source.

Harry and Dudley stood by the stove, looking at each other like they were trying to decipher ancient runes.

“What exactly are you two doing?” I asked, stifling a yawn.

Harry turned, looking sheepish. “The goal is tea. We see the tea. But the kettle, it seems, is missing.” He glanced at the cabinets warily, clearly hesitant to start opening them at random.

“We keep it in the cabinet above the stove,” I said, stepping past them and pulling it down. “Go sit, I’ll take care of it.”

They didn’t argue. As the water heated, I set out three cups, my hidden stash of English Breakfast, a small pitcher of creamer, and a sugar bowl. A plate of chopped fruit and biscuits followed. Behind me, Harry and Dudley spoke in low voices, their accents more pronounced in their early-morning fatigue.

Once everything was ready, I carried the tray over and sat down, reaching for my tea first. A splash of cream, a little sugar, and I curled my hands around the warmth of the mug.

“Help yourselves,” I said. “I know how bad the time difference from England to the U.S. is. Probably feels like you went to an all-night rager and slept the day away.”

Dudley let out a chuckle. “That’s exactly it.” He grabbed a cup.

“I hope we didn’t wake you,” Harry said, studying me a little too closely.

“You didn’t.” I waved him off. “I don’t sleep well, usually. And Lyra kicks like a professional boxer in her sleep, so the couch won.”

Harry’s frown was slight, but noticeable. “You should’ve woken me. I would’ve switched with you.”

I shrugged, taking a sip of tea instead of answering. Some things never changed. Dudley gave us both a curious glance before looking at Harry.

“Lee, you remember my friend Hermione? The one who’s been missing?” Harry asked carefully.

Dudley frowned. “Yeah… why? Did you get news?”

“In a sense.” Harry hesitated. “She’s alive.” A small pause. “And she has a daughter.”

Dudley blinked, looking utterly lost. “Harry, you need to spell this out for me.”

Harry exhaled. “Lee… this is Hermione. Maia is short for Hermione.”

Dudley’s head snapped toward me, his expression shifting from confusion to pure shock. “You best not be fucking with his head.” His voice was low, serious. “How do you even know about her?”

Before I could speak, Harry cut in. “Dudley, she’s not lying. There was a photo on her nightstand—our last Christmas with Ron. She had my letters. There’s no way she could’ve gotten those otherwise.”

Dudley’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still looked wary. “What happened?”

I swallowed. “I got pregnant. And I was scared. I had access to funds, so I ran.” The words felt heavier than I expected. “I was young and stupid.”

Dudley processed that in silence.

“Harry and I figured it out yesterday,” I continued. “But it wasn’t the time or place for drama, not with everything going on for you and Katie. We talked last night after putting the kids to bed.”

Dudley turned to Harry. “Are you… okay with this?”

Harry’s lips pressed together before he gave a small nod. “Honestly? I’m just happy to have Maia—Hermione—back in my life.”

Hearing him call me Maia felt strange, like two halves of my life crashing together. Maia was my escape, my independence. Maia was the girl who snuck out and was madly in love with Draco Malfoy. Hermione was the girl who was clean-cut, by the book—the girl who left everything behind.

Dudley let out a long breath. “Weirder things have happened, I guess.”

Then his eyes flicked toward me. “Have you told Kate yet?”

I shook my head. “Like I said, it wasn’t the right time.”

Dudley nodded, considering. “I’ll tell her.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. She’ll understand it better coming from me.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I should wake her up soon anyway.”

I glanced at the clock—almost 7. I was surprised Lyra was still asleep.

Dudley gave me a small nod before heading out, leaving me alone with Harry. I exhaled, gripping my mug a little tighter. One step at a time.  

Almost simultaneously, Harry and I jumped. Our wands let off soft, low-volume alarms. I groaned, recognizing the sound immediately—the kids were awake.

Harry stretched with a sigh. “Time to face the children.”

I nodded, rolling my shoulders. “Getting Lyra ready is always an uphill battle.”

Picking out clothes? Easy. Getting dressed? No problem. Taming her hair? A nightmare.

By the time I entered her room, Lyra was already rifling through her dresser. She dressed quickly, and to her credit, she tried to sit still while I worked on her curls. But patience was not her strong suit. I managed to style her hair with minimal tears—hers or mine.

The moment we were both ready, she grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the kitchen.

“Mummy, it’s chocolate chip pancake day.” Her tone was completely matter-of-fact.

She wasn’t wrong. Every Saturday, without fail, was pancake day—just like my parents had done when I was little.

“Go find something to do, star, and I’ll make breakfast.” I smiled, smoothing down a stray curl.

Lyra bolted into the family room, where her toys were scattered, leaving me to start breakfast. A full house meant lots of pancakes.

Harry entered the kitchen soon after, James in tow. I glanced over my shoulder as I flipped the first batch.

“James can go play with Lyra if he wants,” I offered.

The family room was visible from the kitchen—a selling point that had made me fall in love with this house. Harry nodded and led James to join Lyra before returning.

He leaned against the counter, his voice quieter now. “James isn’t going to understand.”

I sighed. “I know. He’s too little. But I’ve already thought about how to tell Lyra.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“She loves our photo album,” I explained. “If I charm it to stop moving, we can show it to Dudley and Katie. The pictures are already moving.”

Harry’s face lit up. “You still have it?”

I grinned. “Of course. Lyra calls it the ‘moving picture book.’ She adores it.”

His smile turned nostalgic. “That’s actually a great idea. I mean, we’ve both changed a lot since then.”

“You were so scrawny back then,” I teased.

Harry groaned. “I know. It was awful. I hate most of those pictures.”

I laughed. “But we had some good times.”

He nodded, a warmth in his expression. “We did.” Then, after a pause—“Why don’t you charm it now?”

“Then you watch the food,” I told Harry, already heading toward my room and leaving him with a fully loaded stovetop.

Inside, I unlocked the drawer beside my bed and pulled out the photo album. Just as I had done with the framed picture on my nightstand, I charmed the photos so they would remain stationary. After placing it gently on the kitchen table, I returned to help Harry with breakfast.

By the time the smell of pancakes and bacon filled the air, the house slowly began to stir. It was just past eight. I set up a fresh pot of coffee and put the kettle on again while Harry finished plating the food. As he carried the platters to the table, I grabbed condiments from the fridge, then made my way downstairs to my office.

In the small storage room off my office sat Lyra’s old high chair. A quick cleaning charm later, I brought it back upstairs. By the time I returned, Harry had managed to wrangle the kids into the kitchen. He settled James in the chair while I served Lyra her breakfast.

“Mummy, why is that book on the table?” Lyra asked between sticky bites of pancake.

I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel. “Lyr, do you remember what you asked me yesterday morning? About Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron?”

She nodded, chewing another piece of pancake. I flipped the album open to a picture from Harry’s birthday gala—the one where I was blissfully unaware that I was already carrying Lyra.

Lyra frowned at the image, glancing between the picture and Harry, who was helping James with his breakfast. Then, she reached out to turn the page back.

“Not with sticky hands, love,” I said gently, flipping it for her.

She studied a few more pictures, her puzzled expression deepening before she looked straight at Harry.

“You look like my Uncle Harry.”

I stifled a laugh. Harry looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Lyr, honey, that is your Uncle Harry.” I kept my voice soft. “Mummy just didn’t know Auntie Katie was engaged to Uncle Harry’s cousin.”

Her eyes went wide. “Mummy, I want Uncle Harry to tell me the chess story!” she blurted.

Harry shot me a look. “You told her that story?”

“I’ve told her all our stories,” I admitted with a grin. “Though you do tell the chess story better.”

“Lyra, sweetheart, we can talk about stories later,” I added gently.

She pouted but didn’t argue. James, oblivious, focused on his food.

Louis and Audrey were the first to wander into the kitchen. After making sure Lyra was settled, I stood to greet them, already pouring coffee into mugs.

“Sit, eat,” I said as I set the mugs down.

Audrey laughed. “Maia, you don’t have to wait on us.”

“I want to,” I insisted with a smile.

“Have Katie and Alex made appearances yet?” Audrey asked as she and Louis began eating.

“Not yet, but Lee was going to wake Kate about an hour ago.”

As if on cue, Alex walked in, made herself a cup of coffee, and sat down.

“We figured something out last night.”

Audrey raised a brow. “Did you hole yourself up in your office again after we got home?”

I laughed. “Not this time.”

Louis leaned forward. “So what happened?”

I glanced at Harry before answering. “When I helped Harry settle James last night, he saw the photo I keep on my nightstand. With everything going on yesterday, I hadn’t even recognized him. But Harry is—was—my best friend from high school. I haven’t seen him since before Lyra was born.”

Louis looked stunned. “You’re joking.”

“She’s not,” Harry chimed in.

I passed the photo album across the table.

“Do we get to see young Maia?” Alex asked, scooting closer to Audrey.

Most of the pictures were from Hogsmeade, the Burrow, or down by the Black Lake. I had removed anything overtly magical—my more wizarding-centric photos, like the boys playing Quidditch at the Burrow, were safely tucked away with my letters.

I smirked. “Young Maia with bad teeth and bushy hair.”

Alex grinned. “Lyra got her father’s teeth and smooth hair, at least.”

“She got your brains, though,” Alex pointed out.

Before I could respond, Kate and Dudley entered the kitchen. Kate immediately came over and hugged me.

“I’m so happy for you, Maia. I know how much you missed him.”

I squeezed her back. “Thanks, Katie. We didn’t want to steal your thunder, but we also didn’t want to make things awkward.”

Kate waved me off. “Don’t even worry about it.”

The conversation slowly shifted back to wedding planning. Kate had scheduled a few venue tours for the weekend, and originally, Harry had planned to tag along—mostly to avoid being left with total strangers. Now, he had options.

“Why don’t the four of you just go? Bringing James will be a pain in the arse,” he said. “Besides, I’m sure Maia won’t mind spending the day with us.”

Kate hesitated, glancing at me as if asking for permission.

I smiled. “Katie, go enjoy this time with your parents and your fiancé. I can handle Harry and James.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll even take care of James’ car seat so Harry and I can get out of the house.”

Dudley whispered something to Katie, and she gave a tentative nod.

“At least let us clean up breakfast before we go.”

I sighed dramatically. “Fine. I guess I can live with that.”

Smirking, I moved toward the door, pulling on my shoes. Lyra was perfectly happy in the house, especially when we were all home. She knew the unspoken rules—if Alex or Katie had their doors closed, she wasn’t allowed in. Otherwise, the house was fair game.

As I stepped outside into the sunshine, I could hear Lyra’s voice chattering away behind me. For the first time in years, I felt a little lighter. We were going to have a good day with my best friend.

Chapter Text

January 2004

It was quite once Alex headed for her typical Saturday plans and Katie, Dudley and her parents headed off to tour wedding venues. I looked at Harry as we watched the kids play. 

“If you’re feeling jet lagged, we can spend the day here or we can take the kids to the Children’s museum.” I offered

“The children’s museum sounds great.” Harry replied. 

“Then let’s head out. Why don’t you grab James a change of clothes just in case” I said standing up. “Lyra, grab your shoes sweetie.” 

I made my way back to the kitchen, filling up water bottles and grabbing a few snacks. I grabbed my go bag that had a change of clothes for Lyra and added the snacks and waters as well as a change of clothes for James when Harry returned. After I made sure we had a stroller, we were off. 

The children’s museum was loud and chaotic as it always was on a Saturday, the sounds of excited chatter and hurried footsteps echoing off the high ceilings. But the stations were relatively calm. Harry and I were able to hang back a little as the kids played.

James was enamored with Lyra, trying to keep up with every step. I never imagined Lyra as a big cousin, at least not until she got to Hogwarts. She was so sweet, slowing her pace so James could keep up. Every time Harry or I were about to intervene to help James, Lyra was already leaning over, offering her hand, or demonstrating how to do something with endless patience. It made my mum heart swell to see.

We watched the kids in comfortable silence for a bit before Harry spoke.

“Ginny would never do this,” he said quietly.

I looked over, giving him the option to continue.

“Ginny only seemed to be interested in James on holidays or at press conferences. At home, he seemed to annoy her more than anything. When he was a newborn, I did every nighttime feeding, every diaper change. Ginny didn’t even wake up. Molly was horrified when Ginny decided to formula-feed, but I was relieved—it meant at least I wasn’t waiting on her to help.”

“That’s really hard, Harry. I know how taxing it is to take care of a newborn with minimal support.”

“It was more frustrating than anything. During the off-season, Ginny had team training three times a week, but the rest of the time, it was all fun and games for her. I still dropped James off with Molly every day, and Ginny couldn’t even be bothered to care for him if I got called in at night—she’d just head to the Burrow so Molly could fuss over him. It felt like she wanted a family for the media attention, not because she actually wanted to be a mother. It almost ruined my career, Mione.”

I felt a pang of sadness for him. I had always worried Ginny saw him as The Chosen One more than just Harry, but I hadn’t expected this.

“I just wanted a family, like the one I never got. In hindsight, Ginny wanted me for my name, not for me,” Harry said softly.

I didn’t want to say I told you so . I had run before I had the chance. I always had a feeling about Ginny and her ultimate goals. She had loved Harry, once, but had she ever loved the life that came with him?

Harry turned to me then, something weighing on his mind.

“Did Malfoy love you?”

I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t expected that.

"I like to believe he did. He was different with me, Harry—witty, charming, but also… just good. He was so kind and generous in ways most people never saw. I’d mention a rare book in passing, and a few days later, it would just… appear in my bag." I paused for a moment before continuing. 

“That donation he made right after the war? That wasn’t his lawyers trying to salvage his reputation. It was all him. I was in almost every meeting with his legal team, and trust me, they didn’t care about redemption. They were focused on keeping him out of prison.”

Harry was quiet for a long moment. “Would you have married him if he asked?”

I hesitated. The truth sat heavy on my tongue, but saying it out loud made it real.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “After his trial, it felt like there was a chance for us. We couldn’t be together openly, not yet, but if we waited—if we let the world move on—maybe.”

I looked at Harry. “You and Ron weren’t in a headspace to even consider Draco and me. You lost your minds when I testified for him.”

Before Harry could respond, a splash of water caught my eye.

“James, no—”

I jumped up, but it was too late. James had tipped a full cup of water over Lyra’s shirt at the water table. Harry was there in an instant, gently taking the cup from James’ hands. To Lyra’s credit, she didn’t react until I was right next to her.

That was what struck me most.

“Mummy, my clothes are wet. I don’t like it.” Tears welled in her eyes.

She wasn’t a child prone to tantrums, but she was four, and sudden discomfort—especially being cold and wet—usually sent her into a spiral. I had expected her to cry the moment it happened. Instead, she had frozen, waiting for me.

It wasn’t until I was there, kneeling beside her, that the first tear spilled over.

I smoothed my hands over her damp curls. “Are you all done with the water table, Star? I only have one change of clothes.”

Lyra nodded. I did a quick once-over of James as Harry watched.

“Do you want James’ extra clothes while I get Lyra changed?” I asked Harry. “We can head to a room where they’ll stay dry after.”

He nodded, taking the extra outfit from me as I guided Lyra toward the bathrooms.

As I helped her change, Lyra’s little voice broke the silence.

“Mummy, Jamie didn’t mean it. He’s too little.”

I smiled.  “I know, Star. James isn’t in trouble.”

Lyra was a remarkably well-adjusted child, especially for being raised by college students . I wasn’t sure if it was her natural temperament or the way she had always been surrounded by people who adored her. But still, I had expected a stronger reaction.

She had frozen instead of reacting. Was she used to waiting for me to solve things?

Once she was dry, I crouched down. “Where would you like to go next?”

“Grocery store!” Lyra yelled.

I laughed. Of course. She could spend hours stocking the little shelves if I let her.

“Then let’s find Uncle Harry and head over.”

We eventually got the kids settled in the grocery store exhibit. Lyra was instructing James on how to properly stock the shelves. She really had the patience of a saint, helping him every time he knocked down the cardboard food. 

“Does Malfoy know about her?”

I stilled, my fingers curling around the handle of the stroller.

“No. I went over to tell him the day I found out, and he told me he was engaged.” My voice was softer now.

Harry exhaled sharply. “He was the head of his house. He couldn’t get out of the contract?”

“He had multiple teams of lawyers review it, but Lucius was nothing if not thorough about what he wanted.” Bitterness crept into my voice, uninvited.

Harry shook his head. “How did I miss it?”

Because I wanted you to.

“Because I intended for you to miss it,” I said simply. “Every time Ron came over, I was at Draco’s. If Remus and Teddy stopped by, after a little while, I left for Draco’s. It became like a second home to me.”

Harry turned to me sharply. “You went back to the manor?”

I shook my head. “No. Once Draco took control of the assets, he moved into Amwell Court. It was ten minutes from Grimmauld Place.”

Harry looked away, processing, remembering. And I let him.

After a few minutes passed, Harry looked at me, his expression unreadable.

“I wish you told me, Mione,” he whispered.

I swallowed hard. “Like I told Dudley, I was young and stupid.” I hesitated before continuing, my voice quiet but firm. “It’s not my place to speak on the terms of Draco’s contract, but it would have caused a media circus—bigger than anything we’d already been through. It would have been one of the biggest scandals in modern history.” 

Harry shook his head. “But why not tell me ?”

“Because telling you would’ve meant staying.” The words left my lips before I could soften them.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past settle on my chest. “Harry, I was scared, anxious, exhausted, and wildly unsure of myself. The only thing I was certain about was wanting Lyra in my life. The letters on my desk were an easy escape. Every university McGonagall had sent an application to on my behalf had accepted me. Boston was just the farthest away.”

I turned my attention to Lyra and James, my heart twisting. If I had stayed, Lyra could have had this from the beginning—her uncle, a family that wasn’t just the two of us. She was so much like me in personality, but I had a sneaking suspicion that she’d fall in love with flying the moment someone showed her how. Harry would have already taken her on a broom by now. Draco would have too.

For the briefest moment, I imagined a different version of my life. A life where Lyra had known Harry from the start. Where she was the one holding a baby James, cooing over him, calling Harry “Uncle Harry” like it was second nature. The idea was fleeting, but the ache in my chest lingered.

“I needed to protect her, Harry,” I said finally. “There was still too much unknown. Too much instability. Draco was contractually obligated to be an act in the media circus, and I had just escaped it. You know as well as I do that there were still targets on our backs. Here, the target was minimal.”

Harry studied me carefully. I knew the questions he wanted to ask, the thoughts running through his head. Had I really been safe here? Had Boston really given me the peace I claimed?

I didn’t tell him about the grad student who had tried to blackmail me in my first year. The paranoia I still felt sometimes. The way I still checked over my shoulder even though the war had ended years ago.

“Mione,” Harry said softly, “you know I would’ve protected you.”

“I know,” I admitted, meeting his eyes. 

“But did you ever stop to think what would happen if Malfoy found out on his own?” Harry questioned

I bit my lip. “I don’t know, Harry. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

It was a lie, of course.

I had thought about it. Late at night, when Lyra was curled up in bed and the house was silent, I had imagined what it would be like to stand in front of Draco again. Would he be angry? Would he demand answers? Would he… want to be her dad?

I shook the thoughts away.

“I know it will come up faster than I’d like to consider,” I said instead. “But it’s a bridge I’ll cross when I reach it.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I still wish you trusted me enough to tell me before she was born.”

I turned back to watch the kids. “Harry, we weren’t in a place to care for each other back then.”

“You were rebuilding your relationship with Remus and Teddy. You were figuring out your career, your title, your life with Ginny. There was no room for my problems in your life.”

Harry let out a humorless laugh. “Mione, there is always room for your problems in my life. You’ve been my best friend since I was eleven. We could’ve figured it out together.” He paused, his voice dipping lower. “If you loved Malfoy, we could’ve talked about it. For heaven’s sake, I would’ve loved the reprieve from my own life to deal with yours. That’s why I went to Australia with you.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Before I could respond, Lyra and James ran up to us, hands grabbing at Harry’s.

“Uncle Harry, come play with us! We need a customer!” Lyra demanded, her voice sweet but insistent.

Harry barely had time to react before she was pulling on his left hand and James was tugging his right. I watched with a smile as they led him away.

At almost six feet tall, Harry looked ridiculous in the tiny grocery store exhibit. He ducked under the low-hanging ceiling beams, his long limbs awkwardly maneuvering through the child-sized aisles. Lyra handed him a tiny shopping basket, her expression serious as she instructed him on the proper way to “check out” groceries. James, meanwhile, was enthusiastically knocking over every display Lyra set up.

For the better part of an hour, Harry let them boss him around, playing along with every scenario they created.

Eventually, James started yawning.

“I think it may be time to go home so someone can N-A-P,” I said, shooting Harry a look. I wasn’t sure how James would react to the word, but if Lyra heard it, she would unleash the most passionate objections a four-year-old could muster.

“I think you’re right,” Harry agreed.

“Mummy, I’m not ready to go home,” Lyra whined.

“I know, Star, but James is littler than you, and it looks like he’s all done playing,” I said gently. “Maybe you and I can come back next weekend?”

She pursed her lips, thinking it over, before finally nodding.

Once Harry settled James into the stroller, we made our way out of the museum. As soon as we were in the car and on the road, both kids were asleep.

Harry was quiet for a moment before finally speaking.

“How did you build this life, Mione?”

“With the Order of Merlin money,” I said simply. “I did what I had to do to survive. Just like we did during the war.”

Harry exhaled. “Do you miss England?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “I miss the moments I lost. The ones Lyra lost. But I don’t miss being the golden girl. I don’t miss living under a microscope.” I glanced at him. “I think if I had stayed, Molly would’ve pushed me into marrying Ron. Just like she did with you and Ginny.”

Harry flinched at that.

“She was… very opinionated on the subject,” he said finally.

“I’m not trying to take a jab at you, Harry,” I reassured him. “We were eighteen, severely traumatized, and following whatever the ‘adultier’ adults in our lives told us was best. I found a mind healer when I got here, and it did wonders for me.”

I hesitated before adding, “If I had stayed in England, I don’t think I would have accomplished half of what I have. I would’ve just been someone’s wife.”

Harry looked at me, stunned for a moment.

“I don’t want to be an Auror anymore,” he confessed.

“You mentioned you were considering that last night,” I said carefully.

“I’m positive now,” he said. “I don’t know what career I want to tackle next, but I know what I want to do.”

“And what would that be?” I asked.

“I want to leave Grimmauld Place,” Harry said quietly. “I only stayed because Ginny wanted to. We fixed it up, but it still doesn’t feel like home. She liked it because it was central to the nightlife—close enough that she didn’t have to Apparate far, if at all.”

“Where will you go when you get back to England?” I asked gently. This was unexpected.

“I’ve talked about restoring Potter Manor and Godric’s Hollow since before Ginny and I got married, but she always said it was a waste of time and money. I want to fix my ancestral homes. I don’t know if I could ever live in Godric’s Hollow, but Remus said he’d help me restore it if that’s what I want.”

He paused, lost in thought.

“There’s something about Godric’s Hollow, Hermione. I went back a few years after you left, and it felt… frozen in time. The ruins of my parents’ house are still there, untouched—like a graveyard dedicated to that one night. There’s a memorial now. People come and leave flowers, but it’s not a home. It’s a relic.”

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

“But Potter Manor—that’s different. That’s where my dad grew up. When Remus and I visited, it was still intact. It had been magically sealed off for years, untouched since my grandparents died. All it really needs is a good clean and a fresh coat of paint. I want James to grow up in a real home, somewhere he can run outside without worrying about the press or dark memories lurking in the shadows.”

“Ginny seemed to care more about what she wanted than what was best for you and James,” I said softly. “Grimmauld Place holds too many painful memories for you—it makes sense to want a fresh start. I can’t wait to see Potter Manor when Lyra and I inevitably return to England.”

Harry gave me a small smile.

“I missed this, Mione—talking to my best friend. Ron’s great, but he’s just… gliding through life. He works in the Auror office with me, but he doesn’t have ambitions outside of it. I miss real conversations.”

“I do too, Harry. I’m glad to have you back.”

For the first time in six years, I could talk freely without concealing my magic or hiding parts of myself.

Chapter Text

July 23rd, 1998

Tonight was the Order of Merlin induction ceremony. The entire Wizengamot would be in attendance to see Harry, Ron, and I honored—First Class. The monetary reward was significant. For Harry, it was barely a ripple in his vault at Gringotts, but for Ron and me, it meant security. Stability. A future neither of us had ever dared to dream of.

I was fastening my earrings when a gentle tap at the window caught my attention. Hunter. I smiled as I grabbed an owl treat and unlatched the window, accepting the letter from his beak.

H,

Amwell Court will gladly receive you after tonight’s festivities. Kindly confirm with Hunter.

-D

I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at my lips. Harry likely wouldn’t notice my absence until morning at the earliest.

D,

I would love to greet Amwell Court once again. Please watch for my signal.

-H

I sent the note back with Hunter and turned toward my dress, exhaling. The long sleeves would take some getting used to—especially in the height of summer. The Healers had been clear — the scar on my arm would never fully fade. I could glamor it, but no spell could completely mask the angry, raised lines, at least not yet. Even now, under the soft candlelight, the memory of Bellatrix’s cruelty lingered. I traced it absentmindedly, the phantom pain ebbing with time but never truly gone.

I stared at the maroon fabric for a moment before slipping it on. The sleeves draped over my arms before cinching at my wrists. The slit up my thigh? Well, that would drive Draco wild, I was sure.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

"Come in!" I called.

Harry stepped inside, his tie in hand. "You look fantastic, Mione. Any chance you can help me with this?"

I laughed, shaking my head as I took it from him. "You really need to learn how to do this yourself."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, grinning.

As I fastened the tie, I gave him a once-over, noticing every wrinkle in his dress robes. With a flick of my wand, they straightened instantly.

"Better," I said, tucking my wand into its holster.

"Thanks, Mum," Harry teased. Then, more seriously, "How are you feeling about tonight?"

I hesitated. "Nervous. We haven’t been in a crowd like this since Malfoy’s trial. And back then, at least there were Aurors everywhere. I felt safer."

Harry’s expression darkened. "We never did talk about that."

I glanced up.

"Why’d you do it, Hermione?" Harry's voice was low, though the steel beneath his words was undeniable. "That ferret should be sitting in a cell in Azkaban — not parading around as Lord Malfoy."

I exhaled. "Harry, you saw the letter just like I did. He asked for help. Dumbledore turned him away. He was just a kid—no different than us."

"It is different," Harry insisted. "His parents encouraged it."

"And that’s almost worse," I countered. "You didn’t have parents pushing you into Dumbledore’s war. Malfoy had a father forcing him into Voldemort’s war. He did everything he could to stay as far from it as possible. And the people who could have saved him— should have saved him—let him down. He deserves a fighting chance, just like us."

Harry’s jaw tightened. "He’s still a Death Eater, Hermione. I don’t understand how he got to keep his Wizengamot seat. How he gets to walk free."

"Harry, he was just a kid. Leave it." My voice was firm, though my chest clenched at the thought of telling him how I truly felt about Draco.

Harry’s anger toward him was deeply ingrained, and I understood why. I really did. But it was so easy to label Draco a Death Eater who should be left to rot in Azkaban—it was much harder to see him as the terrified teenager he had been.

"I still don’t like him, Mione." Harry grumbled, a scowl etched across his face.

"You don’t have to like him, Harry James," I chastised, arms crossing over my chest. "But you will be respectful."

Harry muttered something under his breath, but I pressed on.

"You’re Lord Potter and Lord Black now," I reminded him sharply. "You have a responsibility to respect every member of the Wizengamot— even Lord Malfoy."

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, I changed the subject. "Is Ron meeting us there, or are we heading over together?"

"Ron’s meeting us there," Harry admitted. "Still not thrilled with you."

"He can be pissed all he wants," I said simply, brushing past him. "I don’t regret my actions."

Harry followed me out of the room, but I could tell this conversation wasn’t over. Not really. I still had time— plenty of time—to work on getting him to see Draco the way I did.

Stepping into the Floo, I exhaled. It was going to be a long night.

The party was already in full swing by the time we arrived. The ballroom glowed with candlelight, laughter and conversation echoing off the high ceilings. The Weasley clan and Remus were already inside, lost in the sea of guests.

And somewhere in that room, I knew— Draco was there too.

We stood just beyond the entrance, instructed to wait for our formal introduction. Ron would barely look in my direction. Suddenly, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It felt like I was eleven again , standing outside the Great Hall, waiting for my Sorting.

Only this time, I knew exactly what I was walking into.

The ceremony passed in a blur—speeches, applause, flashes of cameras. As soon as we stepped off the platform, we were swarmed. Wizengamot members, Ministry officials, well-wishers, and people who just wanted to shake the Golden Trio’s hands. I did my best to smile through it all, but the moment I saw a passing waiter with a tray of champagne, I grabbed a glass without hesitation.

The next hour dissolved into polite conversation, empty congratulations, and the dull ache of smiling too much. At some point, I lost track of Ron and Harry in the crowd. It was a relief, honestly—I didn’t need another lecture about my questionable choices .

I finally managed to slip away, weaving through the throng of guests and into the quiet hallway outside the ballroom. My champagne glass had been abandoned somewhere along the way. I checked the corridor thoroughly before settling into an alcove, allowing myself one deep breath.

“Funny running into you here,” came a familiar voice from the shadows. "Silencio."

A slow smile spread across my lips. "What are you doing here?"

From the shadows, Draco emerged — the faint light from the corridor catching the sharp angles of his jaw. "Needed a minute," he drawled, his smirk curling with amusement. "I'm not exactly the Wizengamot's golden boy these days."

"They only tolerate me because I just got inducted." I huffed a quiet laugh.

"Well, lucky you." His gaze flickered over me, his smirk softening.

I tilted my head. "How much longer do you think I need to make an appearance before I can leave without another scandal?"

Draco pretended to consider it. "Two more drinks, at least," he said.

"That sounds about right." I sighed dramatically. "Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere else—preferably wrapped up at Amwell Court."

His expression darkened slightly, eyes flicking toward the ballroom doors before settling back on me. "I might make my leave in the next few minutes. I assume you’ll follow within the hour?"

"That sounds about accurate," I murmured, stepping toward him.

Draco’s fingers brushed my wrist before his hand found my waist, drawing me into his space. "You will be visiting Amwell Court this evening, correct?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

I hummed, tilting my chin up at him. "I may be persuaded. "

"Perfect," he murmured. "Because the moment you walked in, I couldn’t think about anything except tearing that dress off of you."

His lips met mine in a deep, urgent kiss, his hands tightening around my waist, and suddenly, I didn’t care if I stayed for two more drinks. As soon as we pulled apart, I took a steadying breath, my heart still racing.

"Two more drinks," I grumbled.

"Unfortunately, love," Draco murmured, brushing his lips against my ear. "Now, go make your appearance. And I’ll enjoy the view while you do."

I rolled my eyes but obeyed, stepping out of our little hideaway. As I re-entered the ballroom, I immediately snagged another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. My gaze swept the room until I spotted Remus standing near one of the large windows.

"How I would love nothing more than to run away right now," I sighed, taking a sip of champagne as I approached him.

"I can't say I envy you," Remus replied with a soft smile. "I was quite content with my own induction last week. Far less fanfare."

"You're lucky," I grumbled.

He gave me a curious look. "And how are you doing? I’ve kept up with Harry, but you, Hermione, are a hard witch to track down."

I smiled at the warmth in his voice. Remus had been making a conscious effort to step into a more parental role for Harry and, by extension, for me. I appreciated it more than I could say.

"I’m managing. Ron’s still not speaking to me, though. It’s been…challenging at times. Other times it’s a relief."

"I heard Molly was hoping you and Ron would tie the knot this summer," Remus remarked gently.

I resisted the urge to groan. "I can't do that. Ron isn’t the one for me." I hesitated, then quietly added, "My heart is already spoken for."

Remus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "By your old friend? The one you weren’t sure about meeting a few weeks ago?"

Damn his observational skills. I opened my mouth to respond, but then spotted Kingsley across the room.

"Would you look at that! I haven’t had a chance to speak with the Minister yet," I said, feigning excitement. "We’ll have to do tea soon, Remus."

He chuckled softly as I slipped away. I could feel his amused gaze lingering on me.

Draco should be proud of me. I stayed for three more drinks before making my escape. After a quick goodbye to Harry, citing a headache from all the champagne, I apparated away from the party.

The warm buzz from the champagne lingered pleasantly as I made my way through the quiet streets toward Amwell Court. The elegant townhouse stood tall against the night sky, its grand façade illuminated by street light. I knocked softly, and soon, the door swung open to reveal Draco.

He stood before me nursing a nearly empty glass of firewhiskey, still half-dressed from the evening’s festivities. His dress robes were carelessly draped over the couch, and his shirt hung open, revealing the pale skin beneath. His tie was loose around his neck, and he hadn't bothered to remove his trousers or shoes.

I arched a brow, my eyes flicking over him. "Enjoyed yourself after leaving early, did you?"

Draco smirked. "I was counting down the minutes until you showed up."

Without breaking eye contact, I plucked the glass from his hand, the amber liquid catching the light. One smooth gulp, the burn warming my chest — and I smiled.

"Thief," Draco murmured, his voice low with amusement.

I only smiled as I set the empty glass on the table. Before he could respond, I reached up to tug him into a kiss. His lips were warm, tasting of firewhiskey and something distinctly Draco . He groaned softly, his hands finding my waist, pulling me closer.

I giggled against his mouth before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Now, I believe someone mentioned tearing this dress off me."

A wicked grin spread across Draco’s face. "That I did."

His hands roamed down to my thighs, and I squeaked as he lifted me effortlessly. Our lips collided once more, and I held on tightly as he carried me up the grand staircase, disappearing into the shadows of his room.

The morning sun peeked through the heavy drapes, illuminating the room in a hazy glow. I stirred, my cheek resting against the warmth of Draco’s bare chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a grounding comfort, a reminder of the fragile peace we had carved from the wreckage of war. Carefully, I slipped from the bed, taking care not to wake him.

After pulling on my discarded dress, I padded downstairs, my fingers brushing the dark wood of the bannister. On the side table in the foyer, I found parchment and a quill. Quickly, I scribbled a note.

D,
Had to get back before Harry noticed my absence. Send word, and I will see you soon.
All my love,
H

With one last glance toward the stairs, I slipped out of Amwell Court and into the crisp morning air. The walk to Grimmauld Place was short, though the streets were still mostly deserted.

Sneaking inside, I tiptoed through the dim hallway, the house still silent. But I couldn't resist one last indulgence. Draco’s Quidditch jersey, which I had shamelessly stolen, was slung over my arm. I tugged it on, relishing the familiar scent that clung to the fabric.

Collapsing into my bed, I smiled against the pillow. The warmth of Draco’s presence lingered with me, and I drifted off into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

January 2004

When Katie and Dudley returned that afternoon, there was a somber feeling in the air. Dudley immediately pulled Harry aside, guiding him to the garden, while Katie made a beeline for me. Lyra and James were still sleeping from the morning's adventures.

"Hey, Kate, what’s wrong?" I asked, guiding her to the couch as a wave of worry swept over me.

“That was so much harder on Dudley than we anticipated. He wishes we had involved his parents. I don’t know how to fix this, Maia. He swore up and down that he didn’t want to talk to them or have them involved in the wedding,” Katie confessed, her voice strained.

I knew Katie hadn’t forced the matter and had followed Dudley's lead regarding his parents, but now she was caught in the middle. If Harry and Dudley were this close, I could only assume Dudley and Harry had made amends—and that involved Dudley acknowledging the hell his parents put Harry through. I knew Vernon and Petunia Dursley were not kind people by any means, but I also knew they cared deeply for Dudley.

“What do you see as a resolution? Inviting them to the wedding? Moving it to England?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I never even got to meet them, Maia,” Katie sighed. “Dudley said they were really horrible to Harry, and he didn’t know how to process his relationship with them, so I never pushed it.”

“You have time, Katie. You and Dudley weren’t planning anything until late summer anyway,” I said. “Did you find a venue?”

“We fell in love with the Crane Estate—almost put a deposit down—when Dudley broke down. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt Lee,” Katie admitted, her hands wringing together.

“Let him talk it through with Harry, and we’ll come up with a plan. The two options I see are: one, you meet them soon and decide whether you want to build that relationship; or two, extend an olive branch just for the wedding. If they come, they come. If they don’t, well… there’s your answer. Katie, you’ve got two amazing parents in your corner, and they love collecting strays. Make sure Lee knows that,” I said with a smile, pulling her into a hug. I felt Katie relax for the first time since she’d walked in.

“Why do you always know what to say, Maia?” Katie laughed.

“Just do, I guess,” I smiled.

Harry and Dudley came back inside soon after. Dudley seemed calmer, his shoulders less tense.

“What are you thinking, Lee?” Katie asked softly.

“What are the options?” he replied.

“We can go see them or just invite them to the wedding,” Katie said. “If we go see them, we can evaluate together if we’d like a relationship with them.”

“That sounds good,” he said calmly. “I still want the wedding here. You loved that manor,” Lee added with a smile.

“I did… but we can also postpone it if you want time to figure things out with your parents,” Katie assured him.

“I’m marrying you by the end of the summer, regardless of whether they’re there or not,” Dudley said confidently.

Katie gave him a soft smile.

“Why don’t you come visit this spring?” he continued. “We can visit my parents together—and I’ll tell them about the engagement before you arrive.”

“You haven’t told them about our engagement?” Katie asked, confused.

“I haven’t spoken to them in over six months,” Dudley admitted.

Katie’s posture visibly relaxed. “How do you feel about that plan?”

She glanced at me.

“Would you come? I know I have Dudley, but I’m not ready to go alone. And you know England…” Katie trailed off, her eyes pleading.

Suddenly, all eyes were on me, and I was being forced to make a choice I didn’t think I’d have to make for years.

This weekend seemed to be full of those.

Going back to England was so much more than just letting Harry back into my world. 

It felt like the second my feet touched British soil, the Daily Prophet would have my name splashed across their front page. Was I ready for that? Ready for the world to know about my daughter? Ready for Draco to know about our daughter?

I couldn’t leave Lyra in Boston. Not unprotected. Not for an extended period of time. I’d never spent more than a night away from her. I so rarely even asked Katie or Alex to watch her so I could let off some steam.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding just as I heard a small voice from the top of the stairs call out, “Mama?”

I sprang up quickly, murmuring a quick, “Be right back,” as I made my way to the stairs. The static in my head drowned out the muffled voices of Katie, Dudley, and Harry behind me.

“Hey, baby. Have a good nap?” I asked as I scooped Lyra up and settled her on my hip.

She nodded her head sleepily against my shoulder.

I took us back to her room, where I settled into the glider, and she nestled into me. I held her close, content for as long as she needed me, but my mind was anything but still.

What would the future look like if we went to England this year? Would we ever make it back to Boston—back to this home and future I’d built for us?

Would I be pulled into a horrific custody battle with a man Lyra had never met?

How would she even react to the idea of a dad—and a brother—and a stepmother?

Could I find legal counsel strong enough to stand up to Draco Malfoy’s wealth and influence?

My mind spun through every worst-case scenario as I held my daughter tightly to my chest, like she was the only anchor I had.

I don’t know how long I sat in Lyra’s bedroom, but eventually, Harry walked in with James on his hip.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked gently.

Lyra looked up, spotted James, and quickly scrambled off my lap. She tugged on James’s leg until Harry set him down, and the two of them made their way over to the dollhouse in the corner.

“I don’t know what to do. I thought I had more time,”I whispered, my voice cracking.

Harry shut the door behind him, checking the wards and shields with a practiced flick of his wand.

“What’s the worst-case scenario, ’Mione?” he asked, voice calm but direct.

I paused, letting my mind play out all the terrible outcomes I’d already considered.

“He fights me for custody,” I whispered, my throat tight. “And I lose.”

The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

“My life—since I left—has been for her. Everything I’ve done has been for her. The thought of losing her… it terrifies me.”

“I will personally make sure that doesn’t happen,” Harry said, stepping closer. “You’re a great mother, ’Mione. Anyone who spends five minutes with you and Lyra would see that.”

I gave him a watery smile.

“Where would we even stay? It’s not like I have a home there anymore. And last I heard, Dudley was still living in a flat with his mates.”

“Katie mentioned renting a townhouse,” Harry said, “but I’m hoping to have Potter Manor ready in the next month or two. You and Lyra will always be welcome there.”

“Can Kate even stay there?” I asked, thinking of the magical protections.

“I’ll make sure she’s keyed into the wards,” Harry said. “Muggles will be able to see it if they’re keyed in. You won’t be alone.”

I took a deep breath. “Harry… I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I felt the same way the minute the divorce papers hit my desk. Look—you don’t have to go. But if you do, we’ll figure it out.”

“Is there some sort of trace on my wand?” I asked. “I’ve been considered missing for almost five years—if I step onto British soil, will they know?”

“Let me take care of that,” Harry said immediately. “I’m still an Auror. I’ve still got pull at the Ministry. I’ll make sure the Prophet stays far away from you and Lyra. You’ll be safe, and you will retain custody of your daughter, Hermione. I’m sure of it.”

I watched him, my brain still sorting through the mess of what-ifs.

“I need to do it for Katie,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said.

“Come here.”

I stood up and stepped into his arms, letting him wrap me in a tight hug. I held on longer than I should have, steadying my breathing, as my mind churned with the weight of what was to come.

After a moment, he pulled back.

“Now, let’s go downstairs and work out the logistics with Katie.”

I nodded.

The rest of Harry and Dudley’s visit passed by in a blur. All too soon, I was back at the airport, dropping them off.

“You promise you’ll write?” Harry asked as he pulled a suitcase from the trunk. “And I’ll pick you up at Heathrow at the end of April.”

“Yes, yes, I promise. We’ll come stay with you, and we will be there,” I said with a small smile. “At least weekly letters and updates—you have my word.”

We had dropped Lyra off at daycare on the way to Logan, since I had to go straight to the lab after this. Harry pulled me into a hug, tight and warm.

“Love you, ’Mione. Mean it,” he said before letting go.

“Love you too, Harry,” I said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

I gave Dudley a quick hug and dropped a kiss onto James’s forehead. Then I leaned back against my car and watched them shuffle into the airport, luggage in tow, knowing I’d be seeing them again soon.

April 27, 2004

The months seemed to pass in a blur. Between work, navigating new uncertainties about Lyra’s future, and the ever-growing pressure to return to England, I felt as though I was barely keeping up with the world around me. The discussions with Katie grew more frequent as the travel plans slowly took shape, but every conversation was tinged with the same anxiety.

Dudley’s parents had agreed to meet her, though I could tell from the tone of Katie’s voice that the atmosphere was still tense. They had been formally invited to the wedding but had yet to reply.

The thought of seeing Potter Manor—of spending time under its roof, surrounded by Harry’s protection—was both comforting and unnerving. How would I feel back in England? Would I be reminded of all the things I’d left behind?

The morning we were set to leave, I found myself unusually quiet. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact source of my unease, but as the car pulled up to Logan, I felt that familiar pull in my chest—the strange ache of stepping into the unknown. I was going back, but for the first time in five years, everything had changed. The world was different now, and I wasn’t sure how it would receive me.

The flight passed in a haze of exhaustion and nerves, my mind far more occupied than I cared to admit. My knuckles were nearly white from how tightly I’d gripped the armrests during our descent into Heathrow. The English landscape coming into view sent wave after wave of memories crashing over me—sharp, fast, and unrelenting.

Lyra sat contentedly in her car seat between Katie and me, her legs swinging as she hummed to herself. Alex was across the aisle, half-asleep with her headphones on. We were here for a week. It felt bittersweet, knowing we’d be celebrating Lyra’s birthday in England. I had been coordinating a day in Muggle London with Harry for her birthday, just like my mother had done for me, but the thought of being seen still made my heart seize.

The moment we stepped off the plane, I felt the familiar tug of the city’s energy. I was back, and it felt like an impossible contradiction—both home and foreign all at once. Lyra seemed entranced by the bustling crowds, her wide eyes taking everything in. I had to remind myself that this was still the city that had seen me leave. The city where it had all gone wrong.

It had been just shy of five years since I’d last set foot in this airport. As we deplaned, the emotions hit like a brick wall. A part of me wanted to bolt—to turn right around and buy a ticket back to Boston. Every step forward was harder than the last. This airport was too familiar. Every childhood holiday had started and ended here.

Lyra skipped beside me, totally unaware of the storm brewing inside me, as we dragged our luggage toward baggage claim.

I’d expected Harry to be waiting in the car outside. What I wasn’t prepared for was the overwhelming urge to collapse when I saw him standing by the carousel.

He was right there—just as he promised. Safe, steady, unwavering.

Lyra took off like a shot, her white-blonde curls bouncing wildly.

“Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry!” she shouted.

Harry crouched down, his face lighting up the moment he saw her—a blur of blonde barreling toward him. Lyra launched herself into his arms, and he scooped her up, spinning her around with a laugh that made something in my chest loosen.

Katie and Alex were already with them by the time I reached the carousel. I felt the weight of Harry’s presence settle around me—solid and grounding. It had been years since we’d been together in England, and the thought of facing our old lives was almost too much to bear.

Harry’s familiar voice reached me first.

“Hey, Hermione.”

“Harry,” I said, smiling for the first time that day. “Thanks for this.”

He smiled back, setting Lyra down just as the bags began to appear. Ever the gentleman, he refused to let any of us lift a finger, insisting we simply point out which ones were ours.

Once we had everything, he led us out to the parking garage where his SUV was waiting. He loaded the luggage efficiently while I focused on reinstalling Lyra’s car seat. Katie and Alex had already climbed into the back, leaving me the front seat beside Harry.

“How far of a drive is it?” Alex asked from the back.

“With traffic? Maybe thirty minutes. Dudley said he’s planning to join us after work and took the rest of the week off. My place is only about thirty minutes from his parents,” Harry replied as we merged onto the motorway. It felt odd heading away from London instead of toward it. Every trip home had always meant going into the city.

“We’re not going to Grimmauld?” I asked quietly. Last I’d heard, Potter Manor still wasn’t livable—Bill had been working on undoing years of layered warding from when it was used as a safehouse.

“I finished it this week,” Harry replied. “Used a tube of lipstick Katie accidentally dropped in Dudley’s bag to key her in. Bill showed me how to create temporary keys for you, Lyra, and Alex. I’ll explain more when we’re there.”

In the back, Katie and Alex were deep in conversation, rattling off every landmark they wanted to see. It would be Lyra and Alex’s first time here, and Katie was thrilled to play tour guide.

“Where’s Jamie?” Lyra asked suddenly.

“He’s with his gran, sweetheart,” Harry said gently. I shot him a mildly panicked look, unsure how much Lyra knew—or should know—about the Weasleys.

“I’ll run to the Burrow and grab him once you’re all settled,” he added, catching my glance.

“Does his gran help a lot?” Katie asked.

“Oh, Molly’s been a godsend. My ex-wife’s family has been incredibly supportive through the divorce. Molly’s got a full house right now—Victoire’s almost five, Dominique is three, and then there’s James and Molly, both two.”

“That woman’s running a daycare,” Alex laughed.

“She’s used to chaos,” Harry chuckled. “Had seven kids of her own, with similar age gaps if I remember right.”

“Let me guess—Victoire and Dominique are Bill and Fleur’s?” I asked. “But who had Molly?”

“Percy,” Harry said. “Fleur’s also expecting again, and so are George and Angelina.”

“Molly must be thrilled,” I said, maybe a little too coolly. I couldn’t help thinking how disappointed she must be that Ron and Charlie hadn’t started procreating yet.

“Oh, she is,” Harry said, his tone dry. “She was half-hoping I’d announce Ginny was pregnant again instead of telling her about the divorce.”

“I’m so sorry, Harry.” The words slipped out before I could think too hard. He gave a small shrug.

By then, I’d completely zoned out until I noticed we were no longer on pavement. We were winding up a dirt road toward a tall, wrought-iron gate. Beyond it, I caught my first glimpse of Potter Manor.

It was breathtaking.

The mansion stood regal and timeless, framed by blooming spring flower beds and two raised patios that hugged the front. Four white pillars enclosed a grand balcony above the double doors, the entryway tucked beneath three wide arches—the perfect place for children to dart through, playing hide and seek. The house stretched up at least three stories tall, its large windows catching the late afternoon sun and casting warm reflections across the stone.

It didn’t carry that cold, sterile feeling most historic estates did. There was something soft about it, lived-in already, even if only by magic and memory. I could see why Sirius had run here all those years ago.

Harry stepped out to open the gates, drove us through, and paused just long enough to close them again. As we curved into the horseshoe driveway, I couldn’t stop staring. The house was more beautiful than I had imagined—too beautiful, maybe, for the ghosts I was dragging behind me.

“You and Dudley are pranking us,” Katie said as she stepped outside, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “This has got to be a rental home or a bed and breakfast.”

Harry didn’t even respond—just popped the trunk and started unloading bags like it was any other Tuesday.

“No joke, ladies,” he called over his shoulder. “I inherited this when my parents passed. It's been in the family for a couple hundred years. My dad grew up here.”

I hurried to grab a few suitcases before Harry could stop me, following him into the house with my arms full.

The foyer was just as grand as the outside—maybe more so. A wide, sweeping staircase curved gracefully in front of us, its dark wood banister polished to a high shine. The walls were lined with portraits—centuries of Potters watching as we entered their home. One painting immediately caught my eye: a set of parents and two boys. The older boy’s grey eyes and sharp grin stood out, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

I stepped closer, squinting. “Is that—?”

“Sirius,” Harry said quietly, stepping beside me. “My grandparents had it commissioned the summer he moved in. Remus said it meant the world to him, being accepted like that.”

A lump formed in my throat, but I nodded. Katie had unbuckled Lyra, who now stood hand-in-hand with Alex, both of them wide-eyed as they studied the portraits like they were in a gallery.

“Harry,” Alex said, still stunned, “please. Tell us this is a prank. There’s no way this is real.”

He just laughed softly and picked up another bag. “Welcome to Potter Manor.”

Harry insisted we leave the luggage in the foyer, assuring us it would make its way to our rooms later in the day. I had a sneaking suspicion there were a few house elves quietly keeping Potter Manor running—there was no other way to maintain a home of this size and splendor.

It felt like we were walking through a historical estate, not someone’s house, as we ascended the grand staircase.

“And this is the main level,” Harry narrated casually, gesturing as we reached the landing. “Downstairs is the kitchen, informal dining, sitting room, the foyer, and a few storage spaces. On this floor we’ve got the ballroom, library, parlor, formal dining, and a butler’s pantry.”

He led us up one more flight of stairs.

“Up here are the family quarters—my study, six bedrooms,” he said, pointing to a set of doors. “That’s my room. James’ room is next to it. This one—” he opened the door across the hall, “—is a spare, but I’ve converted it for when my godson visits. He rarely uses it.”

The room was instantly warm and welcoming, decorated in deep golds with playful pops of scarlet. A small bookshelf stood in one corner, next to a toy chest. There was even a balcony that overlooked the sweeping back gardens and fields.

“The balcony door is latched at the top,” Harry added quickly. “Lyra wouldn’t be able to open it on her own.”

“Please, Mummy, please,” Lyra said, already dashing over to the bookshelf.

I smiled. “It’s okay with me, Star—but you still need to come see where Mummy’s sleeping.”

Harry guided us next to Katie and Alex’s rooms, each decorated in soft gold tones that gave them a bright, elegant warmth. Finally, we stopped at the last door on the opposite side of Harry’s.

Inside was a beautiful canopy bed draped in soft linens of emerald green and gold. It was the perfect marriage of Gryffindor and Slytherin—bold and balanced, rich without being overwhelming. The room had a balcony as well, overlooking the gardens below.

It felt… safe. Comfortable. A strange word to use in a house with this much history and weight to it—but it was the truth.

Harry led us back downstairs after the thorough tour of the house.

“Please know I do have a few staff members, so if you hear people coming and going, don’t be alarmed,” Harry said as we reached the foyer. “They should be heading home for the day soon. A house this size has a lot of nooks and staircases, so it’s easy to miss them. Feel free to explore the house and the grounds. I’m just going to pop over to my in-laws’ to pick up James. Dudley should be here soon, and then we can enjoy a nice meal together. Does anyone need anything before I head off?”

“Harry, this is so amazingly generous of you. Thank you for letting us stay in your home for the week,” Katie said warmly.

“It’s really no trouble at all. Now, please get settled and enjoy—I won’t be gone long,” Harry replied, heading down the grand staircase. “Oh, and your bags should have made it to your rooms by now, so make yourselves comfortable.”

I rolled my eyes at how casual Harry was being. I had so many questions, but mostly I hoped he had closed the Floo network. I knew he would only be gone maybe five minutes—but I expected at least fifteen to twenty to avoid raising suspicion.

Katie, Alex, and I exchanged looks as Lyra bounced back upstairs.

“I’m going to look at the books in my room, Mummy!” Lyra called as we followed her.

“Be gentle with them, remember they’re not yours,” I reminded her.

“I know,” Lyra said, darting into the room. Alex and Katie followed me into mine.

“How did he get this house, Maia—honestly?” Katie asked, wide-eyed.

“Harry’s family on his dad’s side is old money. I genuinely believe this house has been in his family for centuries. Those portraits downstairs are probably all his ancestors. I know one is his dad and grandparents,” I answered.

“What happened to them?” Katie asked.

“Car accident. Harry was a year old. He barely knew anything about his parents until he was eleven,” I said as I began unpacking.

“That’s terrible,” Alex chimed in softly.

“Harry has done well for himself. He had a good job that he recently stepped away from to figure out what he wants to do next, but he has the resources to take that time,” I said. “If you two don’t mind, I’d like to wash the airport off me.”

Katie and Alex headed to their rooms as I cast a charm to alert me if Lyra left her room or was in danger. Once that was done and I’d unpacked, I stepped into the ensuite. The marble bathroom was stunning—there was even a clawfoot tub.

Screw a shower, I thought as I began to run the bath.

I let my mind wander as I sank into the steaming water. We’d been in England just a few hours, and so far, no howlers had found me and no one had shown up at the door of Potter Manor. It felt safe. The wards were strong, and Harry had taken precautions. Lyra and I could spend the week here and be okay.

My thoughts drifted to the last few months. Harry and I had been corresponding weekly—talking about everything and nothing. His divorce from Ginny had finalized at the beginning of the month, and it had been a challenge to get Potter Manor up and running. He told me in February that Draco’s wife was in poor health, and by the end of the month, Astoria Greengrass Malfoy had passed away. At first, her cause of death hadn’t been revealed, but it was confirmed earlier this month: a hereditary blood curse in the Greengrass line had been activated during her pregnancy.

I couldn’t imagine the grief Draco must have been drowning in—handling all of that while raising a two-year-old. The photos the Prophet published of him leaving the funeral parlor had been heartbreaking. My heart went out to both him and Scorpius.

I stayed in the bath a while longer, letting the heat soak into my bones. Eventually, I cleaned up and dressed, then checked on Lyra—who was happily playing with Teddy’s toys. I smiled and gently coaxed her to come downstairs with me.

We met Alex and Katie in the hallway and made our way to the patio off the ballroom. That was where Harry, James, and Dudley found us soon after.

The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully as we caught up and enjoyed a lovely dinner in the formal dining room. Later, Harry and I put the kids to bed. After some time socializing by the fire in the sitting room, Katie, Alex, and Dudley all turned in for the night. Harry had finished keying Alex, Lyra, and me into the wards shortly after they went to bed.

“How are you feeling, Mione?” Harry asked gently.

“It feels strange,” I admitted, tucking my legs beneath me and curling into Harry’s side. “It almost feels like we’re back in the common room at school.”

We hadn’t done this often in our youth, but sometimes—when the nights got late and I was tired, when we had nothing more to say—I’d find myself curled up next to him, the way I did now.

“It was weird, the first night I stayed here. James has my dad’s old room. And you’re actually in Sirius’s old room,” Harry said softly.

“The green makes sense now,” I laughed quietly.

“How are you doing with the news about Astoria’s passing?” he asked.

“My heart breaks for Draco and Scorpius, but… I didn't know her in school,” I replied honestly.

“Malfoy’s been a mess,” Harry said. His tone was odd, but I didn’t press him.

“How are you doing—being back in England?” he asked.

“I’m scared,” I said, voice low. “It almost feels like I’m scared of my own shadow. The time you were gone to get James… I was terrified someone was going to come through the Floo.”

“I’ve locked the Floo down,” Harry reassured me. “It’ll only allow you or me through automatically—anyone else needs my authorization. There are anti-apparition wards around the property, and only you and I have permission to apparate in or out. Lyra and James’s balconies are also warded so the doors can’t be opened at all without an adult. You and Lyra are safe here, Mione. I wouldn’t have brought you here if you weren’t.”

I nodded against his shoulder, feeling a measure of comfort settle over me.

“I won’t let anything hurt you here. I promise,” he said again.

I gave him a small smile. “I know.”

Then I looked up at him, raising a brow. “Now be honest—are you using house elves?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted quickly, “but they’re free elves. Well compensated. They can leave whenever they want. They’re just under strict orders not to be seen while Katie, Alex, and Dudley are here.”

I nodded, satisfied, and leaned into his side. The fire crackled gently in front of us, warm and quiet, and I let my eyes drift closed.

Chapter Text

April 28 2004

“Hermione. Hermione, come back to me. ”

The voice cut through the darkness, blurred and distorted like it was reaching me through water. It sounded like Harry—but distant, panicked, impossibly far away.

I writhed, trying to escape the crushing weight of Bellatrix’s knee on my chest, her knife carving into my skin with gleeful precision. Pain flared— white-hot, blinding —and I screamed.

I couldn’t move. My voice was gone.

I was nineteen again and dying in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Then suddenly— a shift.

“Hermione. Wake up. It’s just a nightmare.”

The voice came closer this time—warmer, firmer. Familiar.

I felt pressure against my shoulders, a gentle shaking, insistent but not rough. The pain dulled, just enough for the cold sweat to register. My limbs felt tangled in too-heavy sheets. My throat burned from a scream I hadn’t released.

I opened my eyes with a sharp inhale, lungs fighting for air. 

Harry was above me, his hand braced against my shoulder, eyes wide and searching. His forehead was creased with worry, and his voice was low, careful, like one wrong word might shatter me completely.

“There you are, Mione,” he murmured, his other hand moving to brush damp curls away from my face. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

I couldn’t speak. I just blinked at him, trying to orient myself in time and space. My chest ached, but the pain was phantom now—a memory, not a wound.

Harry eased back, shifting against the headboard and pulling me gently into his side. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t .

I curled into him, grounding myself in the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his breath, the familiar scent of his skin. He pulled the duvet around us, one arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, the other resting lightly on my forearm.

My left arm.

I glanced down at the faint scars that ran along the curve of it. It was old now—healed over, softened by time—but some nights it burned like it was fresh.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely, wiping at the tears I hadn’t realized were still falling. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Harry pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his voice barely above a breath. “You never have to apologize for surviving.”

That did it. The knot in my chest finally loosened, just enough to let me breathe again.

“I hate that it still has that kind of hold on me,” I said quietly, curling my fingers around his shirt.

“You’ve carried it for a long time,” he said. “Too long, maybe. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

His words settled over me, soft and steady, like a balm.

The nightmares would return again—he and I both knew that. But tonight, I wasn’t alone in the dark. I had Harry, steady and warm and here.

“I meant to take a Dreamless Sleep,” I murmured, my voice a little steadier now. “Being my first night back in England and all... but the last thing I remember is falling asleep on the couch.”

“I brought you up,” Harry said. “After it was pretty clear you weren’t waking anytime soon.”

I let out a shaky breath, nestling deeper into the blankets. “I meant to ward the room too.”

“It has a sound shield,” he admitted. “But I charmed it to alert me if you needed me.”

I paused, processing that. Likely a variation of the same spell I’d put on Lyra’s room.

“I get it,” I said softly. And I did. I didn’t push.

“I still have nightmares too, Mione. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully recover from the war. But I do know we’ll make it through. And it will get easier.” He ran his hand through my hair, slow and soothing.

It felt like the tent all over again. After Ron had left. After the silence and the snow. The nights we’d whispered our way through memories and wrapped ourselves in extra blankets, occasionally— platonically —sharing a bed when the cold got too biting and our warming spells flickered.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I said again, finally releasing his shirt and reaching under the pillow for my wand. I cast a quick tempus , wincing when the numbers blinked back at me.

“3:30 a.m.,” I muttered.

This had to be the longest stretch I’d slept without Dreamless Sleep since the war. Dudley, Alex, and Katie had turned in around ten, and I must’ve dozed off shortly after.

“Don’t feel like you need to stay up with me,” I said, attempting to detangle myself. “I’ll be okay.”

Harry’s grip didn’t loosen.

“Go back to sleep, Mione,” he said, dropping a soft kiss on my head. “I’ll keep the nightmares away.”

My chest ached again—but in a different way this time. His words were so simple, so earnest. They caught me off guard.

Maybe it was a dream. Or maybe this—this warmth, this comfort, this promise —was real.

I didn’t have the energy to question it.

So I settled my head back down, the fabric of his shirt warm beneath my cheek, and let myself drift again.

When I woke up again, I was alone. A quick Tempest showed it was a bit after seven. I tried to piece together the events at 3:30, but I still wasn’t fully sure it hadn’t been a dream. My wand let off a low whine, the sound I’d charmed it to make when Lyra was awake.

I sat up and stretched, looking down at my disheveled clothes from the afternoon before. I made quick work of cleaning myself up and getting dressed before I made my way next door into Lyra’s room.

“Mummy, look at the birds outside! There’s starlings, greenfinches, and a robin!” Lyra exclaimed, her nose pressed against the balcony doors.

“Very nice, Star. Do you hear them singing?” I asked, making my way toward her, pushing the curls away from her eyes.

“A little. It would be easier if this silly door would open,” she said, reaching up and tugging fruitlessly at the balcony door.

“Step back, Star,” I said, unlocking and opening the door as she stepped toward me. Instantly, the sounds of songbirds spilled into the room. I recognized the melodies well, and a small smile graced my face. Lyra stepped out onto the balcony with me following closely behind. Her head whipped around as she tried to find all the different birds singing.

I looked out at the vast gardens and the orchard beyond. Off to the left, a modest Quidditch pitch stretched out, its hoops gleaming in the early light. My chest ached with the thought of everything Harry had missed—how he should’ve grown up here, brought James home here. Not to the cold emptiness of Grimmauld Place. Ginny had been a fool to turn this place down.

Lyra and I enjoyed the peacefulness of the balcony for a while before I gently coaxed her inside to get dressed. Settling on a jumper and jeans, Lyra attempted to bolt down the stairs. I quickly chased after her, hoping not to wake the rest of the house. I caught her as she approached the grand staircase, encouraging her to slow down as we made our way to the kitchen together.

The kitchen was warm and sun-drenched, the kind of room that made you want to linger. Harry was already at the dining table, the Daily Prophet in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. A house-elf in a pink dress zipped around the room, squeaked in surprise at Lyra’s sudden entrance, and vanished with a pop.

Harry’s head whipped up from the Prophet, eyes widening slightly.

“That was just Tilly. You can call her if you need her. I asked her to be sensitive to non-magical beings, so I think she didn’t recognize you and Lyra coming in,” he said nonchalantly.

“You best not be mad at her,” I warned.

“I’m not. She was following my instructions,” he laughed. “How did you sleep?”

“Much better, thank you,” I said, sitting next to him. Lyra climbed up on the bench on the other side of Harry. I offered her an apple as breakfast began appearing on the table—Tilly’s quiet, invisible work.

Harry passed me the Daily Prophet just as an owl began tapping at the kitchen window. He rose without a word, retrieving a handful of letters and sorting them with practiced ease—junk mail to the side, real concerns stacked neatly.
His face was unreadable as he flipped through them. He was too calm, too measured. I knew that look. He wasn’t just reading—he was bracing.

I fixed the children’s plates, busying my hands to distract my mind. The smell of warm scones and jam felt oddly grounding. When I finally sat, tea in one hand and the Prophet in the other, my eyes skimmed the page without truly seeing. I watched Harry out of the corner of my eye instead.

I recognized the handwriting even from across the table—Remus’s precise, slanted scrawl. Molly’s confident, looping script. Ron’s chaotic half-print, like he’d been writing mid-conversation.
But then one envelope stood out. My stomach flipped.

It was sharp. Elegant. Clean. Draco.

But that didn’t make sense. Why would Draco write to Harry?

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered.

My gaze snapped to him. “What’s wrong?” I asked, forcing casualness into my voice, though I felt like every word was walking a tightrope.

“Andy fell in the garden last night,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Messed up her ankle—nothing serious, just inconvenient. They’ve got her at St. Mungo’s, but she’s low on the priority list. Remus was supposed to be at the Ministry today, but now he’s got no one to watch Teddy.”

His sigh was heavier than it should’ve been. “He really doesn’t want to ask Molly. The girls overwhelm Teddy—he shuts down when they’re too loud.”

I looked at him. Not just at his words, but at his posture. His jaw was tight, shoulders rigid. There was guilt there—hesitation. He wasn’t just debating logistics. He was debating me.

If I hadn’t come back, this wouldn’t even be a question. Teddy would be here already. It wasn’t about muggles in the house. It was about secrets.

“Has he been able to control his features yet?” I asked, steadying my tone.

“He’s pretty good at it now,” Harry said, pride sneaking into his voice. “It usually only shifts when he’s overwhelmed.”

“If you think he can handle it, let him come,” I said. The words came quickly, before I could second-guess them. Before I could think about the Draco-letter again. Before I could wonder what Remus might still know—or worse, remember .

“I’d have to tell him about you,” Harry said quietly. “And Lyra.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. Invite them. We’ve probably got another hour before Katie and Alex are up. If you trust Remus to keep my secret, then I trust him too.”

Harry held my gaze. A silent pause, heavy with everything unspoken: Are you sure?
I nodded once, feeling the weight of it settle over me.

He stood. “I’ll go open the Floo.”

While he was gone, I stared at the crumbs scattered across the table. This visit, this moment—it was all more precarious than I’d let myself admit. Every choice was a thread in a web I wasn’t sure I could keep from unraveling.

“Maybe ten minutes,” Harry said, returning. “He was still getting Teddy dressed.”
He sat again, mechanically filling his plate. I doubted he tasted any of it.

He resumed opening letters, fingers pausing briefly—almost imperceptibly—over the one I thought might be from Draco. Then he moved on to the next. 

“Ron says the department feels different without me,” he said, voice distant. “I can’t say I miss it. These last few months have been slow… calm. James still spends a lot of time with Molly, but this house took everything out of me.”

He offered a crooked smile. “I even hired Neville to get the garden sorted.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I pictured Neville in muddy boots, coaxing stubborn roots to bloom. There was something healing in that image.

“Molly’s asking if James will join them today,” Harry added. Then—casually, too casually—he slid the letter I was watching to the bottom of the stack.

A pile of parchment appeared beside him and he began responding with crisp, confident strokes. The rhythm of it was familiar. Safe.

Then—the Floo flared.

He stood again, letters in hand, and disappeared toward the sitting room.

I turned to Lyra. “Honey,” I said gently, “one of Mummy’s old friends is about to visit. He’s bringing his son. I need you to be on your very best behavior, alright, star?”

She nodded, her mouth full of toast, jam smeared across her cheek.

Beside her, James gave a tiny whine. I handed him another slice without thinking. The motion was instinctive. Maternal. That realization always caught me by surprise.

I heard voices in the next room—Harry’s steady and calm. And then: Remus.

My heartbeat quickened. Old ghosts stirred just beneath the surface. This was it—the moment I had dreaded and longed for in equal measure.

A flash of purple burst into the room, stopping at the edge of the table. Wide, storm-gray eyes locked on me and Lyra. His brow furrowed.

My heart dropped. Teddy.

He was lanky and tall for seven, all knees and elbows and raw magic barely contained. His hair was defiantly violet—Tonks through and through—but those eyes … those were Remus’s. Quiet and watchful. The color of memory.

“Who are you?” he asked, no hesitation.

I opened my mouth but nothing came. My throat tightened. Lyra had stilled beside me, watching him with cautious interest. The two of them stared at each other like mirror images that hadn’t learned to reflect yet.

Then I heard the voices—Harry and Remus—rounding the corner mid-discussion.

“Teddy,” Remus said, gentle reprimand in his tone. “Uncle Harry told you to grab breakfast—why’d you stop in the middle of the kitchen?”

He looked up—and everything changed.

His voice caught. His hand reached instinctively for the table.

“It can’t be,” he whispered.

Harry, quietly, quickly,  efficiently, guided Teddy toward the table, placing a plate before him. The boy sat, still sneaking glances at me between bites.

I stood slowly. My legs felt distant, unsteady. I brushed my fingers through Lyra’s curls—she leaned into me. She didn’t understand what was happening, not fully, but she felt it.

Remus didn’t move.

“Hi, Moony,” I said softly. My voice cracked. The words were a whisper of the girl I used to be.

His expression fractured. Years of emotion flickered across his face—grief, wonder, anger, love . His hands trembled slightly before he reached for me.

He pulled me into a crushing hug. I felt his breath hitch against my shoulder.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “I thought you were hurt somewhere, or kidnapped by someone we hadn’t caught. I thought—”

He broke off, releasing me just enough to scan my face, my arms—checking for injuries like he still expected to find them. Then he pulled me close again, the way a father would.

“Ten fingers, ten toes,” I murmured, trying to lighten the weight in the room. But my voice betrayed me. It shook.

Remus laughed softly, then pulled away.

Lyra slipped down from the bench and darted to my side, wrapping her arms around my leg and peeking out cautiously.

I bent down, scooping her into my arms.

“This is Lyra,” I said, and the words caught in my throat. “My daughter.”

Remus’s eyes flicked between us. Then understanding dawned.

“This is why you left,” he said quietly. I nodded.

“I wasn’t ready. I needed to grow… to protect her.”

He nodded. “There’ll be time for questions later. Right now I’m just glad you’re safe. And she’s beautiful and healthy.”

Relief bloomed in my chest, unsteady and fragile. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“You’ll be here when I come to collect Teddy, right?” he asked lightly. “No plans for another vanishing act?”

I laughed—a real laugh, if a bit watery. “No plans to vanish.”

I turned my attention to Lyra. “Sweetheart, that’s Teddy. He’s seven. I think he’d like to be your friend.”

She nodded solemnly, sliding back into her seat and nibbling at her toast, stealing glances at the boy beside her.

Remus sat next to me, making himself a plate. He resumed chatting with Harry about Ministry nonsense. Like nothing had changed. Like everything had.

And somehow, for just a few minutes, it almost felt… normal.

Remus was gone by the time the others joined us. Harry made quick introductions and explained the situation that had brought Teddy to Potter Manor. Remus had reminded Teddy—gently but firmly—how important it was to keep his magic under control today.

Katie, Dudley, and Alex understood, though they were visibly disappointed when we sent them off without us. I had insisted Lyra would be bored at her age, and honestly, trailing three children through the city sounded like a recipe for frustration. After a brief debate, they relented, setting off to explore Buckingham Palace and the London Eye with promises to be back around dinner.

The day passed quietly. Peacefully. Lyra and Teddy got along like they’d known each other forever—thick as thieves by lunchtime. Poor James struggled to keep up as they dashed in and out of the arched entryways and wove between the columns lining the patio in a never-ending blur of hide-and-seek and tag.

It was strange, watching the three of them. The sound of laughter echoing through the Manor. Lyra had slipped into this life like she was always meant to be here.
Because she was, a quiet voice inside me whispered.

Teddy came bounding up the path toward us, flushed and breathless.
“Uncle Harry, can we please get the brooms out?”

My heart clenched. Quidditch—already?

Harry hesitated. “I don’t know, Ted. There are more kids than adults, and Aunt Mione doesn’t fly.”

“Please, Uncle Harry,” Teddy pressed. “Dad hasn’t had time lately, and Gran won’t let me fly at her house. I promise I’ll listen to all your rules.”

Harry looked at me, eyebrows raised. I felt that familiar discomfort settle in—this wasn’t my rhythm. These weren’t my routines. Teddy and Harry had a life, a pace, memories that had nothing to do with me. I didn’t feel like the one who should decide.

“Please, Aunt Mione?” Teddy turned those Remus-eyes on me, hopeful and earnest.

I hesitated, then gave a soft nod. “If Remus is okay with it... I think it would be alright.”

Teddy whooped with joy and took off toward the pitch. Lyra chased after him, curious but clearly confused.

“Remus is fine with it,” Harry said as we followed behind. “As long as an adult is present. And Teddy’s broom won’t go more than six feet off the ground—James’ stays even lower.”

Harry unlocked the shed, revealing a collection of brooms in various sizes. As he began handing them out, I discreetly charmed the ground beneath the pitch—bouncy and soft like a trampoline, just in case.

Teddy leapt onto his broom and soared up immediately, circling the pitch with easy confidence. Lyra stood frozen, awe lighting up her face as she watched him loop around. Harry helped James onto his miniature broom, and soon he was whizzing about just a few feet off the ground, giggling wildly.

“Mummy, can I do it too?” Lyra asked, eyes wide with wonder.

Panic clutched at my chest.
I hated flying. Always had. First-year flying class was as far as I’d ever gotten—except once. And now here she was, asking to leave the ground.

I glanced at Harry, silently begging for help. He caught the look immediately.

“If you’re okay staying with James, I can take her up,” he offered. His voice was calm, reassuring. “You know I’d never let her fall.”

I hesitated, torn between fear and the knowledge that saying no could plant doubt in her mind. This was a moment—a memory in the making. I couldn’t rob her of it.

“No crazy tricks, Harry James,” I warned, already moving to stand beside James. I reached out instinctively to steady him as he turned sharply on his broom.

Harry grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I watched as he knelt beside Lyra, whispering something soft I couldn’t hear. She nodded solemnly, then let him lift her onto the broom in front of him.

This was it—the moment she’d either fall in love with flying... or never want to try again.

And in the back of my mind, a guilty thought:
I took this moment from Draco.

But he wasn’t here. And I couldn’t let her be left out of this memory just because of the weight of what-ifs.

As soon as Harry kicked off the ground with Lyra trapped between his arms in front of him, I instinctively grabbed James from his broom, settling him on my hip as he whined. I didn’t trust myself to watch him and Lyra at the same time. Too many variables, too many ways to lose track.

I watched as Harry and Lyra circled—up, up towards the Quidditch goals. My heart was in my stomach as they looped around the pitch, flying at a comfortable pace as they wove up and down. Harry flew them fast and low enough for me to hear Lyra’s wild giggles. That sound alone cracked something open in my chest. My anxiety lessened in that moment, but it never left entirely. 

After what felt like a lifetime and an anxiety attack, Harry landed back on the ground. The only difference in my daughter was the wind-produced knots in her curls. Lyra was giggling wildly and begging to go again—her joy undimmed by my fear. 

Teddy landed nearby and begged for a turn to fly with Harry. Harry smiled and agreed readily, laughter softening the lines around his eyes. We spent the rest of the afternoon at the Quidditch pitch, Harry rotating the kids as he took each of them individually for rides high in the sky. It was the kind of afternoon that should’ve felt ordinary, but didn’t. It was too fragile, too precious.

 I settled on a transformed picnic blanket, watching the chaos unfold around me. James snoozed against my leg, the rhythm of his breathing grounding me.

That was where Remus found us a few hours later—Harry once again zooming through the air with Lyra, Teddy trying desperately to keep up. James was curled up on the blanket, his head in my lap, snoozing the afternoon away.. Remus sat down next to me wordlessly, his presence unintrusive, comfortable. Like slipping into an old jumper.

He watched the sky for a while before speaking.

“How are you doing, Hermione?” he asked, his voice warm and welcoming, like it had always been.

“It’s different being back,” I said, the words unraveling without resistance. “I’ve spent the last four and a half years in Boston where it was just Lyra, me, and a few Muggle friends. Seeing her fly with Harry is nerve-wracking—it almost feels wrong, but right at the same time.”

"Because it’s not the life you planned, but it’s the one that feels like home,” Remus said, not missing a beat.

I swallowed. “Exactly.”

“I feel like I don’t need to ask, but I just want to confirm. She’s Draco Malfoy’s?” There was no judgment in his voice, only quiet understanding.

“I know she’s a dead ringer for him. He is her father,” I admitted. There was no point in hiding it—not from someone like Remus.

“I had my suspicions that summer,” he said with a knowing chuckle. “You and Draco were subtle, I’ll give you that—but I do notice things.”

I smiled, remembering the games we played that summer—dodging each other at parties, stolen glances, never staying in the same conversation too long to avoid speculation. We thought we were clever. Maybe we were. But not clever enough to escape ourselves.

“I understand why you felt like you couldn’t stay,” Remus said gently. “It’s the same reason Sirius ran here all those summers ago. You felt you wouldn’t be able to live up to the expectations of Draco’s family and were trying to spare Lyra the heartache.”

“You are insanely perceptive,” I said, but my voice was softer than before.

“Am I right?” he asked, smiling.

“Pretty much spot on,” I confirmed, though the words felt heavier now, laced with guilt and truth.

“Does Draco know about her?” he asked.

I shook my head, looking out toward the sky instead of answering with words. The silence said enough.

“Are you planning to stay in England now?” he asked, not pressing, just... wondering.

“The plan is to go home on Tuesday. My best friend is marrying Dudley, so we’re here as moral support for her first time meeting Petunia and Vernon.”

“Merlin help you all,” Remus laughed.

I laughed too, the sound shaky. All my brief interactions with the Dursleys had not been pleasant by any means, but we were adults now—and Harry was no longer the scrawny, frightened boy forced into a cupboard. He was the man flying my daughter through the sky without fear.

“What was your life like in Boston?” Remus asked casually, like a father asking his daughter about college.

“I got my mastery in Potions and a bachelor’s degree in Political Science. Now I teach advanced Potions at Harvard part-time. The other part, Harvard funds my research on a non-addictive, long-term-use Dreamless Sleep,” I said.

Remus looked at me, pride etched into every line of his face.

“You’re an incredible witch, Hermione. I hope you know that,” he said, slinging an arm over my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I am so proud of everything you’ve overcome and accomplished over the years—even if we didn’t get to be a part of them.”

It felt strange to hear that, especially from someone who had once watched over us like a father. Audrey and Louis had told me they were proud of me at Katie, Alex, and I’s college graduation, but it felt different coming from Remus. Remus had seen the good, the bad, and the ugly when it came to my life. He had seen the war, the pain and what was left after. I nodded slightly, leaning into the hug.

“You were the greatest thing we lost” Remus said quietly.

I felt tears well up in my eyes, threatening to fall. Because I knew he meant it.

Chapter Text

May 1st, 2004

The next few days passed in a blur of meeting Dudley’s friends, different tourist attractions, and carefully steering clear of any places where we might run into someone from the wizarding world. Each morning, a new stack of letters arrived— some from Molly or Remus, occasionally Ron or Neville but always one in that sharp elegant script. Harry always opened them quietly, scanning the contents with unreadable expression before tucking them back into their envelopes or vanishing them altogether.

I hadn’t asked. But something told me one was always from Draco Malfoy.

And the way Harry read it—like it mattered—left me with more questions than I knew how to ask.

That morning, I was enjoying a rare moment of calm—breakfast on the back patio with Harry. The spring air was warm and gentle, and James and Lyra were chasing each other through the manicured garden in a chaotic game of tag. Their giggles echoed off the old stone, bright and sweet. It felt peaceful in a way I hadn’t expected England to feel.

Then Katie burst through the doors, wild-eyed and barefoot, with Dudley trailing behind her wearing an expression that was far too amused for whatever panic she was in.

“Maia, I need your help. I have no idea what to wear,” Katie said in a rush, practically vibrating with nerves.

Dudley snickered behind her, his hands shoved casually in his pockets.

I bit my tongue to keep from saying what I was thinking—that nothing she wore was likely to impress Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Unfortunately, for all their concern with appearances, what they hated most was anything different. Katie, mercifully, was muggle and “normal” enough by their standards. Her only offense was being American.

Instead, I offered her a reassuring smile and stood up from my chair. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

“Are you okay if I leave Lyra out here?” I asked, glancing at Harry.

He gave me a look like I’d just asked if he knew how to breathe. “It’s no problem. Go get her sorted—just remember we need to leave in an hour, and I’m taking James to Molly in a half hour.”

There was something stiff in his tone when he mentioned his former in-laws, like he wished it didn’t come down to this. Harry had made it very clear that James wouldn’t be setting foot anywhere near Vernon and Petunia. I couldn’t blame him. Some scars didn’t fade, no matter how many years passed.

Katie had already disappeared back inside, her footsteps echoing faintly up the stairs. I followed her in, brushing invisible crumbs from my pants. Upstairs, Alex was already perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, surveying the chaos of clothes Katie had thrown across every surface.

“This is worse than your third date with Dudley,” Alex said flatly. “That skype call was horrible because I was trying to study for midterms” 

Katie groaned from inside the wardrobe. “That was different. I was trying to make him fall in love with me. This is about survival.”

“Same thing,” Alex muttered, but I caught the grin she tried to hide.

“Okay,” I said, stepping into the room fully. “Let’s make a plan.”

I surveyed the chaos around the room—jeans, tee shirts, and the occasional rogue sock scattered like confetti. I moved with purpose, gathering anything too casual and dropping it onto the bed in a neat pile.

After a few minutes of sorting, I laid out two options with care: a soft green floral dress with nude heels placed just beneath the hem, and beside it, a sapphire blue pleated midi skirt paired with a short-sleeved white v-neck blouse and matching white heels.

“These are your best bets,” I said, stepping back. “Jeans are out of the question. And if I remember anything about Lee’s parents, it’s that they’re painfully traditional.”

Alex was perched near Katie’s jewelry box, rifling through it with a discerning eye. She eventually selected a pair of silver drop earrings, placing one above each outfit, then added a matching silver necklace to complete the look. With a casual toss, she flung Katie’s nude crossbody onto the bed as well.

Katie stood frozen, staring down at the outfits like they might suddenly give her answers. After a long pause, she reached for the blouse and skirt, then disappeared into the ensuite with a dramatic sigh. A few minutes later, she reemerged and tugged on the nude heels, before smoothing her skirt with a nervous gesture and settling at the vanity.

She started fussing with her hair until I stepped behind her and gently took the brush from her hand. Alex, always efficient, retrieved her eyeshadow palette and began working on Katie’s makeup with the confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times.

I plugged in the curling iron and slowly began brushing out Katie’s hair, parting it with care. When the last curl had cooled, I swept half her hair back into a soft, elegant half up twist, leaving a few strands loose to frame her face.

A knock on the door pulled us from our rhythm.

“Come in!” I called, still shaping the curls.

Harry peeked in, his expression relaxed. “Just wanted to let you know—I’m taking James to Molly’s now. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

At that exact moment, Lyra barreled into the room, her little face smudged with jam and her shirt bearing unmistakable signs of grass stains. I sighed. Thank Merlin I’d waited to put her in her dress.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, giving Harry a tired smile. “We’re almost ready.”

Then I turned to Lyra with a mock-stern look. “And you, little miss, are not meeting Petunia Dursley looking like a ragamuffin.”

She giggled, catching my hand without protest.

As I followed Harry out of the room, Lyra’s small fingers wrapped tightly in mine, I caught one last glimpse of Katie adjusting her earrings in the mirror. Her shoulders were squared now, her chin lifted just slightly.

I ushered Lyra into her room, making quick work of cleaning her face and taming her wild curls. I slipped a white bow into her hair to keep the curls out of her face before helping her change into soft pink leggings and a pink floral dress. I coaxed her into a pair of white mary janes. Leaving her with strict instructions to look at a book, I rushed into my room changing into a pink floral blouse and sage green pants, slipping on nude heels, and fixing my hair quickly. I grabbed Lyra before rushing down stairs, knowing we were dangerously close to our twenty minute limit if not over. 

As we approached the grand foyer I heard Alex, Katie, Dudley and Harry laughing. I knew we ran over time. 

“Sorry, sorry!” I called as I reached the bottom of the steps. 

“It’s okay, you're right on time, we were about to get into the car.” Katie said. She had slipped on a white spring jacket and looked much more relaxed than she had an hour ago. 

Harry glanced at his watch with mock seriousness. “Seventeen seconds to spare. You’re really cutting it close, Granger.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please, you love the drama.”

“Only when you’re not making me late – for a party I don’t want to go to” he teased, smirking as he reached over to take Lyra’s hand. “Ready, Star?”

Lyra nodded enthusiastically, and the tension in my chest loosened just a little. 

The car ride was pleasant enough. Lyra chattered away in the back seat, Katie nervously refreshed her lipstick for the third time, and Dudley tried to reassure all of us that everything would be fine. But the moment we turned onto Privet Drive, my stomach twisted.

Pulling up to Number Four was… surreal.

Harry had once told me the Dursleys moved back shortly after the war. I hadn’t believed him. Not really. Surely, after everything, they would have gone somewhere else—anywhere else.

But here it was, exactly as I remembered. Perfect hedges. Perfect curtains. The same pristine flower beds lining the walk.

Tulips bloomed brightly near the steps, and all I could imagine was a much younger Harry—bent over, covered in dirt, forced to weed and prune those same beds for hours without food, without rest, without a kind word. My fingers clenched at my sides.

Unbuckling Lyra and walking her up the front path was harder than expected. My feet dragged like I was stepping back in time. For a moment, I half expected Tonks or Mad-Eye to appear beside me, wands drawn, ready to face Death Eaters as we whisked Harry off to the safe house at Grimmauld Place.

I wasn’t sure if I was twenty-four or eighteen again.

Dudley led the way, chatting quietly with Katie and Alex. He had reassured Harry—more than once—that his parents would be civil. “They know this is important,” he’d said in the car. “They’ll behave.”

Harry hadn’t responded. He just kept driving.

Now, standing on the front step, Lyra’s small hand in mine, I held my breath as Dudley knocked.

The door opened a moment later, revealing a tall, thin woman with a neck like a crane. Petunia Dursley looked almost exactly as I remembered her from King’s Cross—all sharp angles and judgmental eyes. The only difference now was the streaks of grey threading through her dark hair.

She barely looked at her son before stepping aside and ushering us in with a muttered, “Mind the neighbors.”

Her expression twisted the second she saw Harry. And then me. Her lip curled in a look of disdain so practiced it was almost impressive.

I felt Lyra’s hand slip from mine just as we crossed the threshold. Panic flared—until I turned and saw Harry scoop her effortlessly into his arms, settling her on his hip like he’d done it a thousand times.

From the hallway, I could see Dudley, Katie, and Alex already making their way out to the back patio, laughing about something.

That’s when Petunia struck.

“You’re one of his kind, aren’t you?” she sneered, eyes locked on me like I was something unclean. Then her gaze dropped to Lyra, and she added with a sneer, “Another one of your bastard children, I suppose. Just as much trouble as you were.”

Time froze.

Lyra blinked at her, thankfully uncomprehending.

Harry turned slowly.

The air in the hallway seemed to chill.

He passed Lyra to me, his jaw set, every line of his body tense as he stepped between us.

“If it were up to me,” he said, voice low and deadly calm, “Hermione and her daughter wouldn’t be within a hundred miles of this house. But we came out of respect for your son and daughter-in law. Not for you.”

Petunia opened her mouth—but Harry wasn’t finished.

“Don’t you ever speak to her like that again. And don’t you ever speak about her child like that.” He took a slow step forward, looming over her. “You may have spent years pretending you were better than the rest of us, but I grew up in this house. I know exactly what you are. And I will not let you lay a finger—verbal or otherwise—on her or that little girl.”

He paused. The silence was thick, pulsing with restrained fury.

“If you even think about opening your mouth again, I’ll tell Katie exactly what kind of people raised her fiancé. I’ll tell the neighbors. The church. Hell, I’ll write to the Prophet and the BBC.”

Petunia paled. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out.

Harry leaned in just enough. “Make sure your whale of a husband understands that too.”

Then, without another word, he turned, slid an arm around my waist, and gently steered us toward the back patio.

My heart was pounding. I clutched Lyra closer as we moved through the house, and caught one last glimpse of Petunia—standing stiff and silent in the entryway, utterly stunned.

“I take it that went well,” I murmured as the patio door clicked shut behind us.

Harry exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding from his frame. “That was me being polite.”

We slowly made our way over to the garden, where Alex, Dudley, and Katie were already seated at a large wrought-iron table with Vernon. The hedges were manicured to perfection—of course—and a lace tablecloth fluttered under a pitcher of lemonade and delicate china that likely hadn’t been used in years.

After a few minutes, Petunia emerged from the kitchen carrying a fresh tray of cookies, her movements stiff, her smile tighter than ever. Her eyes flicked from Harry to me, then quickly to Lyra, narrowing slightly.

Dudley, ever the diplomat, stood and made formal introductions. The afternoon settled into a strained rhythm of polite conversation, the kind where every word felt like it was being weighed and measured.

Lyra, ever observant, grew bored of adult chatter and rotated between laps—starting with Harry, then Katie, occasionally settling beside Alex or me, depending on whose snack plate was most interesting.

It wasn’t until she nestled into Katie’s lap with a yawn that Petunia spoke again, her tone syrupy sweet.

“She seems very fond of you,” she said, eyeing Katie with forced interest. “Are you and my Diddy-kins hoping to have one of your own soon?”

“Mother,” Dudley muttered under his breath, “please stop calling me that.”

Katie, to her credit, didn’t even blink. “Maybe one day,” she replied smoothly. “Dudley and I are focused on our careers right now. We’d like to buy a home first, settle a bit.”

“At least someone here is practical,” Vernon mumbled behind his glass. Petunia shot him a sharp glance, clearly nervous.

Harry caught my eye across the table. I gave him a subtle shake of my head—don’t rise to it.

“And what is it that you do, Kaitlyn?” Petunia asked, her tone bright but her eyes calculating. I blinked at the name—Katie hated her full name.

“I teach third grade back in the States. And I’m currently finishing my master’s in education,” Katie said with a warm smile, entirely unbothered.

Petunia’s lips twitched. “Well, once you start a family, you may find that a career isn’t particularly practical. I certainly couldn’t have managed a household with two boys, a husband and a job.”

“It’s very possible to be both,” Katie said calmly. “Hermione’s a great example. She completed a double major in Chemistry and Political Science while raising Lyra, and now she teaches at Harvard.”

Katie turned to me. “What’s the equivalent here—Oxford or Cambridge?”

I cleared my throat, feeling every eye shift toward me. “Either, really. It was difficult choosing between the three when I was offered admission.”

Petunia’s expression twisted into a strange mix of confusion and disdain, like I’d spoken another language—or something worse.

“Kaitlyn,” she said again, shifting back into her falsely sweet register, “you’ll have a successful husband to care for you. Dudley will make sure you and your future children are taken care of—just like his father did.”

Harry snorted under his breath. “Yeah, Vernon was a real gem.”

I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing. Petunia stiffened.

Katie, unfazed, offered a diplomatic smile. “Dudley is wonderful, and I’m sure he’ll be successful in whatever path he chooses. What I love most about him is how we support each other. I think I’d go a bit stir-crazy staying home all the time.”

Dudley gave his mother a look that said plainly: Drop it.

Vernon cleared his throat. “Dudley, my boy, I’ll ring Mr. Davies tomorrow—he’ll be thrilled to help you and Kaitlyn find your first home. Lovely neighborhood is being built near the golf club.”

“Actually, Dad,” Dudley said, his voice calm but firm, “we’re still figuring that out. I’ve been talking to some firms in Boston, and Katie’s looking into transferring her teaching license to England. We’ll decide soon.”

That did the trick. Vernon’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and for once, he stayed silent.

It wasn’t long before we wrapped up at Privet Drive. Harry, Alex, and I made polite excuses while Dudley and Katie lingered to say their goodbyes.

As I clipped Lyra into her car seat, Alex leaned against the door and asked under her breath, “Maia, be real with me—how did that go?”

Harry let out a short laugh as he slid into the driver’s seat. “I haven’t seen Petunia that fake since my fifth-year parent-teacher conference.”

I raised a brow. “You had a parent-teacher conference? That she actually attended?”

“Once. She brought biscuits to distract the teacher from asking why I never turned in homework and why I ran away from all the other kids” Harry deadpanned, flicking the car on. The car was too pristine to be his usual—it had to be a rental or something brand new.

Dudley and Katie climbed in, and soon we were driving away from Privet Drive, that perfect little hell of a street fading behind us.

“If I never see that house again, I’ll die happy,” I muttered.

“I agree with you there,” Harry said with a sigh of relief.

“I mean… it could’ve gone worse,” Dudley offered, ever the peacemaker.

Harry caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Do you want the real answer, Dud? Or the polite company version?”

Dudley narrowed his eyes. “Harry, what did you do?”

Harry gave an exaggerated shrug. “Oh, you know. Dear old Aunt Petunia may or may not have called Lyra a bastard , and I may or may not have threatened to write a memoir about my childhood, pin copies to every door on Privet Drive, sell the rights to the BBC, and top it all off with a dramatic stage adaptation for Katie’s benefit.”

Dudley choked on a laugh. “You did not .”

Katie’s head whipped toward me. “Wait, is that why she came outside looking like she’d seen the Grim Reaper?”

“Petunia pushed all the usual buttons,” I said dryly. “But honestly, it’s a hell of a lot better than the nuclear arsenal she and Vernon would’ve launched if Harry hadn’t stepped in.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, though there was something in his voice—tired, old, too knowing. “I meant every word.”

Dudley didn’t argue. He just nodded, quietly. “Thanks.”

For a moment, the car settled into silence. Lyra fell asleep shortly after we had pulled away from Privet drive and I was thankful for that. Outside, the streets of Little Whinging blurred past in neat rows of sameness. Inside, the air was lighter—tense, but no longer suffocating.

And just like that, Privet Drive was in the rearview mirror—literally and figuratively.

After we arrived back at Potter Manor, Dudley, Alex, and Katie left almost immediately for the West End. Katie had roped Dudley into seeing Mamma Mia! with her and Alex—a choice that still made Harry snort as we stepped inside.

“I swear he’s going to be humming ABBA for the next week,” Harry muttered, shaking his head fondly.

After settling Lyra into bed, I came downstairs to find him waiting in the sitting room. The fire was low, warm, and comforting. I kicked off my heels and curled up on the couch with a long, exhausted groan.

“When do you have to pick up James?” I asked, stretching out my legs.

“I’ll go soon. I want him home in time for supper,” Harry said, settling into the armchair across from me. “How are you doing? Petunia wasn’t exactly… subtle.”

“I’m used to the single mum commentary,” I said with a sigh. “It’s always some version of ‘poor child, must be so hard on her.’” I waved my hand dismissively. “But how are you ? That wasn’t exactly a casual drop-in visit.”

Harry leaned back, arms crossed, his expression tight but thoughtful. “Honestly? It was… kind of cathartic. Telling her off. Watching her squirm.” He gave a dry laugh. “Katie held it together better than I expected. Petunia really went for it.”

I nodded in agreement, hugging a pillow to my chest. “You did well. You didn’t lose your temper. Not really.”

“I don’t like thinking about my childhood,” he said after a beat. “But it makes me a better father to James. At least, I hope it does.”

“You are a wonderful father, Harry. Ginny was a fool for not seeing that,” I said quietly.

Before he could respond, Tilly popped into the room, clutching a parchment envelope.

“Master Harry, this came while you were away,” she said, holding it out to him. Harry took the letter, instantly recognizing Molly’s familiar looping handwriting.

“Thanks, Tilly,” he said, already breaking the wax seal. She vanished with a soft pop.

Harry’s brow furrowed as he scanned the parchment. “Bollocks,” he muttered under his breath.

My heart jumped. “What’s wrong? Is James alright?”

Harry stood abruptly, glancing at the clock on the wall. “You’ve got to go—hide—something.”

“Harry,” I said sharply, standing now too, panic rising. “What is happening?”

“Molly decided I needed a break,” he said, holding up the letter, “so she’s bringing James home early. As in, now .”

And before I could move, before I could even think , the Floo flared green, and I heard the unmistakable sound of a child’s laughter—innocent, high-pitched, and far too close.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Because standing in the fireplace, soot-dusted from the Floo and blinking up at us… was James.

And behind him, stepping into the room like a ghost from a life I’d left behind, was Molly Weasley.

“Really, Harry, you’ve got to start taking better care of yourself,” Molly scolded, brushing soot from her shawl without glancing up. “I can pick up or drop off James once in a while—it’s no trouble at all.”

She was halfway through dusting off her robes when James darted forward like a shot, launching himself into my legs with the full force of a toddler missile.

“Where is Lala?” he asked, his little hands gripping my trousers, big green eyes looking up at me in innocent expectation.

I froze. The air thickened around us. My voice caught, the answer lodged somewhere in my throat.

“My word, Harry,” Molly continued with a sigh, finally dusting her hands. “What on earth is a Lala ? He’s been asking for it all day.”

Then her eyes lifted—first to Harry, then scanning the room, looking for James. But she didn’t find him. She found me. And everything in her expression changed in an instant.

Recognition. Shock. 

I could almost hear the cogs turning in her head.

I thought the Floo had been locked. Harry said only he and I could come through unannounced. But then my mind snapped back to the conversation I once had with Draco about ancient family magic.

James wasn’t just Harry’s son—he was Heir to Potter Manor. The house would always recognize him, always let him through regardless of what wards were on the floo or anti-apparition wards in place. It had let Molly in with him because she was escorting family.

Of course it had.

My hands settled on James’ small shoulders, grounding myself in the moment. Across from me, Molly’s gaze didn’t waver. We were locked in a quiet standoff, everything unsaid hanging between us like smoke.

“Where is Lala?” James repeated, more insistent now, tugging on my sleeve.

No one moved.

And then—James bolted.

The spell broke. Harry exhaled, shoulders snapping out of their rigid stance as he turned sharply.

“Tilly!” His voice was low but urgent.

The elf popped into the room instantly, eyes wide.

“Follow James. Don’t let him get into anything,” Harry instructed.

“Yes, Master Harry,” she replied with a quick nod, disappearing again with a soft pop .

“Molly,” Harry began, his voice tight with emotion. “Please, just… sit.”

But she was already moving—stumbling more than walking—toward the nearest armchair by the fireplace. Her hands trembled as she sank into it, as if her body had finally caught up with the weight of recognition.

“After all these years…” she whispered. Her voice cracked like a dry branch.

She turned her face fully toward me, and for a moment, I saw her not as the fierce matriarch of the Burrow—but as a mother. A mother grieving a child she thought she’d lost.

“Is that really you, Hermione?”

I wanted to speak. I tried to speak. But nothing came. My voice remained locked behind the panic swelling in my chest. The silence stretched between us until Harry answered for me.

“It’s her, Molly,” he said softly.

The words hung in the air like smoke.

I hadn’t planned for this.

I knew the risks, coming back. Knew it might not stay quiet forever. But after how carefully we’d orchestrated the trip—after the quiet days, the warmth, the slow, controlled reintegration—it felt like the ground had disappeared beneath me.

Remus had been a controlled decision. Even the wards around Potter Manor had made me feel, if not invincible, then protected.

But this? Molly, unannounced, piercing straight through the shield of safety we had built?

This was a curveball I hadn’t braced for.

I felt Harry step closer, his hand resting on the small of my back. His presence steadied me—barely.

“Do you want me to call Arthur and Ron over?” he murmured, low and careful. “It might be easier to say it once.”

I nodded, jaw tight, every muscle coiled like I might bolt. My hands curled into fists at my sides as I gripped for something that wasn’t there.

“Right,” Harry said, his voice taking on a calm, practiced tone. “Molly, why don’t we wait until Arthur and Ron get here? Pip’s started dinner—we can talk through everything then.”

Molly didn’t speak, but she nodded faintly, her eyes never leaving mine.

I didn’t move.

Because even as Harry turned to the Floo and tossed in the powder, my mind was racing—not toward the Weasleys, but toward my daughter.

James had asked for Lyra.

James had run from the room.

And Harry had sent Tilly to follow him—Tilly, who Lyra didn’t know, who Lyra had never seen.

My stomach twisted. I should go to her. I needed to go to her. But I couldn’t—not yet. Not with the ghost of my past unraveling in the next room.

The flames flared emerald, and then Arthur stepped through, followed closely by Ron.

The moment Arthur’s eyes landed on Molly he stopped cold.

“Molly, what on earth— are you?” He stopped cold as he followed her gaze and froze.

“My word,” he muttered, laying a hand on her shoulder like he needed grounding just as much as she did.

Ron, oblivious, clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Good to see you, mate. The department’s a disaster without you—Terry Boot can’t coordinate a team to save his life—”

He trailed off as he took in his parents’ expressions.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked, turning to follow their line of sight.

His gaze hit me.

Silence fell again—thick, suffocating, awful.

Ron blinked. And then again. His face didn’t change immediately—like his brain was refusing to make sense of what his eyes were seeing.

I could feel my pulse in my throat. In my ears. In every nerve ending. I felt heat coursing through my veins and my skin itching with the urge to flee. I was caught between the instinct to run and the knowledge that there was nowhere left to hide.

“Hermione… is that really you?” Ron’s voice finally broke the stunned silence.

I turned toward him, swallowing hard, trying to loosen the tightness in my throat.

“Hi, Ron,” I managed, barely more than a whisper. My throat felt like sandpaper as I choked the words out.

His eyes flicked over me like he didn’t know whether to believe what he was seeing. His expression shifted—relief, disbelief, and then… anger.

“You’ve been missing for nearly five years,” he said, his voice sharp, “and you just show up like nothing happened?”

“Ron—” Harry warned, already stepping forward.

“No, Harry,” Ron snapped. “She put us through hell. Every Jane Doe, every damn Death Eater raid—we searched. Mum and Dad practically held vigil. Remus refused to stop searching. She left when we were already drowning in grief—and now she just strolls in expecting what? That we’ve all forgotten?”

“Ron, that’s enough,” Harry said, steel in his voice. “You’re not even giving her a chance to speak.”

Ron rounded on him. “How can you be so calm about this? You were the one who suffered the most. You were the first one at every recovery scene. Every mission, every whisper of her name—you followed it. You even pulled in Malfoy to interrogate Death Eaters. You let Malfoy rifle through their minds because you were that desperate to find her.”

The room went still again, the weight of Ron’s words lingering in the air like smoke.

“I’m calm,” Harry said quietly, “because I’ve known since January.”

Ron's mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. Even Molly and Arthur seemed stunned.

Before anyone could respond, a house elf I hadn’t seen before appeared with a soft pop near the fireplace.

“Master Harry,” he said with a low bow, “dinner is ready in the dining room.”

“Thank you, Pip,” Harry replied, his tone even. The elf vanished a moment later.

Harry turned back to the room, voice steady but firm. “Let’s move this to the dining room. We’re going to talk—but we’re going to do it civilly.”

He looked at Ron, then Molly and Arthur, and finally at me. “We owe each other at least that much.”

I exhaled slowly, my pulse still racing, the shame and panic in my chest tangled with something else—relief. Harry still had my back

Harry called for Tilly as soon as Ron, Molly, and Arthur stepped out of earshot.

“Please bring the children to the informal dining room and feed them dinner. We’re handling some adult conversations in the formal dining room,” he said softly.

I felt tears pricking at my eyes—traitorous and unwelcome. I couldn’t quite place why it hit me so hard. Maybe it was Ron’s anger. Or maybe it was the weight of everything crashing back at once so unexpectedly.

Harry and Remus had responded with empathy, even when there was pain laced in their voices. But Ron... Ron had looked at me like a stranger. Like I was someone to be angry at. Someone to blame.

“Is Lyra okay?” I asked Tilly before she could pop away.

The elf turned with a kind smile. “Miss Lala is just fine, playing with Master Jamie. I will make sure she eats a good supper.”

And with a pop, she was gone.

“She’s okay, Mione,” Harry reassured gently as we walked to the dining room. “Tilly’s been looking after kids for longer than we’ve been alive.”

We took our seats side-by-side, facing the Weasleys. The tension in the air was palpable, but Arthur was the first to break it, his voice kind but measured.

“Hermione, what in Merlin’s name happened?”

I reached for the water glass, letting the cool sip soothe my dry throat.

“I... I wasn’t ready for the world after the war,” I began, my voice thin. “So I left. I needed time—space—to heal. To find myself again. McGonagall submitted university applications for me, and I picked one. I just... left.”

“We mourned you,” Molly whispered, her voice cracking. “It was like losing another child. We thought something terrible had happened.”

My heart broke at the grief in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and it felt too small, too fragile. “I know it doesn’t fix the pain I caused. I was scared and overwhelmed. I didn’t know how to grow in the place where everything had broken.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, his concern genuine. “What were you so afraid of, Hermione? We had protections. You had options.”

“I was scared because I was pregnant.”

I couldn’t look at them as I said it. My eyes dropped to the plate Harry had fixed for me, untouched. I felt his hand reach for mine beneath the table, his thumb brushing gently against my thigh in quiet support.

Silence fell like a curtain. Molly gasped. Arthur went still. Ron—Ron didn’t move at all.

“She’s not Ron’s,” Harry said, voice steady, heading off the question before it could come.

Ron’s voice was quiet, but sharp with betrayal. “Why didn’t you trust us enough to tell us? After everything, we were family.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” I said softly. “Not even her father. I just... ran. I couldn’t imagine bringing a baby into post-war London. Where we were still on the front page every week. Where there were still raids. Still whispers. I wanted her to have peace. I needed peace. I built a life I’m proud of, a life I couldn’t have built if I stayed.”

“You built a life away from us,” Ron said, not shouting now, but bitter. “And now what? Are you staying, or are you going to vanish again back to your perfect little life?”

I winced at his words as I exhaled, my shoulders sagging. “I don’t know if I’m staying. But I’m not disappearing again. That part I can promise.”

Ron’s eyes searched mine, trying to find something he could hold on to. I didn’t know if he did.

Arthur leaned forward slightly, voice calm. “I can’t pretend to understand all of it. But I want you to know—you’re not alone anymore. Whatever happens, we’re here.”

I gave him a soft smile. It was more than I expected.

Arthur stood, coming around the table toward us. I stood to meet him, and he pulled me into a warm, fatherly hug. For the first time in a long time, I let myself feel the weight of being accepted by more than just Harry and Remus.

Molly followed next, hesitantly, wrapping me in a maternal hug. It was unfamiliar. Strange. But welcome.

Once we all resettled, Molly reached across the table, her voice gentler now. “Will you tell us about her?”

“Her name is Lyra,” I said. “She turns five tomorrow.”

Molly’s eyes shimmered. “Would we be able to meet her?”

I nodded, still unsure, but no longer paralyzed.

“After dinner might be best,” Harry said.

The rest of the meal passed in quiet, awkward conversation. Nothing was simple, but the hardest part was over. Or so I thought.

Back in the sitting room, Harry called, “Pip?”

The house-elf popped in.

“Please ask Tilly to bring the children to join us,” he said.

“Yes, Master Harry.” And with a soft pop, Pip disappeared again.

Harry and I sat side by side on the couch, both of us tense. Molly and Arthur had taken the armchairs. Ron stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, shoulders rigid.

And then, the unmistakable sound of children’s laughter filled the hall.

James burst into the room first, eyes lighting up.

“Uncle Ron!” he squealed, launching himself like a cannonball.

Ron’s surprise melted into something softer as he caught his nephew. “Hey, pal. Sorry I missed you earlier. You’ve grown again, haven’t you?”

Lyra trailed in a second later, her curls bouncing, eyes wide as she spotted Ron. She stopped just shy of the couch, looking at me with curiosity.

“Mama,” she whispered, “is that Uncle Ron?”

Her voice was so soft, but Ron heard it. His head turned sharply.

“Yes, star, it is,” I said, forcing calm into my voice.

She looked between us. “Can I go say hi?”

I hesitated, my eyes flicking toward Harry in search of reassurance.

“I’ll bring her over,” he said gently, standing and lifting Lyra onto his hip.

She settled against him easily, her arms looped around his neck like it was second nature. Harry crossed the room toward Ron, and true to form, Lyra began chattering the moment they stopped in front of him.

“Hi! Mummy said you’re my Uncle Ron,” she declared brightly. “I’m Lyra. I’ll be five tomorrow.”

James wriggled impatiently in Ron’s arms, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, he took off toward Arthur with a squeal of joy.

Ron stared at Lyra. Just stared. For a long second, he didn’t move—just blinked, eyes searching hers like he was trying to place something familiar.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

“Well... happy almost birthday, Lyra,” he said, his voice gentler than it had been all evening. The rigid set of his shoulders eased. “Your mum and I used to be the best of mates, you know. We went on loads of adventures.”

Lyra beamed. “Mama tells me stories. But she says you and Uncle Harry tell them better.”

That tugged a soft chuckle from Ron. “She’s not wrong. Harry and I are much better storytellers—but don’t tell her I said that. She’s loads smarter than the two of us.”

Lyra giggled, and Ron held out a hand for a high-five. She slapped it enthusiastically before wriggling in Harry’s arms.

“Can I go play now?”

Harry set her down, and she made a beeline for James, tapping his leg with a gleeful “Tag!” before dashing off. James shrieked and followed after her, the sound of their laughter filling the room.

Molly smiled, eyes misty, as she watched them disappear around the corner. Harry returned to the sofa, and I leaned into his side, finally exhaling the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“I hope this goes without saying,” Harry said, his voice firm but calm, “but the knowledge of Hermione’s return—and Lyra—stays between us. No one else. Not even the rest of the family.”

“Of course,” Arthur agreed at once, sending a sharp, warning look toward Ron. “It’s not our news to share.”

“I was able to close her file and remove the trace before I left the force,” Harry added. “We don’t have to worry about the DMLE coming after her.”

Ron and Arthur both nodded, expressions serious. Molly, meanwhile, still watched the doorway the children had vanished through, a soft smile playing at her lips.

“Do you have plans for her birthday tomorrow?” she asked gently.

“We’re hoping to take her into Muggle London,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Tea, a bit of shopping. My mum started that tradition when I turned five.”

“Ginny’s supposed to have James tomorrow,” Harry added, “so I was planning to tag along.”

“After that,” I continued, “we might do something small in the garden. My friends are still here—one of them is marrying Harry’s cousin.”

Molly nodded thoughtfully, then met my gaze with cautious warmth. “Would it be alright if we stopped by? We don’t want to overwhelm you, but... we’d love to talk more.”

I hesitated, unsure. But after a moment, I nodded. “I think that would be okay.”

“We can invite Remus, too,” Harry offered. “Lyra really took to Teddy.”

Molly smiled. “Then we’ll see you tomorrow, dear. I’m sure you both want to get the children to bed.”

We exchanged soft goodbyes, and after they left, Harry and I managed to get the kids tucked in without much protest. When we returned to the sitting room, I curled up beside him on the couch again. He didn’t say anything—just rested his hand on my back as we watched the fire dance in silence.

The night had been awkward. Tense. Terrifying at moments.

But it was done. And somehow, we were one step closer to something that felt like healing. Like normal.

Like home.

Chapter Text

August 9th, 1998

I’d been violently throwing up since around four. Nightmares occasionally made me sick—it had happened once or twice before—but this felt different. Usually, I’d get sick once after a particularly bad dream and be fine. This wasn’t that.

It came in waves. I’d get sick, feel okay for a few minutes, sip some water, try to lie down—then I’d be right back up again.

Harry, Ginny, and I had all eaten the same things the night before, but I hadn’t heard anyone else stirring in the house. That ruled out food poisoning. I wasn’t sure what it was, but whatever this was, it was relentless.

The next few hours were a blur of nausea and half-sleep. It wasn’t until ten that I managed to keep a few saltines down, and by eleven the lingering queasiness finally began to fade. I had run through every possibility—stress, stomach bug, food poisoning—but deep down, I’d already settled on the one explanation that scared me the most.

Harry and Ginny both tried to coax me into joining them at the Burrow for the afternoon, insisting that fresh air and friendly company would do me good. But I didn’t trust my stomach, and more than that, I didn’t trust myself—not with this gnawing suspicion twisting in my gut. After some gentle back-and-forth, they relented and flooed off, leaving me alone in Grimmauld Place.

The moment they were gone, I forced myself into the shower, trying to wash away the unease clinging to my skin. I got dressed, pulled my hair back, and slipped out to the closest pharmacy, head down and hood up. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed a box—no, three—and made it back to the house in record time.

Now, I was pacing outside the bathroom, heart pounding, as two tests counted down inside.

I tried to anchor myself in logic, retracing the calendar in my mind. My last period had been in June, right after we were finally safe, hydrated, fed, and something close to emotionally stable. The med-witch at the field clinic had warned me that irregular cycles were common post-trauma. I’d experienced it before, missing multiple cycles during the war—why would I have thought anything of it this time?

Except now it was August. And the warning bells were deafening.

The image of that magenta vial flickered in my memory. The pregnancy detection potion the med-witch had handed me along with my discharge papers. I’d rolled my eyes at the time, thinking it absurd. Now I was rifling through my trunk, tossing aside university acceptance letters and course booklets until I found it. My last resort.

Still, I had to know.

I pushed open the bathroom door, my hands trembling. The room felt overwhelmingly silent. I flipped over the first test.

Two pink lines.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

I flipped the second. The same.

“Bloody hell,” I whispered, gripping the edge of the vanity.

I rushed to my desk, pushing aside the scattered letters from Oxford, Cambridge, and Harvard. I grabbed a blank scrap of parchment and scrawled a single line:

D,
Is Amwell Court accepting visitors?
–H

I tied the note to Harry’s owl and sent him off, watching the bird disappear through the open window. Then I turned and returned to the bathroom, quickly cleaning up the evidence—tests, wrappers, the growing panic—and tucked the potion into my pocket.

Then I sat.

And I waited.

My thoughts spun in every direction. I needed to tell him. I needed Draco to know—needed us to figure this out, together. We’d already been navigating the mess of his marriage contract. This made it more complicated. Infinitely more complicated.

I pressed a hand gently to my flat stomach, feeling a strange flutter—not from the baby, not yet. Just from the sheer weight of what was coming.

Would Narcissa demand I get rid of it?

Would they insist the child be raised at the Manor, passed off as Astoria’s? Would I be erased?

Would this child have my Gryffindor courage, or Draco’s Slytherin ambition?

Or both?

I didn’t know.
But everything had just changed.

It felt like hours before Hunter began pecking at my window.

Harry’s owl had returned almost immediately—empty-handed. But Hunter, with his striking black-and-silver feathers, carried something far more nerve-wracking.

Draco’s handwriting was unmistakable. Sharp. Elegant. Controlled.

I stared at the envelope like it held my fate. Maybe it did.

Taking a steadying breath, I broke the seal.

Amwell Court always welcomes you.

One sentence. No greeting. No signature. But I understood it for what it was—an invitation. A message. A decision made.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I stripped off the oversized hoodie I’d worn to the pharmacy and swapped it for a fitted tank top and a light cardigan. Trainers on. Vial in my pocket. I stepped out the door.

The walk to Amwell Court felt endless. Each step weighed heavier than the last, stretching time until it blurred. If I ignored the way panic coiled in my chest, I might’ve even called it a beautiful day. Sun-drenched. Quiet. Ordinary.

But today wasn’t ordinary.

One day, this news might be something I’d want—something hoped for and joyfully planned. But not today. Not like this.

When I reached the steps of Amwell Court, I hesitated only a moment before knocking.

The heavy door swung open almost immediately, revealing Draco in tan trousers and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked... relaxed.

“Maia,” he said with a small smile. “Always a pleasure.”

Before I could reply, he leaned down and kissed me. I kissed him back—carefully. Like I was trying to memorize it. Like it might be the last time.

My fingers brushed the vial still tucked in my pocket. My secret.

The interior of Amwell Court mirrored Grimmauld Place in layout, but not in feel. Where Grimmauld was all shadows and echoes, Amwell Court was warm, sunlit, lived-in. Welcoming.

I opened my mouth—to tell him, to just get it out—but Draco spoke first.

“I’m just finishing up with Mr. Bracton in the garden,” he said, gesturing for me to follow. “He’s finally found something about the contract. You’re welcome to join us.”

My jaw snapped shut.

Mr. Bracton. Of course. I hadn’t realized Draco was still working with him. Bracton had been relentless during the trials working tirelessly to keep Draco out of a cell. Draco had been obsessively bringing in solicitor after solicitor to find a way out of that bloody marriage contract with Bracton leading the charge ever since.

“Oh. Yes. Let’s… let’s figure it out,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray me.

We made our way through the halls to the back garden, where a wrought-iron table sat beneath a flowering arbor. A large parchment scroll rested atop it.

“Miss Granger,” Mr. Bracton greeted with a polite nod. “Always a pleasure.”

I returned his smile, tightly. “Likewise.”

“Lord Malfoy,” Bracton said, turning to Draco. “Shall I proceed with her present?”

Draco didn’t hesitate. “Of course. I value Hermione’s opinion in all matters.”

I swallowed hard.

Not all matters, Draco. Not this one. Not yet.

“Very well then.” Mr. Bracton straightened the edges of the scroll with care. “To begin, I must say—you assembled the most impressive  team of solicitors I’ve ever had the pleasure—or challenge—of working alongside. We’ve spent countless hours dissecting this contract, and I must admit... your father was a remarkably cunning man.”

Draco offered a tight, humorless smile. “He always was.”

“You can break the contract,” Bracton continued. “But it will not come without cost.”

He glanced at me briefly before pressing on.

“Lucius Malfoy and Lord Greengrass put into place a series of stipulations, many of which are, frankly, archaic by modern standards. If you decline to wed Miss Astoria Greengrass, Lord Greengrass will be entitled to twenty-five percent of the total assets currently held across all Malfoy vaults. He will not, however, retain any claim to Malfoy-owned properties.”

Draco’s jaw clenched.

“Additionally, Lord Greengrass is entitled to twenty-five percent of all Malfoy business profits for the next eleven years. This clause is tied directly to what they’ve termed ‘The Heir Clause.’”

I felt my stomach drop.

“The contract stipulates that the engagement must be formalized before Miss Greengrass boards the Hogwarts Express this September as she enters her seventh year, and the marriage must be completed no later than the thirtieth of June following her graduation in the spring of 1999.”

Draco remained perfectly still, his expression unreadable.

“In order to fully satisfy the contract and retain full control of your family fortune,” Bracton went on, “you must produce at least one male heir who survives to the age of eleven before you may formally dissolve the union. Should you choose to dissolve the marriage after fulfilling this clause, only Miss Greengrass’s dowry will be paid out.”

I blinked. A male heir that reaches age 11. I couldn’t help but glance at Draco—at the steely calm behind his eyes—and then quickly look away.

“Further,” Bracton added, “any male children produced outside of the marriage shall not be acknowledged as the Malfoy heir, nor entitled to inheritance rights under this contract unless conceived after the heir clause has been fulfilled. Female children, however, may be recognized at any time in the Malfoy line, should you declare them as such.”

My breath caught. This contract was water tight, if a team of solicitors couldn’t find a viable escape route no one could. 

““Of course,” Bracton added, almost as an afterthought, “Lucius and Lord Greengrass included several... allowances common in older pureblood agreements. Most notably, they’ve permitted the taking of a mistress—so long as all public and social responsibilities are fulfilled alongside your wife, and discretion is maintained. Additionally, should you choose to decline the arrangement, there is a clause granting Lord Greengrass the right to publicly disclose the full terms of the contract.”

Draco’s hand curled tightly around the wrought iron edge of the table. I said nothing, fingers clenched in the fabric of my trousers beneath the table. My voice felt lodged somewhere between my chest and throat, trapped by the crushing weight of fear and rising nausea. The knowledge I was carrying Draco’s child sat like lead in my stomach—heavy, secret, impossible. I wasn’t ready. Not for this conversation. Not for what it meant.

Bracton folded his hands atop the scroll, his tone almost clinical. “It is, quite frankly, one of the most ruthlessly binding marriage agreements I’ve ever seen. But it can be broken—if you’re willing to pay the price.”

“Is there anything else I should know?” Draco asked, voice low, tight with frustration.

“If Miss Greengrass were to perish of natural causes after the marriage is finalized—but before an heir is conceived or reaches the age of eleven—the contract becomes null and void. You would retain full control of all Malfoy assets. However, if you pass after siring a child with Miss Greengrass, all assets, regardless of gender or future status, transfer directly to the child. If you die before any child is conceived, Lord Greengrass inherits everything.”

The silence the followed was deafening.

Bracton glanced between us, then leaned back in his chair with the air of a man pleased with his own efficiency. “If I may speak candidly, Lord Malfoy—were I in your position, I’d grit my teeth and marry the girl. It’s eleven years of obligation in exchange for safeguarding one of the oldest fortunes in wizarding Britain. And, if you follow the terms... you get to keep everything. Mistress included.”

“I appreciate all the work you’ve done, Bracton,” Draco said, voice measured, composed in a way I could tell was forced. “I’ll owl you my decision within the week.”

He stood from the table, and I followed a moment later, plastering on a polite smile as Bracton gathered his things.

“Thank you for your time, Lord Malfoy. Miss Granger,” Bracton said with a slight nod. “I’ll see myself out.”

Bracton made his way towards the house as we stood together in silence. Once the door closed, Draco exhaled heavily and wrapped his arms around me without hesitation. I melted into the embrace, letting my forehead rest against his shoulder as he buried his face in my hair.

Neither of us spoke. Not yet. Not with so much left unsaid between us.

Draco held me tighter than he ever had before. There was no trace of pride or pretense, only desperation. His hands trembled against my lower back.

“Maia,” He murmured, his voice raw "I want you—day, night, good, bad, everything in between.” 

I didn’t move, I couldn’t. 

“My father was useless at nearly everything except royally fucking up my life. And this—this contract—is just one more chain he left behind.” Draco said, releasing me enough to look at me. His eyes were stormy with grief. He paused, running a hand through his hair. 

“But we’ve talked so much – about everything we wanted to do with that money. The charities, the foundations. I had it all planned. All of it allocated. Gone now if I walk away from this.”

His voice cracked. “Twelve years of good. Of reparation. Gone.”

I reached over, resting a hand on his knee, my thumb tracing a slow, reassuring circle. But in my chest, panic bloomed. After everything—after this —how could I tell him now?

“I don’t want to see those galleons lining the Greengrass family’s coffers,” Draco continued, his voice darkening.. “I want it going where it can help – orphans, war survivors, families displaced by blood discrimination. I want the Malfoy name to do something good for once”

I swallowed hard.

 “But more than all of that…I want you” He looked at me then, his storm-grey eyes soft with something raw and aching. “You’re the only person who’s ever seen me for who I am. You stuck with me when I was angry, broken, lost. You listened when no one else would. You believed in me.”

He paused,his hand covered mine, firm and warm.

“I want to build a life with you,” he said quietly. “But it’s not fair to ask you to live in the shadows. To be my bloody mistress. To raise our children knowing they’ve been stripped of everything they should rightfully inherit—no name, no title, no legacy. They deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve to be Lady Malfoy.”

“Dray…” I whispered, unsure whether I was trying to soothe him or stop myself from falling apart. It killed me to know that one of those children was present with us at this very moment.

“I want to build something real with you.” He continued. “Not just weekends, secrecy and stolen moments. I want a future. A home. A family. But everything, every last part would be tainted if I asked you to settle for less. If I made you hide.”

He shook his head, staring out across the garden like it physically hurt him to look at me. “I just wanted one thing—just one—that my father couldn’t touch. And instead, it’s this. Us. You. Even from Azkaban, he’s still stealing from me.” His voice broke entirely then, barely more than a whisper. “You deserve so much more than a bloody ex–Death Eater who can’t even give you a proper marriage without strings attached.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pinning me to my seat. My secret pulsed beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. He wanted a future. And I was already holding the key to it inside me.

But now— now —felt impossibly complicated.

“Draco” I said, cutting off his thoughts. 

 “We’ll figure it out,” I said, though the words felt fragile on my tongue. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “You still have time—at least a few weeks, right? Maybe… maybe if you talk to Lord Greengrass again. Maybe he’ll back out. Maybe there’s still a loophole Bracton missed.”

“That was the first thing Bracton tried,” Draco said, his voice sharp with frustration. “Greengrass wouldn’t hear it. He says the alliance is too valuable. They’re ready to move forward. If I don’t act soon, we’ll be engaged before she boards the train for Hogwarts this fall.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps before turning back to me, fire in his eyes—but beneath it, raw desperation.

“Maia, please. Just tell me what to do.” His voice cracked. “Tell me.”

My whole body felt like it might shatter.

I was holding it in—barely—this tidal wave of fear and sickness and grief. The words were rising in my throat like acid.

Tell him you’re pregnant. Just say it. Right now.

But I couldn’t.

“Dray…” My breath hitched. “I can’t. I can’t tell you what to do.”

He flinched.

“I can’t make this choice for you.” I said barely able to keep my voice steady. “I want you. I want this—us. I want tangled sheets and quiet mornings and chaotic nights. I want tea in the garden and our child in your arms. But I can’t ask you to choose me over all of this.”

Tears stung hot and fast behind my eyes. “You’ve been raised your whole life to be Lord Malfoy. You know what this contract means. It’s not just the money—it’s your standing on the Wizengamot, your legacy, your reputation. Greengrass isn’t just threatening your vaults—he’s threatening your future. Everything you're trying to build. And I can’t be the reason you lose it all.”

I stood, backing away slightly. “And even if I asked you to walk away, even if I begged you to choose me… I’d never trust it. I’d always wonder if you regretted it. If you resented me.”

My hands pressed against my stomach—unconsciously, protectively.

I was unraveling. Draco’s hands twitched like he wanted to reach for me again but didn’t know how.

Draco’s jaw clenched. “None of it means anything without you.”

“It does,” I said gently. “You’re working too hard to be better than your name. You want to change the world. You want to give back. If you walk away from this contract, twelve years of giving—gone. Millions of Galleons wasted. That’s not something I can ask you to sacrifice. Not for me.”

“But I don’t want her, Maia. I want you.”

“And I want you,” I whispered. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything. But I can’t be your mistress. I can’t hide in the shadows while you parade someone else through the Ministry and fundraisers. I can’t live like that. I can’t —”

I stopped myself.

I can’t raise a child like that.

But I didn’t say it. I pressed a hand to my lips. My breath shook.

Draco reached for me, hands hesitant.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, stepping back before he could touch me. “You need to make this choice for you . Not for me. Not for anyone else.”

He looked like he might fall apart right there.

And I…

I nearly told him again.

But I didn’t.

Because if he chose Astoria—knowingly—I would never recover.

“I need to go. Before Harry gets back.” My voice wobbled as I stood.

“Maia —”

 “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Talk to Theo. Talk to Blaise. Figure out your options. Figure out your future, Dray. I can only hope I get to be a part of it… even if it’s only through photographs.”

And before I could lose my nerve, I kissed him—fiercely, like it might be the last time, before slipping through the garden gate of Amwell court for the last time. 

I held in my sobs until I made it back to Grimmauld Place. 

Then I broke.

I gave myself five minutes—just five—to completely fall apart. My hands shook and my heart felt like it was being ripped in half.

Then I made a plan.

I would not be the reason Draco ruined his future.

I would not let myself be dragged into this political shit show, the media circus or let my child become the scapegoat for the Malfoys' downfall. I would not be the girl who brought a pureblood empire to its knees. 

I pulled the small vial from my pocket and let it drop onto the bed. 

Then I crossed the room and sat at my desk, fingers trembling as I reached for the stack of university letters.

With a whispered Incendio , the ones from Oxford and Cambridge turned to ash.

Only one letter remained. 

Harvard. 

I stared at it for far too long before standing again, grabbing my wand, my beaded bag and a piece of parchment.

I needed to move. To act. 

I left the house quickly, walking to the nearest Muggle library. 

After a brief conversation with the kind librarian, she led me to a private study room with a phone.

I took a deep breath and I dialed the number listed in the letter, heart pounding as the line rang.

“I’d like to speak with an admissions counselor. My name is Hermione Granger,” I said, my voice soft but steady.

It took some time and several transfers, but eventually I reached someone who could help.

“Miss Granger,” the voice finally said, “I’ve located your file. It’s well past our commitment deadline, but your grades, references, and history speak for themselves. I can offer you admission to our Advanced Potions Program. It would be a disservice to reject a candidate of your caliber.”

Relief nearly broke me, but I held it together.

“I will need to coordinate with the Political Science department,” she continued. “It may take some maneuvering, but I believe I can get you dual enrollment. That said… there’s the matter of tuition. Given how late it is, we’d need payment in full before the semester begins.”

“I’ll make the payment in full once I’m stateside,” I said. “I’ll be arriving first thing tomorrow.”

There was a brief pause. “Understood. As for housing, our dormitories are unfortunately full, but I can connect you with local realtors. There are a few off-campus student apartments that may still have availability.”

She rattled off a few names and numbers. I jotted them down carefully.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be on campus Wednesday to finalize any paperwork.”

“We look forward to welcoming you, Miss Granger. Safe travels.”

I ended the call and immediately contacted one of the realtors. Within the hour, I secured a bedroom in a shared student apartment just outside campus. Then I booked the last flight tonight out of London.

I thanked the librarian on my way out and headed straight for Gringotts. After successfully withdrawing half my vault, I apparated back to Grimmauld Place. 

The house was quiet—Harry and Ginny were still at the Burrow. Thank Merlin. 

The silence was a relief.

I packed quickly. Methodically. Just like I had before I obliviated my parents.

Everything fit neatly into the same little beaded bag—my entire life, shrunk to the size of a coin purse. I slung a backpack over my shoulders, heavier than it should’ve been with just a few books and my passport. At the last moment, I grabbed the photo of Harry, Ron and I from the nightstand and tucked it into the backpack.

I looked at the neatly made bed, the walls that had offered refuge immediately following the war. I couldn’t leave a note. Not without spilling every secret I was carrying.

So I softly closed the door instead.

Stepping off the porch of Grimmauld Place felt like stepping through a memory. The same hollow ache filled my chest, just like it had in Hampstead Gardens. Painful. Terrifying.

But I was used to painful and terrifying. I could do this. This time, I wasn’t doing it alone.

I walked to the nearest Tube station and boarded the first train to Heathrow. The city blurred past the windows, a smear of color and memory. My chest was tight, every step forward another thread unraveling.

The airport was bustling with summer travelers as  I moved through it like a ghost—silent, tense, unraveling. Part of me screamed to turn back. To find Draco. To tell him. To beg Harry or Remus for help. But I kept moving. 

I didn’t cry again. Not until I was seated on the plane, pressed against the window. 

After I had calmed down, a man settled in beside me. Older, with a kind face and soft eyes. He looked like Remus. He glanced over as I wiped my face with my sleeve.

“Nervous, dearie?” he asked gently.

I hesitated then nodded.

“First flight?”

“No. First time alone.”

He nodded gently. “Ever been to America?”

I shook my head. “First time.”

“Well,” he said, smiling faintly, “it’s a wonderful place. Are you just visiting?”

“I’m moving there. For university.”

“A great adventure awaits you, then,” he said, already turning to his book.

I didn’t answer. I just stared out the window as the plane began to taxi. 

My mind raced and my body ached but the choice was made. 

As the clouds began to cover London, I pressed a hand to my stomach and whispered.

“It’s just me and you, Star. We’ll be okay” 

I hoped if I said it enough, I would believe it.

Even just for a moment.

Chapter Text

May 2nd, 2004

I was up early the morning of Lyra’s birthday—3:51 to be exact . It had been exactly five years since I welcomed her into my life.
This wasn’t how I’d imagined celebrating that milestone.

The conversations with Molly, Ron, and Arthur the night before had drained me more than I’d expected. And now, I was left in that strange, in-between space where the future felt uncertain and the past wouldn’t stop echoing.

I gave up on sleep around five, sneaking down to the kitchen and putting the kettle on. As soon as I lit the flame, I heard a soft pop .

“Miss Mione, you should have called Tilly if you wanted breakfast,” Tilly scolded gently, pushing me toward the table. I rolled my eyes softly, but sat without argument. It always felt strange watching someone else bustle around a kitchen I didn’t know well enough to move in confidently.

Soon enough, a steaming cup of tea was placed in front of me—just as Harry stumbled in, bleary-eyed and half-awake. Tilly, quick as ever, had a cup ready for him before he even sat down.

“You’re up early,” he murmured, sliding into the seat across from me.

“So are you,” I replied with a sigh.

“I can never seem to sleep today.” He yawned, stretching slightly.

“I feel like we were already running on thirty hours without sleep by this point, weren't we” I said, thinking back. “Running on nothing but pure adrenaline.”

“Sounds about right,” he said with a soft chuckle. “We broke into Gringotts sometime in the afternoon—I think  around four? Next thing I remember, it was close to eleven in the morning and we were still trying to drag out the last of the Death Eaters... pulling bodies into the Great Hall.”

I winced, memories of the bodies we lost flickering across my mind like ghosts—Tonks, Fred, Lavender...

“I don’t think I slept at all until we got back to Grimmauld around midnight. The med-witches pumped me full of potions the moment I agreed to sit down,” I admitted. The aftermath of the battle was still a haze—some moments sharp and searing, others lost to the fog of exhaustion and trauma.

“They did the same to me. The full exam at St. Mungo’s was even worse,” Harry said, grimacing.

“They demanded I take potions to help with my weight,” I said, chuckling dryly. “I lost nearly fourteen kilos on the run.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t realize it was that much.”

“We all had our own shit,” I murmured. “It was hard to see anyone else’s.”

He nodded, and we sat in silence for a moment, nursing our tea as the morning sun began to stretch long shadows across the floor.

“I’m going to sit on the patio,” Harry said, picking up his tea. “The sunrise is beautiful here, if you want to join me.”

I stood to follow, accio -ing a cardigan as I went to ward off the early spring chill. The breeze was light, the air still holding the softness of dawn. I felt certain all the Muggles were still asleep, tucked safely in their beds.

It felt strange— foreign , even—to use magic so casually again. For almost six years, I’d only used it in highly controlled ways, at carefully chosen times, for specific and quiet purposes. I could count on one hand how many times I’d apparated. Even something as simple as summoning a sweater felt indulgent.

I curled up in the patio chair, tucking my legs beneath me, the knit of the cardigan warming my skin. Harry settled into the seat beside me, and we both watched as the golden light spilled slowly over the Quidditch pitch, catching on the dew.

I sipped my tea in silence, letting the light ease some of the ache in my chest—but the questions wouldn’t stop swirling.

“Harry,” I said softly, “was Ron telling the truth? About you and Draco… working together to find me?”

His face dropped. Not in surprise, but in weariness—like it was a conversation he’d hoped we wouldn’t have. Not yet.

“We did,” he admitted. “I started Auror training right after you disappeared. They fast-tracked me—got me through the academy in six months instead of eighteen. They wanted me in the field as quickly as possible.”

He paused, staring into his tea like it held the rest of the story.

“When I got to fieldwork—started pulling in Death Eaters—Malfoy was already there. Part of his plea deal. He was a DMLE informant, and Kingsley authorized him to use Legilimency… but only under very strict conditions. It was only allowed on high-ranking Death Eaters, ones who had good reason to want you dead and were capable of resisting Veritaserum. I’m not proud of vouching for it, but I was desperate to find you.”

I tightened the cardigan around myself, the tea in my hands suddenly cold. I didn’t know what to say.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “It makes sense now. Why he was always at the station. Always the first one to show up after a raid. He’d be ready the second anyone sent for him. Always asking if we’d found anything new. If there’d been anything strange going on. If we’d missed something in the days before you vanished.”

His voice went quieter. “The only thing I could remember was you being sick that morning. Everything else felt… like a fog. I talked to the Aurors, gave them everything I could. When I started fieldwork, I went back and reread the original reports. The Gringotts manager said you were alone. Said you seemed… distressed.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’d just come from seeing Draco,” I whispered. “The solicitor had just walked us through the terms of his marriage contract. It was worse than I imagined. Brutal. Archaic. I took the test that morning. I knew I was pregnant. And I still couldn’t tell him.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He just listened.

“I panicked,” I said, the tears finally slipping free. “I knew if I told him… he would’ve chosen me. Chosen us. And it would’ve cost him everything . I couldn’t let that happen. He wanted to do so much good, Harry. Not because someone forced him too, but because he genuinely wanted to . He wanted to make things right.”

I took a breath. “If he broke the contract, he would’ve lost the money, the political alliances, the power of his name. All the things he needed to do the work we talked about that summer. He told me he wanted to fix things. And if I’d stayed… if I’d asked him to give it all up…”

I shook my head.

“I couldn’t be the reason he lost everything.” I said as the tears fell faster. 

“I fucked up, Harry,” I said, my voice cracking. “I made decisions—huge decisions—completely on my own. Ones that weren’t mine to make in the first place. I stole the possibility of Lyra having her father in her life because I couldn’t stomach the idea of being someone’s mistress.”

I wiped angrily at my face with my sleeve, tears coming faster now.

“The solicitor told Draco it was worth it—worth it to just marry Astoria and get it over with. Said they could separate as soon as they had a son who turned eleven. And I—Merlin, I was so fucking selfish.”

“You’re not selfish for not wanting to be someone’s mistress,” Harry said softly, his voice firm. “You deserve to be loved, Hermione. Completely. Without conditions. Without shame. You deserve to be someone’s everything—not a secret, not a compromise.”

He met my eyes, and I saw the honesty there—raw and unflinching.

I looked away, my jaw trembling.

“I married Ginny because she was the first girl who looked at me romantically for being me—not Harry Potter . Or at least, I thought she did.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were married almost four years, and she tossed me aside the second the press got interested in her without me. I wish I’d gotten your letter before I put that ring on her finger.”

He looked over at me, eyes softening. “Even Remus told me to wait. Said I had time. But Molly and Ginny were pushing for a wedding right away. I wanted a quiet life with a family. She wanted the fame.”

I blinked hard, a tear slipping down my cheek.

Harry’s voice gentled. “You wanted peace, Mione. You wanted safety. Not a media circus. Not to be paraded around as Malfoy’s mistress—or worse, the scandalized wife who cost him everything. You chose peace. You can’t hate yourself for that. Or for wanting to protect your child.”

He paused, then added quietly, “Malfoy never stopped looking for you. It all clicked the second I saw you and Lyra in Boston. You’re his first love, Mione. I don’t think he’d try to ruin you in court. I think… he’d want to co-parent. I think he never stopped loving you .”

I stared at him, unblinking, heart thudding painfully in my chest.

“I saw him with Astoria,” Harry went on. “At events, galas, charity functions. And it was always... clinical. Polite. Cold. Like they laid together long enough to make a child and then that was it. There was no partnership. Not really.”

I didn’t say anything, but my silence invited more.

“Over the years, Draco and I… we talked. Grabbed a beer here and there. He was in the same baby and toddler group James and I did. Weird, right?” He gave a soft smile. “But he was there. Really there. He was a devoted father. Took care of Scorp when Astoria couldn’t. He still helps the DMLE when they need it, but most of his time’s gone to Scorp—or to finishing his clinicals to become a healer. He’s built his charities. Focused everything on doing good.”

Harry’s expression shifted—almost unreadable now, a complicated mix of admiration and disbelief.

“Most of the dads we went to school with? They’re ghosts. Draco and I were two of the only ones actually showing up at the playground. He didn’t talk about her much. Not unless it was about how hard it would be for Scorp to lose her. He cared about Astoria, yeah—but it was a friendship. Not a marriage.”

I tried to reconcile it—Draco as Harry described him. Father. Healer. Friend. Someone Harry trusted.

But the truth was... Harry wasn’t describing a stranger.
He was describing the man I had already known. Already loved.

The silence stretched between us like a thread.

“I didn’t tell him anything about you,” Harry said eventually. “Kept it all quiet. But he did notice your file had been closed and sealed. He asked about it. I told him I was bound by oath not to disclose anything.”

I swallowed hard.

“He’s still digging,” Harry added softly. “He hasn’t stopped.”

I wiped the traitorous tears from my face.
“Being here… I can’t stop thinking about all the moments I missed. Moments we lost,” I finally admitted.

“We can’t get that time back,” Harry said gently. “But we can make the most of the time we have going forward.”

“It’s crazy to think it’s been six years,” I murmured. “I still think about it almost daily. But the mind healer helps. I know, in my heart, I did everything I could.”

“We’ve been through hell and back together,” Harry said. “Now’s the time to live. To breathe. I’ll support whatever you want, Mione. If you want to come back to England—really come back—you always have a home here. And if you want to go back to Boston, James and I will visit so often you’ll be begging us to leave.”

His voice softened even more. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

The patio door slid open just then. Alex stepped out into the cool spring air, arms crossed.
“God, you’re a mess, Maia,” she teased. “I know Lyra’s five, but hold it together.”

“Leave me alone,” I sniffled, brushing away the last of my tears. “My baby is five.”

Harry stood with a small laugh. “I’ll go get more tea and breakfast things.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head and gave my shoulder a squeeze before heading inside. I knew Tilly had probably whipped up enough to feed a small army, but I wasn’t remotely hungry.

The second the door shut, Alex turned toward me with a smirk.
“Maia, I swear—if you don’t marry that man, I will. Hot, rich, devoted dad—what more do you need?”

I let out a short laugh, but her words echoed louder than I wanted them to.
Thirteen years of friendship flashed through my mind. Harry had always been there, always been my constant. He’d supported me without question when he found me in Boston, helped with Lyra, with the nightmares, defended me to the Weasleys without hesitation.
I always thought of us as platonic, but… was there space for more?

“Alex,” I said slowly, “He just finalized a divorce from a woman who chased him for six years and was married to him for four. He’s not ready for anything. And I have Lyra—she’s my life.”

“You need someone who takes care of you , too,” Alex said.

“I have my steam release,” I deadpanned.

“Your fuck buddy ,” she corrected, rolling her eyes.

“He’s discreet,” I laughed. “And takes care of my needs.”

“You need more than that. You deserve more than that. Just think about it,” Alex said, just as Harry returned to the patio.

“She was crying and now you’ve got her laughing,” Harry said, setting down a tray of tea, toast, and scones. “What’s so funny?”

“We were talking about Maia’s fuck buddy,” Alex said, way too casually.

Harry blinked, then burst out laughing. “Wait, what ?”

“Yep,” Alex went on, throwing me completely under the bus. “She sees him like twice a year. Purely stress relief.”

Harry looked at me, barely containing his grin. “Do I know this guy?”

“She’s never let us meet him,” Alex chimed in. “Just said it was some guy she went to school with.”

“I have to know now,” Harry said. “Come on—give me a name.”

I shook my head, blushing furiously.

“C’mon, Maia, share with the class,” Alex urged.

“Mione, I will donate a thousand pounds to any charity you want if you give us a name,” Harry bribed.

I groaned and hid my face behind my sleeve.
“…Krum,” I mumbled.

“Krum?” Alex echoed, eyebrows raised.

Harry blinked. “Wait. Viktor Krum? The Viktor Krum?”

“When he’s in the States, he usually hits me up,” I said, still hiding. “I made him swear to secrecy about my whereabouts. He’s far enough removed from my life that no one would’ve questioned him when I left.”

“Who’s Viktor Krum?” Alex asked, still confused.

“Tall. Fit. European. Plays semi-professional football these days,” I said with a sheepish shrug. 

“And you never introduced us?” Alex asked, scandalized.

“He’s Bulgarian,” I said with a laugh. “The accent’s thick. We went on one date in high school. But… he’s a good shag.”

Harry choked on his tea.

Alex howled with laughter.

And somehow, for the first time in weeks… I felt just a little bit normal again.

Chapter Text

May 2nd 2004

After a quiet, cozy morning, Harry dropped James off at the Burrow with Molly, and the three of us set off for London to celebrate Lyra’s birthday.

Dudley, Alex, and Katie were also heading into the city to meet up with some of Dudley’s old mates and catch a match at Wembley. 

Harry had helped coordinate the entire day for Lyra, starting with afternoon tea at Kensington Palace, just like my own fifth birthday, when my parents had done the same for me. After tea, we planned to stroll through Covent Garden and let Lyra pick out a few small gifts.

At the Manor, Pip and Tilly were already in a tizzy preparing for the evening. Harry had owled Remus and Teddy, inviting them to join us for a small party later that afternoon. I had no doubt the garden would be picture-perfect—warm, whimsical, and filled with more food than a birthday party could possibly require.

Harry had trusted Molly, Arthur, and Ron not to tell anyone else I was in England. Molly had offered to bring James back with her later, sparing Harry the trip. Supposedly, Ginny was meant to visit the Burrow today to spend time with James—but according to Harry, she’d made that same promise several weekends in a row but hadn’t shown up once.

“Mama, it’s my birthday,” Lyra announced as I helped her into her dress, carefully fastening the buttons down the back and slipping on her shiny Mary Janes.

“It is, Star,” I agreed, smiling as I smoothed the fabric.

“Where are we going today?” she asked, beaming up at me.

“We’re going to Kensington Palace with Uncle Harry, and then we’re going to pick out some birthday presents,” I said, brushing myself off and holding out my hand. She took it instantly and started tugging me toward the door.

“Like a real castle, Mummy?” she asked excitedly as we walked down the grand staircase.

“Exactly like a real castle,” I said. “And after that, Uncle Ron, Uncle Remus, Teddy, Mrs. Molly, and Mr. Arthur are coming over for a little birthday party. Uncle Harry, Auntie Alex, Auntie Katie, and Dudley will all be there too.”

We reached the entryway where Harry was waiting for us, looking unexpectedly polished.

“Ready to go, ladies?” he asked, flashing a grin.

Harry had clearly made an effort—dark slacks, a crisp button-down, jacket slung over his arm. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You didn’t have to dress up that nicely,” I teased as we stepped outside.

“It’s a special day,” he said, unlocking the car. “I wanted to.”

Once Lyra was buckled in, we set off. I watched the trees blur past the window for a few moments before finally asking the question that had been on my mind since the airport.

“So... is this your car? Or did Arthur pull a few strings at the Ministry?”

Harry laughed, merging onto the motorway. “It’s a rental. James and I don’t usually need a car.”

“You have a license?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“Got one a few months ago, after we got back,” he said, a little sheepish.

“You got it for us,” I said, narrowing my eyes in mock accusation.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly expect Katie and Alex to travel by Floo,” he said with a grin. “Living this far from the city would’ve been suspicious without one.”

“Fair,” I admitted. “I would’ve just rented something. I’ve had my license for years.”

“It’s a good skill to have,” Harry shrugged, hands steady on the wheel.

It was surreal, walking through the gardens of Kensington Palace on Lyra’s fifth birthday, the path lined with blooming flowers and the early hum of spring. She skipped beside us, chattering away about the petals and bugs she spotted, pausing every so often to crouch down and inspect something with wide, curious eyes.

My mind drifted—back to my own fifth birthday. I’d walked this same path, hand in hand with my father, running ahead to meet my mother outside the tea room. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Harry wasn’t the person I ever imagined sharing this moment with—but as we strolled toward the café, I realized I couldn’t picture anyone else by my side. Not Draco. Not now. This moment was too Muggle, too soft, too real for the life I once pictured with him. It belonged to the quiet, everyday kind of magic I’d built with Lyra—the kind that didn’t need wands or whispered incantations.. Just sunlight, laughter, and warm scones waiting at the end of a gravel path.

Draco had grown up in a world filled with opulence and spells: house elves, floating platters, ancestral portraits judging you from every wall. Even the Burrow, chaotic as it was, brimmed with enchantment—self-washing dishes, self-knitting scarves, a clock that knew exactly where everyone was.

But Lyra hadn’t been raised in that kind of magic. She’d only seen simple things—a levitation charm to retrieve a dropped toy, the occasional warming spell on cold winter mornings. Even on our trip to Salem, the magic had been contained, observed but never indulgent.

This, tea at a palace, birdsong, a hand in mine. This was the kind of magic she understood. The kind I’d made sure she knew.

Tea flew by faster than I would have liked to admit, and before long, we were strolling back through the gardens toward the car as Lyra chattered away. She had been absolutely enthralled by every detail of the experience, from the towering ceilings of the tea room to the delicate little treats scattered across the tiered tray. She recounted every moment on the drive to Covent Garden.

We wandered the cobbled streets for a while, dipping in and out of toy shops and bookshops, following whatever caught Lyra’s eye. She had never been a particularly demanding child, never one to beg for toys or throw tantrums in store aisles. That only made her small requests all the more endearing.

She selected a new Paddington Bear book and The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh , clutching them to her chest like treasure. Before I could even reach for my purse, Harry had already paid.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered as we stepped into the next toy store.

“I wanted to,” he replied easily, glancing down at Lyra as she tugged his hand and guided him toward a display wall covered in plush toys. “This is my first chance to spoil her.”

Soon enough, Harry’s arms were full: a stuffed Paddington Bear, a soft Winnie the Pooh, and a red and green dragon. Lyra, determined not to be left out, was waddling beside him while trying to carry a toy double-decker bus nearly as big as she was.

I watched with quiet amusement as Harry—ever the soft touch—refused to say no to anything she handed him. When we reached the counter, I made one last effort to pay, but he gently shoved the bags into my hands instead, effectively stopping me.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the smile tugging at my lips. Soon, we were making our way back to the car, birthday gifts in tow. Lyra was struggling to keep up—yawning, dragging her feet, her little arms wrapped tightly around her new dragon. Eventually, I ended up carrying the bags while Harry handled the oversized toy bus and scooped Lyra up into his arms.

He buckled an almost-asleep Lyra into her seat with practiced ease as I tucked the shopping into the boot. The drive back to Potter Manor was quiet. Lyra drifted off almost instantly, her head lolling against the window.

My baby was five.

And she’d just had the most magical day—with Harry and me.

That thought settled a warm ache in my chest… quickly followed by guilt. Guilt that had been steadily building over the course of this trip. She had never wanted for love, or comfort, or joy—but I had taken this from her. I’d taken away siblings, cousins, doting uncles. I had shielded her so fiercely that I’d cut her off from a part of herself.

“She’s amazing, you know,” Harry said softly, breaking through my thoughts. “She’s so much like you.”

“I see so much Draco in her,” I admitted.

Harry smiled. “She’s definitely the female version of Draco—but her attitude? That’s all you, Mione. She’s brilliant.”

“She really is.” I chuckled faintly. “But you haven’t seen her throw a tantrum. That’s when Draco really shines through.”

Harry laughed, the sound low and warm. 

“She’s got you completely wrapped around her finger.” I teased.

“I noticed,” Harry said, letting out a low chuckle. 

“When Gin and I were still talking about having another kid,” he said, a little quieter now, “I really hoped we’d have a girl. I wanted to spoil her rotten. James is everything to me—I love teaching him Quidditch, helping him grow into someone kind. But… I always wanted a daughter, too. It seems like there’s a Potter curse, only children, every generation.”

“You still have time, Harry,” I said gently, reaching across the console to squeeze the hand not on the wheel. “Just because you and Ginny divorced doesn’t mean you won’t find love again. James might still have a sibling someday.”

He gave me a quiet smile, the kind that tugged at something deep in my chest.

“You did an amazing job with her, Mione,” he said as we pulled into the drive. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“I’ll get her upstairs,” he added, already opening his door. “You go check on Tilly and Pip, make sure they haven’t prepared enough food for an entire army.”

I stepped out of the car and opened the boot as Harry carefully pulled Lyra out of her seat, her arms still wrapped around the dragon.

“Go,” Harry repeated with a look. “Get a cup of tea. I’ve got this.”

With a flick of his wand, our bags hovered into the air and trailed after him as he carried Lyra into the house. I watched them for a moment—his careful steps, her little head tucked beneath his chin—and sighed.

Then I turned and headed for the kitchens, bracing myself for whatever chaos Tilly and Pip had cooked up.

Tilly and Pip were moving around the kitchen in a flurry of motion, each one working with the kind of purpose that only years of practice could bring. Trays of pink-iced sugar cookies lined the table, nestled beside neat stacks of finger sandwiches and bite-sized pastries. On the counter, a three-tiered cake stood proudly as Tilly added delicate swirls of buttercream. Pip, across the room, was busy conjuring pitchers of tea and fresh lemonade, humming to himself as he worked.

I stood in the doorway, momentarily frozen in awe.

“What can Pip do for Miss Mione?” he asked brightly when he noticed me watching.

“Just some water would be great,” I replied. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

He handed me a glass with a polite nod before returning to his task. I sipped quietly, taking in the comforting chaos. Tilly moved with the precision of a master artisan, sprinkling pink pearl dust across the top tier of the cake like she was casting a spell.

“You’re just going to hover there like a ghost?” Harry asked behind me, making me jump slightly. He leaned in beside me, looking past me into the kitchen.

“I’m watching,” I said, smiling softly as Tilly began piping perfect roses along the edge of the cake.

“Master Harry, the post is on your desk,” Pip chimed, barely glancing up from his work.

Harry gave a nod and turned to leave. “Come with me? We can check out the garden setup on the way.”

I followed him through the house and onto the patio—and stopped short.

Pip and Tilly had truly outdone themselves.

Several round tables, dressed in soft pink linens and dotted with white blooms, were scattered across the patio. Balloons floated gently in the spring breeze, tethered to the backs of chairs and the banister. Down on the lawn, a pinata hung from a tree branch, and a life-sized Jenga set stood ready beside a basket of other games.

“They did an incredible job,” I said, stunned. “How did they pull this off so fast?”

“They live for this stuff,” Harry said with a shrug. “Sometimes I think they get bored with just James and me. Then something like this happens, and suddenly I’m convinced they’ve been waiting years for a proper party.”

We continued on to his study. The space was warm, lived-in, and comforting. A low fire crackled in the hearth, casting soft light across the wood-paneled walls. A wide desk sat in the middle of the room, flanked by two plush chairs. On one wall, shelves of books climbed all the way to the ceiling; on another, a portrait of a kind-looking man who could only be Fleamont Potter watched over the space from behind the desk.

Harry made his way to the desk, where a small pile of post waited. A rolled copy of the Daily Prophet sat on top.

He picked it up, unrolling it with a practiced flick.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning forward in my chair.

Harry gently slid the paper toward me before sinking back in his chair with a groan, one hand covering his eyes.

The headline burned against my retinas as I stared at the photo—Harry, Lyra, and me, strolling through the gardens at Kensington Palace. We looked happy. Like a family.

The Girl Who Vanished: Granger’s Shocking Return to London
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

On the sixth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, war heroine Hermione Granger has reappeared in the most curious of circumstances—strolling through Muggle London with none other than Harry Potter, her longtime friend and fellow war hero cy 

But their famous duo seems to have gained a new, pint-sized member. Far from the familiar presence of Ronald Weasley—Granger’s supposed former flame—Potter and Granger were seen hand-in-hand with a young girl, whose identity has yet to be officially confirmed. Eyewitnesses report the child referring to Granger as “Mummy” during a mid-morning visit to Kensington Palace’s tea room, followed by a cheerful shopping excursion through Covent Garden.

Speculation surrounding the child’s paternity has already begun, with whispers suggesting the girl bears a striking resemblance to a certain reclusive pure-blood—one Lord Draco Malfoy, Granger’s once-rival and the subject of numerous unsourced rumors during the post-war trials.

The timing of this outing is no coincidence. Potter is expected to attend the Annual Battle of Hogwarts Memorial Fundraiser this evening. The burning question on everyone’s lips: Will Miss Granger be on his arm?

And perhaps more tantalizingly: Whose child is she really?

The Prophet has reached out to both Miss Granger and Mrs. Potter for comment. Thus far, neither have responded.

I shoved the paper aside, my hands shaking.

“As soon as I find that bloody beetle, she’ll be spending the rest of her life in a jar,” I hissed. “I should’ve never let her out in the first place.”

“Mione,” Harry said gently, eyes full of concern.

“What the bloody hell do I do now?” My voice cracked as the tears rose, hot and fast. “There’s no denying it—anyone with two brain cells can see she’s Draco’s.”

“I know,” Harry said, reaching across the desk to take my hand. “We’re going to figure this out.”

“I need a flight. I need to go, before he shows up here, Harry.” I was spiraling, the familiar burn of panic tightening my chest. “Draco’s not stupid.”

“He’s not,” Harry agreed calmly. “Which is exactly why running would be a mistake. Now that he knows, he’ll burn the world down trying to find you.”

My brain scrambled for a loophole in Harry’s logic. An escape. But there wasn’t one. Three things were true:

1. Draco knew about Lyra. That photo said everything.
2. There was no place left for me to run.
3. And Draco Malfoy had enough power and money to bend the world to his will.

“He can’t get in,” Harry said gently, rubbing circles on the back of my hand. “The wards are locked to those we authorize. Molly got through because she had James. Draco doesn’t.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

A soft pop interrupted us—Pip appeared, bowing slightly.

“Master Harry, Mr. Lupin is here with young Teddy.”

Harry nodded. “Please get Teddy settled in the sitting room with a snack and something to occupy him and send Mr. Lupin to my study.”

“Yes, Master Harry,” Pip said before disappearing again.

Harry didn’t let go of my hand.

Remus was coming.
And thank Merlin, because I didn’t know what the hell to do next.

Remus entered the study swiftly, his eyes already scanning our faces.

“You saw?” he asked quietly.

“We saw,” Harry confirmed, the Prophet still open between us.

Remus exhaled and moved further into the room. “Are you going tonight?”

“I was planning on it,” Harry said, glancing at the clock. “We’ve still got plenty of time for Lyra’s birthday and the fundraiser. But now… with this bloody special edition? I’m not so sure.”

“What do we do, Remus?” I asked, my voice trembling. I could feel the panic crawling up my throat again.

Remus didn’t answer right away. He crossed the room and took the seat beside me, his presence calm and steady.

“What are your instincts telling you?” he asked gently.

I didn’t hesitate. “Run. Get on the first flight out of London.” I dropped my head into my hands. “But Harry already told me that’s a bad idea.”

“I’m inclined to agree with him,” Remus said, his voice kind but firm. “As much as it may feel like the safer option—it won’t solve anything. The only way through this now… is through it.”

I lifted my head slowly, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “What does that even mean? I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know where to start.”

“You start by focusing on what you can control,” he said. “You don’t have to let the Prophet decide your next move. You decide.”

“I don’t know what I can control,” I whispered. My hands twisted in my lap, cold and unsteady. “My head’s a mess. I can’t think.”

“You can control when you talk to Draco,” Remus said calmly. “Where you talk to him. Whether you speak to him alone or with someone beside you. Whether Lyra is present or not. You’re not powerless here, Hermione. You never have been.”

I inhaled sharply, trying to ground myself in his words. The pressure in my chest hadn’t eased, but at least it wasn’t expanding.

“I’m supposed to be leaving in two days,” I said. “I don’t even know if I’ll make it that far without everything unraveling.”

“You could go tonight,” Remus offered. “To the fundraiser. You wouldn’t be alone. Harry, Ron, Arthur, Molly—we’ll all be there. If Draco attends, you’ll be surrounded by people who care about you. And you know as well as I do, Malfoy won’t risk a public scene. He has too much to lose.”

The thought alone made my stomach twist but it was better than hiding.

Maybe it was time.

I nodded softly, wiping the frustration from my face with the back of my hand.

“I have nothing to wear,” I whispered, feeling absurd for even saying it aloud. Of all the things to worry about, this felt painfully shallow but it was easier than thinking about everything else.

Remus let out a warm chuckle. “If memory serves, someone was quite talented with transfiguration.”

He glanced at the clock and stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “Your guests will be arriving any minute now to celebrate Lyra’s birthday, and I can only imagine the havoc my son is currently wreaking downstairs out of boredom.”

He looked between Harry and me, his gaze full of calm assurance.

“There will be time to wallow and worry later. Right now, it’s time to celebrate.”

And with that, he slipped out of the study, leaving behind the quiet weight of his steady encouragement.

I turned to Harry, the question already on my lips. “Who’s going to watch Lyra?”

Harry came around the desk and dropped into the chair Remus had just vacated. He reached for my hand, grounding me with his touch.

“Tilly was going to watch James, and Dudley, Katie, and Alex will all be home too,” he said. “They’ve got it covered.”

I shook my head, the familiar anxiety pressing in. “It feels like I’m leaving them as sitting ducks. What if someone manages to break through the wards? How do I leave them here unprotected?”

Harry squeezed my hand. “Mione, the wards are solid. I’ve reinforced them myself. If anything—anything—even tries to breach them, I’ll get an alert. Pip and Tilly will be here the entire time, and either of them can apparate to us instantly if something happens. We’ll be pulled out before we know there’s danger.”

I looked at him, still unsure, still scared.

“Promise me,” I said quietly, “the moment anything feels off—anything at all—Pip or Tilly will come for us.”

“I promise,” he said without hesitation.

Before I could continue, his gaze flicked to the door behind me.

“I think someone’s looking for you.”

I turned to see Lyra standing sleepily in the doorway, her hair tousled and her stuffed dragon tucked tightly under one arm. She rubbed one eye with her fist.

I stood and crossed the room quickly, scooping her into my arms and holding her close.

“Hey, Star,” I murmured. “Did you have a good rest?”

She nodded sleepily against my shoulder.

“Would you like to get ready for your party?” I asked, rubbing gentle circles on her back. She gave another small nod.

“Then let’s go.”

I carried her to her room and helped her fix her hair and change into a more comfortable outfit,something soft and playful she could run and climb and tumble in. Her sneakers were the last thing we put on, and she wiggled her toes with anticipation.

“Ready to go downstairs, Star? I know Teddy’s already here,” I said, standing up and offering her my hand.

Her eyes lit up. “Is Jamie here too?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said, smiling. “But Mrs. Molly said she was bringing him home for your party.”

“Why don’t we go find out.” As soon as the question slipped from my lips, Lyra’s hand was in mine pulling me towards the stairs. 

As we stepped out onto the patio, I felt a swell of emotion rise in my chest. Molly, Arthur, and Ron stood chatting with Remus while Teddy and James ran in wild circles around the tables. Five years ago, this moment had been nothing more than a fragile, distant dream. And yet here they all were smiling, alive, and gathered to celebrate my daughter.

Harry excused himself from the conversation, joining me quickly and leaning in close.

“I already told them that Muggles are on their way,” he murmured. “Remus had a firm talk with Teddy too. No magic talk at all.”

I nodded in appreciation, letting him guide me over to the conversation circle.

“Hermione, dear, how are you doing?” Molly asked, pulling me into a warm hug before I could fully brace for it.

“I’m okay,” I said softly. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t entirely the truth either.

Before I could elaborate, Katie, Alex, and Dudley stepped onto the patio, their arms full of gifts and their expressions alight with curiosity. I waved them over quickly and made short work of introductions.

“Maia, this party is incredible,” Katie said as her eyes swept over the setup. “How on earth did you and Harry manage this after your morning out?”

“Harry sneakily ordered the cake and all the food,” I said with a small smile, lying smoothly. “So all we really had to do was sort out the tables and balloons. We got lucky—Lyra passed out in the car on the way home and Molly already had James.”

“Well, it’s perfect,” Katie said, as she and Dudley were quickly pulled into a conversation with Molly and Remus about marriage and raising children. 

Alex lingered beside me, her eyes narrowed in quiet assessment.

“Is that who I think it is?” she asked, nudging me with her elbow as she tilted her head toward the lawn where Ron and Harry had begun chasing the kids.

“The guy in the photo on your nightstand,” she added pointedly.

“Yeah,” I said, unable to stop a smile. “That’s Ron. Molly and Arthur’s son.”

“He’s kind of hot,” Alex said with a laugh, sinking into the seat beside me.

I hadn’t thought about Ron that way in years—not since school. But I followed her gaze anyway. Ron caught James with ease and tossed the squealing toddler into the air with practiced confidence. He’d filled out in the years since the war—broad shoulders, strong arms, a healthy glow that came from Auror work and chasing after nieces and nephews.

“I believe he’s single,” I said, smirking. “You could go talk to him.”

“Any kids?” she asked, casual but clearly intrigued.

“Nope. Never married either, as far as I know. He’s Harry’s ex-wife’s older brother.”

“Interesting… very interesting.” Alex’s eyes sparkled as she watched Ron laughing along with Harry. “And you don’t have any claim to him? No lingering drama?”

I snorted. “We kissed once in school, and he asked me out a couple times, but it never went anywhere. We were always better as friends.”

Alex hummed thoughtfully, clearly plotting something.

I raised an eyebrow. “What are you scheming?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said innocently, already eyeing Ron again. “Just thinking about birthday presents. For myself.”

I let out an uncontrollable laugh as the image hit me—Alex, tangled up in the wizarding world, raising a magical child. The thought alone was enough to send me spiraling into memories: sitting in Harvard Commons, sipping overpriced coffee while she pointed out guys she wanted to date—or ones she thought Katie and I should date. Her commentary had always been relentless and entertaining.

The laughter was exactly what I needed. It cracked the tension in my chest, the weight I’d been carrying since I saw The Prophet . For a moment, it felt like nothing in the world had changed.

Then I realized everyone was staring at me.

I blushed, the last of my laughter tapering off into a quiet chuckle as the others slowly turned back to their conversations.

“Seriously, Maia,” Alex said, nudging me again. “You should hook me up.”

I followed her gaze to the lawn where Harry and Ron were facing off against the kids in a spirited game of soccer. Lyra was halfway to tackling James, and Teddy had just stolen the ball from Ron with a surprisingly tactical maneuver.

“Ask Harry,” I said, still laughing. “They’ve been best friends since we were eleven.”

Alex crossed her arms in a mock pout. “You’re so mean. I’m out here trying to find love, and you’re giving me nothing .”

I rolled my eyes, still grinning. “You could always go help them out. Even the odds—three against three.”

Alex smirked, glancing back toward the lawn. Then, without warning, she darted forward, ran down the grassy slope, and scooped Lyra up with ease, tossing her over her shoulder.

“This should help!” she called to Harry and Ron, who paused mid-play to laugh as Lyra squealed with delight.

I shook my head fondly, warmth blooming in my chest. Despite everything, this felt right. Like home.

I shifted over to the other table, half-heartedly joining the conversation. I settled next to Remus, tucking my feet beneath me on the chair. He glanced over with a warm, familiar look—one that could only be described as fatherly pride—as Molly asked Katie about her and Dudley’s wedding plans.

I drifted in and out of the discussion, chiming in here and there while my eyes kept drifting to the lawn. The football match had become intense. I nudged Remus with a grin.

“Molly might have another wedding to plan soon,” I whispered.

Remus followed my gaze to where Alex and Ron had clearly hit it off—laughing, teasing, and steadily ignoring the chaos around them. Harry was left on defense, dodging Lyra, James, and Teddy as the trio tried to score.

Remus let out a soft chuckle, eyes twinkling.

Eventually, I gathered everyone back onto the patio so the kids could eat and we could cut the cake. Nearly everyone would need to leave soon to prepare for the Ministry fundraiser, and just thinking about it made my stomach twist with nerves. But for now, I tried to stay present.

The tall, pink cake was set down in front of Lyra, who beamed with delight. Just as I moved to light the candles, Harry darted back into the house, returning a moment later with a disposable camera in hand.

“Hermione, sit with Lyra,” he instructed, already winding the camera.

I lifted Lyra onto my lap so she could peek over the top of the cake. Harry lit the candles quickly, snapping a few candid photos before we began to sing. Lyra’s face lit up brighter than the flames in front of her.

As the song ended, I kissed her cheek and wrapped my arms around her. She leaned back against me, perfectly content.

Whatever happened tonight.

Whatever came next.

I had given my daughter a perfect birthday.

For this moment, that was enough.

Chapter Text

May 2nd, 2004

Once the kids had run off their sugar highs and the party began to wind down, guests slowly said their goodbyes to prepare for the fundraiser. Everyone except Ron, who seemed utterly captivated by his conversation with Alex.

“Hey, mate, do you still have some of my spare clothes here?” Ron called out to where Harry and I were sitting.

“Think so. Why?” Harry asked, glancing up from the patio table where he, Dudley, Katie, and I were watching Lyra and James play hide and seek beneath the linen-draped tables.

“I don’t feel like running home before the event tonight,” Ron said, barely glancing away from Alex.

Harry rolled his eyes with a quiet chuckle.

“Ooo, what event tonight?” Katie asked, leaning in with intrigue.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you both about that,” I said, shifting slightly to face her and Dudley. “Are you planning to head out tonight?”

“We were just going to hang out here, relax, maybe start packing a bit,” Katie replied. “Why?”

“Well…” I hesitated. “Someone I went to school with saw Harry and me today. With Lyra.”

“Okay…” Dudley said slowly, his tone tinged with confusion.

“And word’s gotten back to Lyra’s biological father,” I continued. “I’ve spoken with Harry and Remus, and we think the best course of action is to confront him in a public space, and without Lyra present. Somewhere safe, where he won’t cause a scene.”

Katie’s brows furrowed. “What does that have to do with tonight?”

“There’s a big fundraiser tonight for the school we went to. After a terrible incident—well, a lot of students got hurt and some died just before we graduated. Every year since, there’s been a memorial fundraiser. Harry and Remus both think it’s the right place to… handle this. Controlled. Public.”

Katie was quiet for a moment, then asked gently, “Do you feel ready for that?”

I let out a shaky breath. “If I’m being honest, my first instinct was to book the first flight out of London. But he has the resources to find us. To find Lyra. I can’t hide anymore—not with the photo going around.”

“I wasn’t planning to go,” I admitted quickly, the words tumbling out. “I was going to stay here and watch James while Harry went. But now… I feel like I have to. Is there any chance you could watch Lyra and James? We’ll get them ready for bed they’ve already eaten.”

“Hey, slow down,” Katie said, reaching over to squeeze my arm. “We can absolutely handle bedtime. I’m more worried about you. This is a huge step.”

“It really is, Maia,” Alex chimed in as she and Ron returned to the table, clearly having overheard. “You didn’t even want to talk about him before and now you’re about to see him unexpectedly, and not on your terms.”

“I know,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “But Harry thinks it’s for the best. I’ll have support there, pretty much everyone who was here today will be at the fundraiser too.”

Katie gave me a gentle look. “Do you want to tell us about him?”

I hesitated, then nodded slowly. “We didn’t get along in school. Not at all—not until we were older. He ran with a completely different crowd, and we clashed constantly. I even punched him in the face when we were thirteen.”

Alex snorted. “Sounds promising.”

I smiled faintly. “The next year… we started getting along. But it was quiet. No one really knew. A lot of complicated things happened between then and when I left..”

I paused, running a hand through my hair, tugging gently at the tangles like they might help untangle my thoughts.

“From what Harry’s told me, he’s studying to be a doctor now. He’s been helping the police where he can—and apparently, he’s been looking for me for years. But I covered my tracks well. There were no leads. Nothing to follow.”

I let out a long breath. “There’s just… way too much history to get into right now.”

Harry looked at his watch and sighed deeply. Harry looked at his watch and sighed deeply.

“Mione, you might want to start getting ready. We’ve got about an hour until we need to leave,” he said, grimacing. The expression on his face mirrored exactly how I felt—neither of us wanted to go.

“Guess so,” I muttered, standing up.

“I’ve got Lyra. You go get dressed,” Harry added before I could object.

I made my way upstairs to my bedroom, digging through my suitcase until I found the only dress I’d packed. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. I refreshed my charmwork, carefully altering the dress until it fit the way I wanted. I transfigured my trainers into a pair of silver heels and stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower.

As I was drying off, a knock echoed from the bedroom door.

“Come in,” I called, cracking the bathroom door open. I wrapped my bathrobe tighter around me as Alex stepped in, followed closely by Katie.

“That is quite the dress,” Alex said with a grin as she walked over.

“It’s a stupid formal event,” I muttered, gesturing to where I’d laid it out on the bed. “Harry said he couldn’t bear to throw it out—it was one of the few things I left behind.”

The lie slipped out too easily. I hated how good I was getting at it.

“Maia,” Katie said gently, stepping closer. “How are you? Really?”

I paused, watching her in the mirror as I sat at the vanity. The concern in her voice made my throat tighten.

“Harry and Ron told us a little more,” she continued. “About how you had no one to talk to. About Draco.”

Hearing his name from her mouth made something twist deep in my chest.

“Harry and Ron weren’t in a place to hear it back then,” I said quietly. “Not as something good in my life.”

I glanced at them both, willing myself to be honest.

“Ron’s brother died in the incident. And the person who caused it was close to Draco’s family. There’s so much history—so much pain. And I was caught in the middle. Caught between knowing Draco… really knowing him—and not wanting to lose my friends.”

I exhaled sharply.

“Molly always thought Ron and I would end up together. She pushed for it. She pushed Harry to marry Ginny too—and they weren’t ready. They were kids. Nineteen and eighteen, and they’d both been through… hell. But Molly didn’t see that. She just saw the future she wanted for all of us.”

“Draco’s family is old money,” I added. “Like Kennedy old money. His father made a deal with a business associate when Draco was still a kid. An arranged marriage of sorts. He could’ve broken it… but doing so would’ve cost him everything.”

I looked down at my hands, my fingers twisting in the hem of the robe.

“I know— know —if he had known about Lyra, he would’ve broken the contract. He would’ve picked us. But it would’ve destroyed his reputation. Everything he was trying to rebuild after his father ruined everything.”

I swallowed hard.

“And I would’ve been the woman who cost him everything.”

I wiped the traitorous tear from my cheek before it could fall.

“He’s got a son now,” I said quietly. “About James’s age. And the stupid contract doesn’t even matter anymore. His wife passed away a few months ago.”

“Oh, Maia,” Katie whispered, her voice full of sympathy.

“We’re so sorry,” Alex began. “If we had known—”

“There was nothing to be done,” I interrupted gently. “I didn’t want that life for Lyra—or for me. From what Harry’s told me, Draco’s done a lot of good with the money and influence he kept. But that doesn’t change what I chose. I made that decision for her.”

I reached for my brush, but Katie took it gently from my hands. Alex stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“You’re not doing this alone, Maia,” Alex said, her tone steady. “We’ve been with you since the day you walked into that apartment. We’re not going anywhere.”

She gave me a teasing smile. “Now let’s go show Draco exactly what he’s been missing.”

They both sprang into action, moving with practiced ease. Alex handled my makeup, her fingers quick and precise, coaxing out a subtle glamour that made me look both elegant and strong. Katie focused on my hair, taming it over my left shoulder and carefully shaping the curls into sleek, polished waves.

Eventually, I slipped away to the bathroom to change.

I paused before the mirror and took a deep breath. One last charm shimmered across my skin, glamoring the scar on my arm. Six years later, even with the glamor I could still see its outline if I looked closely—if I knew what to look for—but to most, it would be invisible.

I holstered my wand against my inner thigh, then stepped into the dress.

The silver beading along the sleeves clung to my arms, a sharp contrast against the deep maroon fabric. It traced delicately over my collarbone, swept across my chest, then spiraled down the length of the thigh-high slit—catching the light with every shimmer as it flowed to the floor.

It was bold. Powerful.

And tonight, I needed to be both.

Harry and Ron stood in the foyer with Dudley and the kids as we descended the grand staircase. Both men were dressed in sharp black Muggle suits, their Order of Merlin medals pinned neatly to their left lapels.

“Mama, you look like a princess,” Lyra said as she ran toward me. I bent down and scooped her into my arms, holding her close.

“Thank you, baby,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I need you to be good for Auntie Alex and Auntie Katie tonight. They’re going to do bedtime with you. Uncle Harry, Uncle Ron, and I have an event we need to attend.”

I smoothed a curl from her forehead. “Mummy will be here when you wake up, Star. Happy birthday.”

“I love you, Mummy,” she said, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.

“I love you too, my Star.” I held her for a moment longer before setting her down. Her curls, her eyes—so distinctly Draco’s. And in twenty minutes, I would be face to face with the source of it all.

“You both clean up well,” I said, turning toward Harry and Ron.

Harry chuckled. “I still have to help him with his tie. Hopeless, I swear,” he teased, nudging Ron.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, more gently.

“More nervous than I was six years ago,” I admitted.

“We started this together,” Ron said, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug. “We’ll finish it together. Just like we always have.”

There was something about his embrace that felt like acceptance—like some piece of our fractured friendship had fallen back into place. I nodded softly, returning the gesture.

“We shouldn’t be more than a few hours,” Harry added. “Ron and I like to make an appearance, write checks, and get out.”

“We really appreciate you all watching the kids,” he finished, glancing toward Katie and Alex.

“It’s no problem at all,” Katie said warmly. “Enjoy yourselves, as much as you possibly can.”

I nodded in thanks, then followed Harry and Ron out to the car.

As we settled in, Ron looked around in confusion. “Are we really taking a Muggle car into London?”

“I’m just driving to the other side of the gates, out of view of Katie and Alex. Then we’ll apparate,” Harry explained, pulling down the driveway.

Ron nodded, though he still looked slightly baffled.

“I gave Tilly and Pip their marching orders,” Harry said. “Tilly’s staying out of sight from Alex, Dudley, and Katie, but she won’t let Lyra out of her sight for a second.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Tilly would guard Lyra with her life.

The thought of Apparition made my pulse quicken. I hadn’t done it in over a year. But magic had returned to me over this week—slowly, steadily—like a puzzle piece finally snapping back into place. 

As we exited the car beyond the edge of the wards, Harry reached for my hand and pressed a small velvet box into my palm. I glanced at him, confused in the fading spring light.

“Open it,” he said softly.

Inside, my Order of Merlin medal gleamed, catching the last rays of sunlight.

Harry gently took it from the box and pinned it to the beading on my dress.

“You deserved this just as much as we did,” he murmured, “if not more.” His tone left no room for argument.

He stepped back and adjusted the pin slightly before continuing. “Ron and I will apparate first, then you. We’re landing about a block away, then using the phone booth entrance.”

I nodded, nerves fluttering low in my stomach.

“Are you comfortable with that? Or would you rather side-along? When’s the last time you apparated?” Harry asked, his voice soft but careful.

“It’s been… a little over a year,” I admitted. “Haven’t really had a reason to.”

“I’d be more comfortable side-alonging you,” Harry said gently. “We don’t need you splinching yourself out of sheer anxiety.”

I huffed a soft laugh, but didn’t argue. He was right. My brain was scrambled—wired and foggy all at once—and I was in no shape to focus properly.

With that settled, we watched Ron vanish with a crack , leaving a faint shimmer in the quiet air.

Harry turned to me, slipped an arm around my waist, and pulled me tightly to his side before Disapparating.

We landed a moment later with a soft thud in a dim alleyway. My heart leapt into my throat, and the world spun slightly beneath my heels. I tried to step away from Harry but stumbled, knees unsteady.

His arms caught me instantly, one hand at my waist, the other at my elbow, steadying me before I could fully falter.

“Easy,” he murmured.

Ron glanced over, concern flickering across his face. I offered a quick nod, forcing a breath past the tightness in my chest.

“I’m okay,” I said, though the words tasted like a lie. But I was here. And I was doing this.

Walking toward the phone booth felt more difficult than climbing on that bloody dragon. My knees were shaky, my breath shallow, and Harry’s hand still hadn’t left my waist—clearly worried I might topple over.

Ron disappeared into the booth first. A moment later, Harry and I stepped in together, and the floor began to descend.

I heard the scratching of quills and the click of cameras long before I saw anything. Then came the shouting.

“Ron! Over here—any truth to the rumors Hermione Granger is back in London?”

“Ron, any comment on Hermione Granger’s secret child?”

“Ron, are you the father of Hermione Granger’s child?”

They were on him like wolves—shouting, jostling, Rita Skeeter front and center, wearing a self-satisfied smirk like perfume.

Then the booth dinged.

And the chaos stopped—for half a second.

Harry and I stepped out.

The cameras turned. The shouting intensified.

“Hermione! Who is the father of your child?”

“Hermione! Is it true Harry Potter left Ginny Potter for you?”

“Hermione! Where have you been since your disappearance five years ago?”

My head spun, the flashes of cameras blinding. I felt dizzy, breath catching in my throat as the noise became one endless roar.

Harry’s arm tightened around me.

Ron appeared at my other side, a steady presence as he blocked a too-eager reporter with a firm shoulder.

Each of them threw out an arm, forming a protective barrier as we pushed through the fray.

“No comment,” Harry repeated sharply, over and over.

“No comment,” Ron echoed.

They guided me forward, step by step, carving a path toward the event hall where the benefit was being held.

I kept my head down, eyes fixed on the floor, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear the rest.

I didn’t lift my head until the doors of the ballroom closed behind us, the roar of the reporters finally cut off like a dam had sealed. The soft music drifting through the ballroom was a welcome contrast, like stepping into another world.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked as he and Ron released me. I nodded slightly, my eyes still fixed on the floor.

Then I looked up.

All eyes were on us—but only one pair made my knees threaten to buckle.

Stormy grey eyes.

Draco Malfoy was standing near the far side of the ballroom, still and unmoving, his gaze locked with mine the moment I looked up.

My breath caught.

Before I could react, Remus stepped into my line of sight, shielding me. His hand grazed my arm as he gently ushered me toward one of the tables near the center of the room. Molly and Arthur were already seated, along with Professor McGonagall—a welcome and grounding sight. She gave me a warm, firm nod. We’d kept in touch over the years, the occasional owl exchanged during holidays or just-because moments. She had registered Lyra for Hogwarts and kept my secrets. But now, in person, I felt the strength of her presence steadying me.

Ron pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit, and I did—grateful not to be standing under the scrutiny of the entire room.

“We timed it to be here as the dinner was starting,” Harry whispered as he took the seat next to me. “You have time.”

He leaned closer. “Are you really okay?”

“I have to be,” I said softly, eyes still flicking toward the crowd.

Kingsley stepped onto the stage and began his speech, but I didn’t register a word. My gaze kept sweeping the room, taking stock.

Seamus, Dean… Ginny—seated with the Holyhead Harpies. Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini, chatting quietly near the bar. So many familiar faces, older now, more put together—but underneath, the same boys and girls who had once stood beside me in a war.

But my eyes always came back to him.

Draco’s stare hadn’t wavered. He stood straighter now, his posture still regal, but there was a softness to him I didn’t remember. He had filled out—still tall and lean, but more grounded in his body. His face had changed too: the angles remained, but they’d gentled. He looked like a man who had lived through grief, rebuilt himself, and emerged quieter—but no less intense.

My heart skipped painfully as I took in every new detail. Every shift. Every reminder of the boy I’d once known.

The boy I had loved.

And every emotion I had locked behind closed doors for five long years came rushing forward. The longing. The guilt. The ache of what I hadn’t told him. The impossible, unrelenting weight of what I had taken from him.

My throat tightened.

The urge to run to him, to explain everything, burned under my skin. To tell him about his beautiful brilliant daughter. To offer my condolences for his wife. To apologize. To ask for something I wasn’t sure I had the right to anymore.

But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

So I sat, forcing myself to keep still. To breathe. To hold it all together. I could break down later. 

The speeches passed in a blur. Remus quietly shifted into Harry’s seat when Harry was called up to join Kingsley.

As Harry stepped onto the stage, I tried to assemble some kind of script—words I could say to Draco. I knew the moment the speeches ended, when the room broke into drinks and music and movement, he’d come straight for me.

His eyes never left me, even as the plates appeared, even as the clinking of cutlery and the hum of conversation filled the space.

Throughout the meal, Harry and Ron offered small nudges and glances, gentle reminders to eat. I tried. I pushed food around my plate and forced myself to swallow, but every bite tasted like chalk.

From the surrounding tables, not-so-subtle conversations drifted in. Soft whispers—speculation about my disappearance, hushed gossip about torrid affairs and deadly secrets. A few heads turned too slowly when I looked up, others glanced away as if I hadn’t noticed their curiosity.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, her voice cutting through the noise like a balm.

I turned to her, grateful for the interruption. “Likewise. It’s nice to have a friendly face,” I said, using every ounce of my self-control to keep my voice steady.

“Please, update me on your studies,” she said, her tone warm but direct. “I’ve been quite curious what came of you after you left. You are the brightest witch of your age.”

“I earned my Mastery in Potions five years ago,” I answered briskly. “Now I teach part-time, and spend the rest of my time working under grant funding to develop a safe, long-term version of Dreamless Sleep.”

Her brows lifted, clearly intrigued. “And how is that going?”

“I’m getting there. Slowly,” I admitted. “We’ve made several adjustments. Right now, my team is brewing a new variant with powdered moonstone to test. We’re still in the trial-and-error phase.”

She nodded approvingly, as if filing that information away for later.

I caught a passing waiter and grabbed a flute of champagne, downing half before setting it aside. The fizz didn’t settle my nerves, but it gave me something to hold onto.

Well before I was ready, the dinner concluded. Plates vanished, the music shifted, and people began to rise from their seats—mingling, laughing, beginning the night in earnest.

I followed Ron and Harry toward a quiet corner of the room just as Kingsley made his way over.

“I’m glad to see you alive and well, Hermione,” he said, offering his hand.

“You as well,” I replied as we shook. “Minister suits you.”

“I’d like to have tea sometime. Catch up properly,” he said, and it didn’t sound like a request.

“I’d enjoy that,” I said carefully. “Though I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be on British soil.”

Kingsley gave me a thoughtful look at that, as though turning over the weight of my words. But he let it pass, murmuring something to Ron and Harry before excusing himself and slipping back into the crowd. 

I watched carefully as Draco moved through the ballroom, gliding from conversation to conversation with the effortless poise and precision that came with his title. He looked polished, in control—every inch the Lord Malfoy. But I knew better. I knew the man behind the name.

And I could see his trajectory.

No matter how many classmates he nodded to, how many social niceties he performed, the path he was carving through the crowd led directly to us. To me.

I snagged another flute of champagne from a passing waiter, wishing for something stronger to steel my nerves.

And then—too soon—those storm-grey eyes were close enough to touch.

“Lord Potter. Weasley.” Draco’s voice was deceptively smooth, but the tension laced through it was unmistakable. “Would you excuse Miss Granger and myself for a moment?”

“Lord Malfoy,” Harry replied coolly. “Anything you wish to say to Hermione, you can say in front of us. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to be without an Auror present.”

My throat clenched.

I stared into Draco’s eyes, and in a flash, I saw every version of him I’d ever loved.

The snarky, sharp-tongued fourteen-year-old who threw paper bird notes at me in the library while I scribbled a Potions essay.
The anxious fifteen-year-old clutching my arm too tightly as Umbridge interrogated Harry.
The terrified sixteen-year-old sobbing into my robes as the mark on his arm burned through his skin and soul.
The broken seventeen-year-old who shoved vials of stolen potions into my hands just before Dobby whisked me away from Malfoy Manor.
The devastated eighteen-year-old staring at the garden gate, torn between me and the contract that could destroy everything he was trying to rebuild.

And now he stood before me—twenty-four, a widower, storm and sorrow in his gaze. Pain, anger, questions… and something else.

Relief.

Longing.

My knees trembled. My mind screamed for calm.

I wasn’t ready for this.

But I didn’t have a choice anymore.

“Lord Malfoy, I wish to offer my sincerest condolences on the passing of Lady Malfoy,” I said, my voice calm even as the words scraped like sandpaper down my throat.

That, at least, managed to interrupt the pissing contest between him and Harry.

Draco’s jaw twitched ever so slightly. “Thank you, Miss Granger. Now, if you’d kindly call off your guard dogs and have a proper conversation with me… I believe you owe me that much.”

“Lord Malfoy—” The title tasted wrong—sharp, foreign. It didn’t belong to my Draco. Not the one I remembered. “I don’t believe this is the right venue for such conversations.”

His mask slipped.

“Hermione,” he snapped, the polish gone, “you owe me some bloody answers.”

“I know,” I whispered, the weight of it crashing down on me.

I looked toward Harry, who gave me a small, steady nod—permission or encouragement, I wasn’t sure.

“Would you be open to joining me tomorrow? Somewhere private. Somewhere without the ears of half the Wizengamot waiting to overhear us?” I offered.

Draco exhaled, a sharp sound that was almost a scoff. He ran a tense hand through his hair, muttered a curse under his breath, and finally relented.

“Amwell Court?”

My heart stuttered.

I could see it—roses climbing the garden wall, the wrought iron table where we had our last conversation. The place where everything ended.

“Potter Manor may be a more comfortable setting, Lord Malfoy,” Harry interjected smoothly. “The boys might enjoy running amok together while you and Hermione talk.”

Draco’s eyes flicked between us.

Somewhere behind them, I saw the faintest crack.

“Eleven a.m., Potter. Make sure your Floo is open,” Draco said sharply, eyes still locked on mine.

“If at all possible,” Harry replied evenly, “we’d prefer you apparate outside the wards and use the front door. My Muggle cousin is staying with us.”

Draco gave a terse nod, his gaze never wavering from mine. “Eleven it is.”

“We’ll talk then,” I said quietly. “No secrets.”

I dropped my eyes, unable to hold his stare any longer, my fingers twisting together in a nervous knot. Harry’s hand found my elbow, steadying me, gently beginning to guide me away.

But as we moved past Draco, something in me snapped. I reached out and caught his arm.

The contact was electric.

Like lightning—white-hot and unmistakable. My heart slammed against my ribs as I looked up at him. At the man I had loved. At the father of my child.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Then, without waiting for a reply, I let Harry pull me away.

He swept me into the rhythm of mingling, making the necessary rounds. I smiled, I nodded, I shook hands—my body on autopilot. But all I could feel was Draco’s gaze, burning into my back from across the ballroom where he stood with Theo and Blaise.

Another pair of eyes followed us, too—Ginny’s. Her stare was sharp and unrelenting, her expression unreadable as she watched every time Harry’s hand brushed my waist or lingered at my back.

Eventually, mercifully, it ended.

We said our goodbyes—Molly, Arthur, Minerva, Remus. And then we slipped toward the doors.

Harry and Ron flanked me once more like the protective buffer they were, guiding me through the renewed flurry of reporters outside. Cameras flashed. Questions screamed.

But I kept my head down, eyes fixed on the ground, and let them lead me.

The walk back to the apparition point was a blur. I barely registered anything around me until Harry’s arm tightened around my waist, pulling me close before we disapparated with a quiet crack .

The cool, familiar stillness of Potter Manor’s drive greeted us. It took me a moment to breathe again.

“Do you want me to come in, mate?” Ron asked, his voice low as we stood by the car.

“I’m going to get her to bed,” Harry said, opening the passenger door for me gently. “But if you want to come in, you’re welcome. I could use a glass of firewhiskey.”

Ron nodded, glancing toward me before settling into the back seat. “I’ll join you. Make sure she’s good.”

I didn’t say a word as we drove back up to the Manor.

Katie, Alex, and Dudley were perched in the sitting room off the foyer, clearly waiting for our arrival. The second the front door opened, they were in the foyer, eyes scanning my face.

“How did it go?” Katie asked quickly, her voice softening as she took in my pale complexion and vacant expression.

It was taking everything in me not to break down on the spot.

“Let’s let her change before we start asking questions,” Dudley murmured, gently guiding Katie back into the sitting room. Alex and Ron followed silently.

I let Harry guide me up the stairs. When we reached the landing, I stopped him, placing a hand on his chest and turning to open Lyra’s door.

Tilly shimmered into visibility instantly, her large eyes flicking up to mine.

“Miss Lala has been sleeping peacefully for hours. Nothing even went bump in the Manor,” she whispered proudly.

I nodded, eyes locked on my daughter—tiny and peaceful beneath the covers of the large four-poster bed, arms curled protectively around the dragon Harry bought her that morning.

Tears welled up and spilled freely.

“Would you like Tilly to stay with Miss Lala?” she asked.

“No, thank you, Tilly,” Harry said gently. “You can return to your usual duties.”

I crossed the room, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Lyra’s forehead. She didn’t stir. My brave, beautiful girl. I slipped back out, closing the door softly behind me.

“She’s safe,” Harry said quietly. “And you made it through tonight.”

But I didn’t feel safe. I felt like I was going to collapse under the weight of everything I was holding in.

Harry followed me into my room.

I felt like I was under the Imperius Curse—numb, detached, unable to move without instruction. I sat down at the vanity, muscles aching from the tension of the night.

Harry moved around the room with quiet purpose, pulling soft leggings from my drawer and rifling through my shirts with a quiet huff.

“Get your heels off. I’ll be right back,” he murmured.

I started unlatching the buckles with shaking fingers and slid them off, toes curling against the rug. I turned toward the mirror and tried to pull out the pins from my hair, but my hands were trembling too hard.

Harry returned carrying a deep maroon shirt and my leggings. He placed them both in my lap, then reached down and gently closed my hands around the fabric before standing behind me.

Without a word, he began removing the pins from my hair, one by one, lining them up neatly on the vanity. His fingers were careful, steady. He smoothed my hair down gently, brushing through it with practiced motions.

“Go get changed, love,” he said softly.

The endearment hit something deep in my chest, and the tears started again—quiet but relentless.

I nodded and moved into the ensuite. The moment the door shut behind me, I let the dress fall in a heap on the floor. I removed the wand holster from my thigh and folded it carefully.

Then I unfolded the maroon cloth in my hands.

Harry’s old Quidditch jersey. The number seven on the back was fraying from age, the fabric faded and soft. I slipped it over my head and let it swallow me whole, the sleeves falling past my wrists.

The scent of old detergent and Harry hit me like a wave.

I pulled my hair into a messy bun, wiped the tears from my face, and padded barefoot back into the bedroom.

Harry was waiting. His suit jacket was tossed on the bed, his tie draped over the chair, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He crossed the room without a word and pulled me into a hug.

I melted into him.

His arms were strong and warm and solid, and in that moment, I let myself fall apart in the quiet safety of his embrace.

Chapter Text

May 3rd, 2004

I woke up in an unfamiliar room.

Morning sunlight spilled through the balcony doors, casting warm gold across the stone fountain at the center of the crescent driveway below. It took me a moment to remember where I was. The night before returned in fragments, sharp and disjointed.

The fundraiser. The photo. Draco.

The panic that had wrapped itself so tightly around me I could barely breathe.

I never made it back downstairs to see Katie and Alex. I barely remembered anything past stepping through the front door. Just hazy flashes: Harry gathering my pajamas. Undoing my hair. Me crying into his shirt.

And then—Harry asking me to lie down while he changed.

The idea of being alone with my thoughts even for a moment terrified me. I remembered asking—begging, maybe—to come with him. Sitting on the edge of his bed while he slipped into a cotton t-shirt and joggers in the ensuite.

And then he pulled me close. Curled up against the headboard, his arms wrapped around me, murmuring that it would be okay. That he was here.

That I wasn’t alone.

Now, the reality settled in slowly.

I was still in his bed.

Harry’s arm was wrapped snugly around my waist. His face was tucked against the curve of my neck.

I allowed myself to soak in the feeling for a moment.

It had been six years since I’d woken up with someone beside me. Even with Viktor, when we fooled around, it was always in some impersonal Muggle hotel room. I usually left before sunrise—after he fell asleep.

I liked the arrangement we had. No strings. No feelings. When we were together, we were together. When we weren’t, we could sleep with whoever we wanted. Simple. Easy. No expectations. No mess.

This felt so soft in contrast—like a memory pulled from somewhere deep. It reminded me of waking up tangled in sheets with Draco. The warm breath dancing across my neck. The weight of an arm thrown over my waist, holding me close like I was some kind of teddy bear. Unthinking. Familiar. Safe.

My mind drifted in the haze of early morning light. Seeing Draco last night had rocked me to my core—and feeling his arm under my hand again had brought a rush of feelings I'd buried so deeply I’d almost forgotten where I left them. I’d locked them away the moment I boarded that plane. I cried my tears for him as we took off, sealing that chapter with finality.

But seeing him again… touching him again… it had cracked open the chest I’d tucked those feelings in. The way he looked at me—anger layered over longing and relief—set a balloon of hope rising in my chest, as idiotic as it was.

Could there be a future for us? Two broken people meeting in the middle to raise children together. Maybe even adding more to that future—his son, our daughter, a house filled with laughter and second chances.

And then there was the arm wrapped tightly around my waist now. The one anchoring me to the present.

My thoughts shifted, just as quickly, to Harry. Feelings had been bubbling up ever since I saw him with Lyra in Boston. I’d shoved them down, buried myself in work as soon as he flew back to London. But this week—this week had changed something. Watching him create memories with my daughter… it begged the question.

Could there be something more?

He treated Lyra like his own. He’d thrown her a birthday party, spoiled her rotten, took her flying for the first time. He called her “star” when he thought I couldn’t hear.

And now this—this morning, this quiet—his warmth wrapped around me like it belonged there.

Could Harry and I exist together in this kind of soft, steady comfort?

Could we build a life from this?

Soft kisses. Cuddled mornings. Quiet joy. A life stitched together not out of tragedy, but out of healing. A home where Lyra could be herself, wholly and fully—and where maybe, just maybe, there was room for more.

Harry let out a soft groan, his arm tightening across my waist before his hand slid gently over my hip as he sprawled out on his back in the too-big bed. He shifted more as he began to wake.

“G’morning,” he mumbled, rolling back toward me, pulling me close again with a wide yawn.

It was like I really was his personal teddy bear.

A soft whine cut through the air—Harry’s wand alerting him.

He groaned again. “Go back to sleep, James,” he muttered, burying his face against my shoulder before slowly disentangling himself and climbing out of bed.

I flopped onto my back, eyes drifting up to the maroon canopy above me.

Could I get used to this? Living life in maroon and gold instead of emerald and silver?

Maroon and silver had a nice ring to it, though.

Could I come back to London? Even though I had never known of Potter Manor’s existence before this trip, it almost felt like coming home.

I could picture Lyra’s laughter echoing through these halls as she grew—chasing James down the corridors, maybe even welcoming the idea of a baby brother or sister someday. I could see her bringing home strays, the same way Ron had once brought Harry and me to the Burrow. I saw this house becoming a safe haven for Lyra and James’ friends, a place where tea was always warm and the library door never quite shut.

Lazy days curled up in that library—the one I’d been itching to explore since I arrived. Afternoons spent with Harry, with the kids, tangled in warmth and softness and safety.

But then, Amwell Court stirred in the back of my mind.

It still held space in my heart—the warm townhouse tucked in the heart of London. The sprawling library begging to be explored. The rose-covered garden wall. That quiet, private balcony off the master suite that overlooked it all.

It was smaller. More central. More us, once.

But was it still?

I was quickly torn from my thoughts as my wand let out a familiar, urgent whine. I stretched lightly, disentangling myself from the soft maroon sheets and padding barefoot across the hall to Lyra’s room.

“Good morning, Star,” I said softly as I entered, making my way over to her bed.

She was sitting upright, bleary-eyed and still half-lost in dreams, her dragon plush discarded at her side.

“Morning, Mummy,” she mumbled, reaching for me.

I climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged against the headboard and pulling her into my lap. She curled against my chest with a soft yawn, her small fingers twisting into the fabric of Harry’s jersey still clinging to me.

“Did you have a good birthday?” I asked, brushing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I had the best birthday, Mummy,” she said, her voice drowsy but certain. “I really like it here. With Uncle Harry. And Jamie.”

She’d said it before—more than once—but it still hit me like a punch to the heart. All I wanted was to give her the world.

I cast a quick Tempus. Half past eight.

It was late for me—late for her. But I hadn’t taken a single drop of Dreamless Sleep last night, and somehow, for the first time in years, I had slept.

A full night. No nightmares. No panic jolting me awake. Just Harry’s steady breath against my shoulder and the warmth of someone simply being there .

It hadn’t happened since Draco.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Lyra sighed into my chest.

My heart clenched.

Because soon—far too soon—I would have to make a choice. One that would define both of our lives.

Would we board that plane and return to the safety of our Boston brownstone? My stable job. Her little magical school tucked behind the library. A life of quiet predictability.

Or would we stay here, at Potter Manor—or maybe find a place of our own—as I attempted to figure out what co-parenting with Draco Malfoy even looked like?

Or worse—would we be pulled into a custody battle that would break me?

I herded Lyra through her morning routine, brushing her hair and helping her into leggings and a soft sweater before sending her downstairs for breakfast. As we stepped into the hallway, Harry exited James' room at the same time—James perched sleepily on his hip. Without a word, we exchanged a soft look of understanding, and Lyra happily followed him down the stairs.

I turned toward my bedroom, tugging the elastic from my hair as I stepped inside—only to be met with resistance.

A perfectly manicured hand was pressed against the door.

Katie.

“Hey,” she said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her. “You and Harry never came back down last night. Ron said it was… a rough one.”

“It was,” I admitted, my voice low. I crossed the room and began digging through my suitcase. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about here,” Katie said, perching on the edge of the bed, watching me carefully.

“Lyra’s father is coming over. At eleven.” I took a breath. “Harry’s staying here with James, because—well—Draco’s bringing his son. And I need Lyra to not be here. Not for the first conversation.”

Katie didn’t blink. “Dudley’s still off today. If Harry’s okay with us borrowing the car, maybe we can take her out for a few hours?”

“You’re sure? This is your last day with him.”

“You flew across the Atlantic for me,” she said softly. “And—no offense—it kind of blew up in your face. This is the least I can do. We’re still in this together, Maia.”

I nodded, touched, and pulled out a pair of jeans and a soft long-sleeve tee.

“Now,” she said, cocking her head, “change. And tell me why this bed hasn’t been slept in.”

I gave her a look.

She smirked. “Also—that shirt looks very familiar. Didn’t it used to be green?”

I rolled my eyes as I turned away to change, Harry’s jersey still draped over my body like a second skin. She’d seen me in less—she and Alex had been in the room when Lyra was born—but still, I was careful to keep my back to her as I tugged off the jersey and slipped my bra on underneath.

“The green one’s in Boston,” I mumbled, carefully folding the maroon fabric. “It was Lyra’s dad’s.”

Katie’s eyes widened, her grin immediate. “Is that whose I think it is?”

I didn’t answer. Just blushed.

Katie leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Did you sleep with Harry last night?”

“We slept ,” I said firmly, pulling on my jeans. “Not shagged . I was in no state for that—and Harry’s a gentleman.”

Katie raised both eyebrows but didn’t push. Instead, she tilted her head and smiled. “So… you slept in Harry’s bed, wearing Harry’s jersey, after seeing Draco for the first time in six years.”

I let out a long sigh. “That about sums it up.”

She let out a low whistle. “Girl, your life is a soap opera .”

“Believe me, if the network would cancel it, I’d be over the moon,” I said with a laugh as I exited the room and made my way down the stairs.

Katie and I followed the voices out onto the patio, where everyone was gathered for breakfast. I blinked in surprise at the sight of Ron already seated, laughing along with whatever story Alex was dramatically telling.

I slipped into the chair between Harry and Lyra. Without a word, Harry pushed a cup of tea and a warm scone in front of me. My heart did a small, ridiculous flip.

“And then Maia faceplanted in the quad—tripped right over some clueless freshman,” Alex said, clearly enjoying herself. “She was livid . Spun around and absolutely eviscerated him. Turns out he’d been giving her hell in Chem lab for weeks.”

Laughter circled the table.

“That still doesn’t top when she punched Malfoy in the face,” Ron added, shooting me a mischievous grin. “Oi, what was it you called him again, Mione?”

I shook my head with a soft eye roll. “Let it die, Ron.”

“Come on, that was the highlight of third year.”

Harry laughed. “I believe it was… ‘foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach,’ wasn’t it?”

“Harry James ,” I scolded, blushing as I gave him a look. “There are children present.”

He just wiggled his eyebrows and sipped his tea.

“You were thirteen ?” Alex asked between giggles.

“Yup,” I said, grinning. “He was being a punk.”

“No work today, Ron?” I asked, shifting the attention.

“Director sent me an owl this morning suggesting it might be in the department’s best interest if I took the day off—what with last night and all.” He smirked. “Paid, too.”

The rest of the morning was spent trading stories and stolen glances—between me and Harry, and between Ron and Alex. I had a strong suspicion he hadn’t gone home last night, but it was far from my top concern.

Soon, the clock in the kitchen struck a quarter to eleven, and Katie started rounding Lyra up to get her in the car. Ron and Alex had volunteered to accompany them for the morning—likely into some sort of mischief, but I trusted them. It made me feel better knowing Ron could protect her. 

I slipped into the house and retrieved the small enchanted notebook from my bag, charmed to mirror its twin. I handed it to Ron with a soft smile.

“If I write in this, it’ll show up in your copy. Bring her back when I’m ready.” I whispered away from where the muggles could hear us. 

Ron gave a nod of understanding and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

I watched with bated breath as the car disappeared down the winding driveway.

Harry stepped up behind me, his presence grounding. An arm snaked around my waist, his chin brushing lightly against my shoulder.

“They’ll be okay,” he murmured into my ear. “Ron will protect her. You can trust that.”

I nodded, but didn’t reply. My chest was too tight.

“Draco will be here soon,” Harry said gently. “Do you want to talk in the study, the sitting room, or the patio?”

I turned toward him, confused by the question until he added, “I’m going to take James and Scorpius out to the pitch—let them run around with the toddler brooms while you and Draco talk. So… do you want to be in my line of sight, close enough I can keep an eye on things—but far enough that the kids won’t overhear? Or do you want more privacy than that?”

The thoughtfulness behind his planning nearly undid me.

“Patio,” I said after a beat. “That sounds good.”

It felt fitting, somehow—like closing a circle. We ended in a garden once, six years ago. Maybe it made sense to begin again in one.

I allowed Harry to lead me back to the patio, where Tilly and Pip had already cleared away the remains of breakfast. The table had been reset with fresh tea, delicate china clinking softly as the breeze lifted the linen. A tray of warm biscuits sat in the center, untouched.

James toddled along behind us, a confused look wrinkling his little face. He clearly hadn’t realized Lyra was gone yet.

I sank into one of the patio chairs and gently pulled James onto my lap, brushing a curl from his forehead and handing him a biscuit to keep him busy. Harry paced a few steps away, his eyes flicking toward the Manor every few seconds.

Tilly shimmered into view, her voice soft and respectful. “Master Harry, a visitor approaches.”

Harry was gone in an instant, vanishing through the doorway with a final glance in my direction. My hands trembled slightly against James’s back as I shifted him on my lap, pressing a kiss to his temple.

From inside the house came the low rumble of voices. I couldn’t make out the words, but I didn’t need to. The tone was enough. Tense. Tightly controlled.

I wasn’t ready for this.

But I didn’t have a choice anymore.

A few seconds later, Harry reappeared on the patio—Draco trailing behind him.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, the late morning sun catching the pale blonde hair of the toddler perched on his hip. My breath caught in my throat.

The little boy was unmistakably Draco’s. The same white-blond hair that graced Lyra’s head fell in soft waves over his forehead. The resemblance was impossible to ignore—right down to the shape of his nose and the curve of his mouth.

But it was the boy’s eyes that stole the breath from my lungs.

Not grey like Draco’s. Not brown like mine.

A chilling, brilliant blue—Astoria’s eyes.

I stood automatically, shifting James higher on my hip as Harry came over to take him.

“C’mon, Malfoy,” Harry said smoothly, nodding toward the lawn. “Give me Scorp. We’re headed to the pitch.”

Draco hesitated for half a second before handing over his son. Harry took the toddler with practiced ease, now holding one boy on each hip like it was nothing at all. James waved over Harry’s shoulder as they started toward the far end of the garden.

And then we were alone.

Draco and I stood facing each other for the first time in six years, the silence stretching between us like a drawn wand.

“Hermione,” he said at last, his voice taut and formal.

“Draco,” I replied, softer, but no less steady.

He didn’t move. Neither did I.

For a heartbeat, we simply stood there, the ghosts of everything we hadn’t said filling the quiet between us.

“Tilly made biscuits,” I blurted out, the words sounding stupid and small in the morning air. But it was all I could think to say.

Draco didn’t respond. He simply moved, gracefully and silently, to sit at the head of the table—right next to where I had been sitting with James only moments ago. I followed his lead and sank into the seat beside him, my fingers trembling slightly as I reached for the teapot.

I poured two cups.

Automatically, my hands moved to the cream and sugar, carefully measuring each addition like muscle memory. I stirred the cup closest to him and slid it across the table.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, nerves tightening around my ribs. “I don’t know how you take your tea.”

My fingers hovered toward the cup, ready to pull it back.

Draco’s hand came down gently over mine.

“I still take it the same way,” he said, voice soft, almost disbelieving. He looked at me like he couldn’t quite believe I was real and I remembered.

I didn’t know what to say to that. The warmth of his hand burned into mine. I pulled back slowly, wrapping both hands around my own teacup to anchor myself.

There was a beat of silence before he asked, quietly but directly, “Where is she?”

My grip on the porcelain tightened.

“She’s out,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. “With some family friends.”

My voice came out steadier than I felt. “We’re playing with her childhood here, Draco. We need to handle it with care.”

I glanced up—his eyes were burning into me, furious and fragile all at once.

“We need to talk first,” I continued. “As adults. Before bringing her into this.”

He said nothing, but his shoulders tightened just slightly.

“Scorpius likely won’t remember this—losing his mother, gaining a sister. It’ll blur and soften with time. But she will remember. She’ll remember the day her father suddenly appeared, with a brother in tow. She’ll remember the questions that come with that, the confusion, the ache of what she didn’t have. And if we don’t handle this carefully, that memory could be more pain than healing.”

My fingers tightened around the cup. “Think of the damage it could cause, Draco. Wondering why you were there for Scorpius but not for her. Why she was the one you missed.”

I met his eyes again, my throat tightening. “None of this is her fault. It’s mine. And I’m trying to do right by her now.”

Draco didn’t speak at first, but his jaw ticked again, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice low and pointed.

“Will you even tell me her name?”

The question cut through the air between us.

I nodded slowly, placing my cup down with careful precision. “Lyra Katherine.”

His eyes flickered.

“Lyra for the constellation,” I explained softly. “I remembered that it was a tradition on your mother’s side to name children after the stars. And Katherine… because like my name, it comes from a Shakespeare play.”

I waited for him to speak, my breath caught somewhere between apology and hope.

“Then let’s talk. I want to meet my daughter, Granger ,” Draco bit out, the name sharp on his tongue.

“I’m not going to sit here and beg for forgiveness,” I said, my voice quiet but unwavering. “I know I made choices. I made decisions. I stole moments that weren’t mine to take. But I’m here now. And I want Lyra to have her father. I want to work with you. I’m an open book—ask me anything.”

His jaw clenched. “Why did you leave?”

The words sliced through the air.

“The last thing you said to me was to talk to Theo and Blaise, and that we’d talk the next day. I sent you notes for days . Then the bloody Prophet ran a story about you disappearing.”

He leaned forward, his voice rough and low. “I was terrified, Hermione. They pulled me in for questioning. What the fuck was I supposed to say when they asked when I last saw you?”

The pain in his voice undid me.

“I left because I knew  you’d choose us,” I said, the words tumbling out. “And I couldn’t be the reason you lost even more than you already had. The Prophet would’ve crucified me.”

“If you’d followed me, they wouldn’t have seen you as a father or a partner. Just a man who threw away everything for the girl who ruined his family name.”

“And if I’d somehow convinced you to go through with the contract..I couldn’t have lived as your mistress, Draco. I couldn’t raise our daughter in the shadows of a world that would’ve torn us apart.”

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

“Lyra deserved peace—the kind of peace I fought for. The kind of life where my every move– her every move wasn’t under scrutiny. She deserved to be free.”

He stared at me, unblinking.

“You deserved the space to grow into yourself, Draco. To become the man you are now. And I needed something to anchor me. I needed responsibility. I’ve never done well with idle time—and raising Lyra…” My voice broke. “Raising Lyra has been the hardest, most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.”

I looked up at him, eyes shining.

“She’s pushed me to be the best version of myself. And now… I want to be honest about everything. I want to find a way forward. For her. For us.”

“Where in the world have you been raising her?” he asked, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair, his expression distant, lost in thought.

“America,” I said softly. “Harry only found me because his cousin is marrying my best friend from there.”

His jaw tensed. “Are you going to let me meet her just to disappear again? What—do I get to see her when she boards the Hogwarts Express? Maybe a few holidays, if I’m lucky?”

“Draco…” I started, my voice low, steady. “I’ve never spent a night away from her in five years. Not one. I’ve never been good at asking for help, and honestly—I don’t need help. Lyra is… she’s the most brilliant child I’ve ever met. She’s going to change the world, or burn it down trying.”

His eyes flickered with something—pride, maybe, or awe—but he didn’t speak.

“I had her evaluated by three different magical pediatricians in the States,” I continued. “Not one of them has seen a child with magic like hers. Not in their careers. She got part of that from you .”

I watched his throat bob as he swallowed, the tension in his posture slowly shifting.

“Like I said before—we’re playing with Lyra’s childhood here. If you meet her, you’re part of her life forever . I won’t take her away again… unless you give me a reason to. She deserves to know her father. And her brother.”

I took a sip of my tea, wincing when it had already gone cold.

“Really, Granger?” Draco said, shaking his head. “Brightest witch of our generation and you can’t manage a basic warming charm?”

He tapped the edge of my cup with his wand. It immediately warmed in my hands.

“I haven’t raised her with magic,” I admitted. “We live among Muggles. She’s seen a time charm or a retrieval spell here and there, but that’s it. Outside of her accidental magic, of course.” I smiled faintly. “Merlin, she gave me a run for my money with that.”

“Scorp isn’t even showing signs of accidental magic yet,” Draco confessed, the admission soft and almost ashamed.

“From what I’ve learned, most kids start showing between two and three. Some closer to a year, but rarely younger than one,” I replied gently. “Lyra was showing it by six months… but that doesn’t mean anything is wrong with Scorpius. It doesn’t sound like he’s off track.”

Draco let out a tired breath, running his hand through his hair again.

“How would this even work?” he asked, his voice tightening. “You get her one month, I get her the next? Some magical custody calendar?”

He shook his head, jaw clenched. “You live on a completely different bloody continent, Hermione. I can’t just leave everything I’ve worked for to go chasing after you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I said quickly, my own frustration rising. “How do you want it to look? You’re still mourning your wife. You’re raising your heir. It’s not exactly the perfect time to throw another child into the middle of that.”

He scoffed. “And yet here she is.”

It had been so easy raising Lyra on my own. No one else to answer to. No one to consult or negotiate with. No calendars. No shared decisions. Just me, and her, and the quiet rhythm we’d made together. And now… this.

“I want to raise my daughter, Hermione,” Draco said, his voice low and fierce. “I want to see her every day . I want to teach her Quidditch and watch her chase Scorp around the garden. I want to read her bedtime stories, see her excel at her studies. I don’t want to be some ghost in her life that only appears on school holidays and over summer break.”

He stood abruptly, pacing a short distance before turning back to face me, eyes stormy.

“I don’t know how you expect us to do this without one of us giving up everything and hoping continents,” he snapped. “And if it’s money—if money is the issue—I have it. I have more bloody money than I know what to do with.”

His voice broke slightly.

“I’ll buy you a house, Hermione. Any house you want. I’ll buy you a bloody castle if that’s what it takes. I’ll build you a library if that’s what you want. I don’t care. Just… let me be her father.”

“Draco, I never wanted to take her from you,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to stay steady. “I didn’t want you to risk your fortune, your name, your reputation—for me. I was scared, so I ran. But I’m not here looking for money. Lyra and I are fine in that department. We’ve done just fine.”

I looked down, fingers trembling around my tea cup.

“I want her to have her father,” I said softly. “But I can’t just leave my life behind either.”

“I can’t run, Hermione,” he snapped, his voice rising, frustration starting to boil over. “I don’t have that luxury. I have to sit through bloody Wizengamot sessions. I’m Lord Malfoy . I have a title to uphold. Expectations. And I’m still finishing my healing studies.”

He raked a hand through his hair, his movements sharp and frayed.

“In between searching for you, taking care of a sick wife and a newborn, I managed to squeeze in classes, lab time, fieldwork—all of it. If I leave now, I will lose everything I’ve built.”

I bristled, not at him—but at the impossible truth of the situation.

“I’m a professor, Draco. At a university. I have a steady job as a potioneer, a grant-funded research project, and classes to teach. I’m adjusting formulas every day, publishing, brewing.” I shook my head. “I can’t just pick up and go. There’s no guarantee the university would transfer my study or let me continue it abroad. I could lose everything —everything I’ve worked for.”

“I did it all on my own, Draco,” I added, my voice rising. “I raised a child, by myself. I worked and studied and survived, by myself .”

His expression contorted. Pain. Anger. Grief. Regret. All of it, all at once.

“You didn’t have to, Hermione,” he bit out. “That’s the bloody point. I would’ve given up everything to be with you. To raise my daughter. To build a life—with you .”

He stepped closer, the emotion behind his voice cracking through the polished Lord Malfoy exterior.

“When I was eighteen, giving up twenty-five percent of my fortune felt like losing everything. But I’d give up every last knut now just to get that time back with Lyra. With you . To watch you carry our daughter. To hold her as a newborn. To see her first smile.”

His voice broke completely then.

“I would’ve thrown it all away.”

“I know,” I whispered, my voice finally snapping under the weight of everything. “So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice just as raw.

We sat in silence for a beat—until he said quietly, “I feel like I’m eighteen again, trying to find any way out of that bloody marriage contract. Only good thing that came out of it was Scorp.”

My gaze drifted toward the pitch, where Harry was chasing two small blurs of silver-blond and dark hair on toy brooms that hovered a few feet off the ground. James’s laughter echoed faintly through the air, mingling with Scorpius’s squeals of delight.

“I feel like I’m sitting at that table again,” I murmured, “listening to Bracton tell you to suck it up and marry her.”

Draco turned, startled. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember that.” My throat tightened. “That moment is part of the reason I left. I couldn’t be the woman who stole your future. Not when you were being told to just endure it.”

He shook his head slowly, jaw clenching. “You were my future, Maia. You always were. I thought… I thought you stopped loving me.”

“I never stopped loving you, Draco,” I said, and the words cracked something inside me. “I just learned how to bury it.”

My voice dropped, quieter now—more confession than conversation.

“I drank myself stupid the night I saw the Prophet announcement that you’d married Astoria. My friends were shocked I even let them take me to a pub. But I needed to forget. Needed to convince myself it hadn’t meant anything. That it didn’t still mean something.”

Draco’s expression flickered—regret, maybe even guilt—but he said nothing.

“I haven’t dated seriously since,” I admitted, rubbing my palms over my jeans. “Just a few flings. Because there was always a part of me that hoped…” My voice faltered, but I pushed through it. “That hoped one day we’d find our way back to each other. That you’d find out about Lyra and come running like some knight in shining armor.”

I gave a bitter, hollow laugh.

“But I was never the damsel in distress type.”

“No, I suppose you weren’t,” he agreed softly.

“I’m supposed to go home tomorrow,” I whispered. The words felt heavier than they should’ve. “I’ll call my boss. Extend my trip. We need to figure this out.”

Draco nodded, his jaw tight. “When can I meet her, Hermione?”

“Soon,” I promised, though even that felt like a fragile hope. “Are you open to resolving this without solicitors?”

He gave me a sharp look. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

I nodded once, grateful and terrified at the same time. “Let me talk to Harry and make some calls,” I said, pushing myself up from the chair.

The scrape of Draco’s own chair echoed behind me, and before I could take another step, his hand gently wrapped around my wrist. His touch was tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right.

“I want to figure this out,” he said, his voice tender now, no edge to it. “There could still be hope… hope for us to be a family, Maia. Amwell Court will always welcome you.”

His words carved something open in me. The old warmth of his voice, the way he said my name—it tugged at something buried and aching.

“I don’t know, Draco,” I said quietly. “This… this isn’t how I thought my week would go. It’s not how I thought my future would look. Right now, I’m just trying to stay on my feet.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t push. He just walked beside me in silence as we made our way through the garden, toward the pitch.

“Daddy, Daddy, look!” Scorpius shouted the moment he saw Draco, wobbling slightly as he hovered a foot off the ground on his toy broom.

“I see you, Scorp,” Draco called back, a smile ghosting across his face. “You’re getting very good at that.”

And just like that, the softness disappeared, tucked behind his composure like a pressed handkerchief. He turned to Harry before I could even form the words to ask him.

“I hope he wasn’t too much trouble, mate,” he said smoothly. “I’m here to swap with you—she’d like to talk.”

The polished, diplomatic version of Draco Malfoy had returned. But I had seen the man underneath. The man still hoping.

Harry turned to look at me, worry etched into every line of his face. He took a step toward me, but I just nodded toward the house and began walking. He quickly fell into step beside me, reaching for my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

I sucked in a deep breath, willing myself not to crack. Not to cry.

As soon as I stepped out of Draco’s view, into the safety of the manor’s interior, I crumbled. The tears came fast and hot, blurring my vision as I staggered forward. Harry gently tugged my hand, turning me toward him, and pulled me into a tight, grounding hug.

I buried my face in his shirt—for what felt like the millionth time this week—as his hand moved soothingly over my hair.

When the storm inside me had passed, I pulled away, wiping at my eyes with my sleeve.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Harry said gently. “Are you okay?”

His eyes scanned me like he expected to find bruises or broken bones. I shook my head.

“I’m okay. Just... lost.” I swallowed. “I’m scared to tell Katie and Alex that I can’t go home with them. I need to stay longer—to figure out how this is going to work with Draco. He’s not threatening solicitors, but I think if I leave, it’ll force his hand.”

“Bloody hell,” I muttered. “Where am I even supposed to stay?”

Harry didn’t flinch.

“You don’t need to find a place to stay,” he said quietly. “You already have a home here. For as long as you need. No strings. No expectations.”

He paused.

“Well, one expectation.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me before you disappear again,” he said softly.

A faint laugh escaped me. “I can live with that.”

I exhaled and leaned against the nearest wall, rubbing my hands over my face.

“I need to start making calls—changing flights, asking my boss to extend my leave, letting the daycare know Lyra won’t be back yet.” I hesitated. “Is this going to be worth it?”

Harry stepped closer, his voice firm but kind. “I think one day, we’ll look back and know you did everything you could to do right by Lyra. This is a big step toward that.”

I nodded, grounding myself in his words.

“I’m going to start making calls. Then I’ll write to Ron and have them come back.” I glanced toward the window, where the faint outline of Draco still lingered near the pitch. “It’s time Lyra met her dad.”

Harry gave me a small, encouraging smile. “I’ll make sure the wands and brooms are put away.”

I nodded, pulling out the small notebook that mirrored the one I’d given Ron. Uncapping the pen I kept tucked in the spiral, I pressed it to the page and wrote the words that made my hands tremble.

We’re ready for Lyra to meet her dad.

Chapter Text

May 3rd 2004

I drifted into Harry’s office, the door not quite clicking behind me. I clutched the small silver phone I had retrieved from my bedroom, my fingers tightening around it as I crossed the room.
I wasn’t worried about the bill—just the time zones—as I did the math in my head.
I slowly dialed the number to Lyra’s daycare first, informing them that she would be out for at least another week.
Next was the airline, pushing our flights out.
Finally, I braced myself and dialed my boss.

“Professor Holt’s office,” Sarah answered brightly.

“Hi, Sarah, it’s Maia. Is Rich in?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

“Hi, Maia! Hope you’re having a great trip. Let me buzz you through,” she said warmly.
I had always liked Sarah, Rich’s assistant—sharp, kind, and detail oriented.

“Maia! How’s my superstar?” Rich’s voice boomed through the phone as he picked up.

I let out a shaky breath. “Hi, Rich. I’m doing okay. I wanted to see if there was any chance of getting coverage for another week or two. I know you mostly keep up with The New York Ghost or Wizarding World News , but unfortunately…” I hesitated. “I wasn’t able to stay as low-profile as I’d hoped. Some unexpected custody issues came up.”

“I heard,” Rich said with a low chuckle. “The annual Battle of Hogwarts memorial usually gets a quick mention—but this morning? Front and center: you, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter.”

I groaned aloud.
“I haven’t even looked at the Prophet yet," I admitted, "but someone caught us in Muggle London... and now Lyra’s dad knows about her.”

Rich Holt had been my mentor from the moment I arrived in America. A renowned potioneer and head of the Harvard Potions Department, he had taken a chance on me.

He had been my anchor once, when I was twenty and terrified and trying to finish my Potions Mastery while raising a newborn on my own.

He never made me feel like I had to choose between my future and my daughter.

When Lyra was tiny, she would nap beside us while we brewed, her soft baby breath a steady lullaby in the corner of the lab.

“You’ve got a lot going on,” Rich said at last, his voice softer now. “I can cover your classes this week—through the end of next if absolutely necessary. But I’ll need you back for finals week and graduation. After that, it’s summer, and you’re free.”

Relief loosened something tight in my chest.

“I’ll also keep an eye on your research team,” he added. “Where should I owl you if anything comes up?”

“I’m staying at Potter Manor.”

The words tasted strange in my mouth—foreign and yet familiar.

"And I can promise to be back for finals and graduation. After that, I'll manage the summer research myself, like always. Maybe we could set up a meeting for the week of finals?"

“Absolutely. I’ll have Sarah cross-check our calendars and put something down.” Rich said easily.

“I really appreciate it," I said quietly. "All the lecture materials and review guides are already labeled in my office. Take anything you need. I can grade remotely if it’s easier or I can grade when I get back.”

“Maia.” His voice gentled again, in the way that always made me feel like I could breathe.
“Handle your life first. Work will be here when you're ready. Hell, I’m pretty sure a first-year grad student could teach your whole semester with how scarily detailed you are. I think we’ll survive.”

A breathless, grateful laugh escaped me.

“I really appreciate it,” I said, my voice quieter. “I’ll check in within a week—either in person or by phone.”

“Good.Give 'em hell, kid,” he said simply.

“I will,” I whispered, hanging up.

I dropped into the large chair behind Harry’s desk with a groan, rubbing my hands over my face just as the door creaked open.
I lifted my head as Harry slipped into the room, his steps quiet, careful.
He leaned casually against the edge of the desk, close enough that I could feel his steady presence grounding me.

“How’d it go?” he asked softly.

I let out a breath and turned toward him, dropping my forehead onto the polished wood with a low thud.
“I have two weeks,” I mumbled. “And I need an international phone plan.”

Harry chuckled under his breath, the sound warm and fond.
He reached out, running a gentle hand through my hair in a slow, soothing stroke.

“We’ll get this sorted, Mione,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

I turned my head slightly, peeking up at him from where I was sprawled on the desk.

“We made the American papers, Harry,” I said, my voice dry. “How bad was the Prophet?”

His face twisted into a grimace that told me everything before he even spoke.

Harry slid a pile of papers toward me. I flipped through them quickly — The Daily Prophet , The Quibbler , Witch Weekly , and even Wizarding World News . Then I was brave enough to actually read the titles, starting with Wizarding World .

“Heroes Reunited at London Memorial Fundraiser.”

I nodded to myself. The story and headline weren’t too bad. I could see how Rich was not alarmed by the tame article. 

I picked up the special edition of The Daily Prophet .

“The Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Ran: New Chapter or New Chaos?”

Rita had taken a very gossipy and pointed approach, but at least she’d left my daughter out of it.

Next, I grabbed the standard edition of the Prophet .

“Little Lioness: Who Is the Child at the Heart of the Golden Girl’s Return?”

I was taken a bit aback seeing that Parvati Patil was now a journalist writing for the Prophet — but I couldn’t be too irritated. This article, while gossipy and speculative, seemed to be a more fair representation, just curious about Lyra.

I picked up Witch Weekly next and groaned at the absolute load of rubbish they had produced.

“London’s Most Eligible Wizards: Is Hermione Granger the Prize They’re Fighting For?”

It was a full three-page spread of all the “most eligible bachelors” supposedly pining after me, starting with Harry and Draco and ending with Oliver Wood and Theo Nott. All in all, they managed to scrounge together fifteen potential suitors — and I think at least half of them are either gay or already in relationships.

Finally, I picked up The Quibbler .

“When Time Turners Shatter: Love, Legacy, and Lightning at the Ministry Fundraiser!”

It was exactly what I would have expected from Luna and her dad — a bit out there, hard to follow, but it painted us in a relatively good light.

“All in all, I consider it a win. Except for Witch Weekly,” I said, tossing The Quibbler back onto the desk. 

Harry huffed a small laugh. 

“They usually do a decent job keeping reporters out of the gala. Out of respect for those who fought—and those who lost family.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Luna and her dad are kind of the exception. They usually send a junior reporter to cover it officially for The Quibbler.” 

I nodded, filing that away with quiet understanding. 

“Are you ready to head downstairs?” Harry asked after a beat, his voice soft. “Draco’s entertaining James and Scorp in the sitting room.” 

A knot twisted in my stomach.

 “How should we do this?” I asked, voice low. “I don’t want to just throw Lyra in the deep end.” 

Harry’s expression warmed with something like pride—or maybe reassurance. 

“I wrote a shopping list,” he said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I’m going to send Dudley and the girls back out. Ron might go with them—or he might stay. We’ll see. Either way, when they get back, Ron will bring Lyra straight to the patio, to you.” 

I listened, heart thudding louder with every word. 

“You’ll have time to talk to her first,” Harry continued. “Explain everything. Let her hear it from you. I already told Draco to give you a few minutes—so you don’t have to worry about that part.” 

Relief swept through me—sharp and immediate. 

“When you’re ready for Draco to join you,” Harry added gently, “you can call for him. Shout, send a Patronus, send Tilly or Pip—whatever feels right. I’ll stay inside with the boys. And when Draco’s ready to bring Scorpius into it, he’ll come get him.”

 I let out a long breath, the first real one in what felt like hours. Of course Harry had thought it all through. Every last detail. 

“That sounds perfect,” I said softly, meaning it. 

“Good,” Harry said, pushing himself off the desk with a small grunt. “Best get out to the patio, then. I hear the car on the gravel.” 

I nodded and followed him downstairs, the sounds of muffled voices and footsteps drifting through the Manor. 

At the foyer, we split ways—Harry peeling off toward the front, me slipping through the open doors that led to the patio. 

The patio still held the remnants of the earlier conversation. 

My teacup sat where I’d left it, steam still curling lazily from the surface thanks to Draco’s warming charm. I wrapped my hands around the cup, steadying myself. 

The next few minutes would change everything.

Ron and Lyra approached soon after, Lyra letting go of his hand and running straight for me, curls bouncing.
I caught her easily, lifting her onto my lap as she giggled and curled against me.

Ron gave a small wave, a quiet smile on his face, and turned to head back up the path, leaving Lyra and me alone.

I took a deep breath, ready to speak—but Lyra beat me to it.

“Mama, can I have a cookie?” she asked, eyeing the plate sitting on the table.

I smiled softly and handed her one.

“Did you have a nice time with Uncle Ron, Auntie Katie, Auntie Allie, and Dudley?” I asked, tucking  a loose curl behind her ear.

Lyra nodded enthusiastically, breaking her cookie into pieces and popping one into her mouth.
She worked diligently at pulling the chocolate chips out of the remaining pieces with sticky fingers.

“We went to the park! It was so big, and it had a ginormous slide!” she said excitedly.
She kept talking, telling me how Dudley and Ron helped her climb the tall structures and swing from the monkey bars.

I listened contently, letting her words wash over me for a few minutes, savoring the sound of her happiness.

When she finished her story, I brushed another curl from her cheek and shifted her a little closer.

“Star, I have some news to share with you,” I said softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Lyra looked up at me with wide eyes, still nibbling on her cookie.

“We’re going to stay with Uncle Harry for a few more weeks.”

“Mama, are we really?” she asked, a wide grin spreading across her face.

“Yes, sweetheart,” I assured her. “We’re going to stay at least another week.”

“Mummy, can we go into London again?” she asked brightly.

“I’m sure we can, Star,” I replied, smiling at her excitement.

The words I needed to say next felt heavier, sitting just behind my teeth.
I took another deep breath, steadying myself.

“Star,” I began again, my voice gentle, “we’re also staying a little bit longer so you can meet your dad.”

Lyra’s fingers stilled on the half-eaten cookie, crumbs scattering across my lap and the patio stones.
She looked up at me with a serious expression.

“Does he know about me now, Mummy?” she asked quietly.

I smiled, even as something inside my chest twisted.

“Yes, he does, my Star,” I said softly, handing her another cookie since most of the first one had fallen apart.

Lyra got right back to work, pulling the chocolate chips out of the new cookie piece by piece.

“Is he ready to be my dad?” she asked, voice thoughtful.

I hugged her close, resting my chin lightly on the top of her head.

“He’s very excited to meet you, sweetheart,” I told her. 

Lyra leaned into me, settling in the way she always did when she was thinking hard.

“Would you like to meet him?” I asked, stroking her hair.

“Yes please, Mama,” she answered, her voice sure and bright.

“Would you like me to have him come join us?” I asked softly.

Lyra hesitated, smooshing a chocolate chip between her thumb and pointer finger before finally nodding.

I felt my throat clench as I reached for my wand, sliding it halfway out of my sleeve.
I paused, heart thudding.
This wasn’t the time to show her a Patronus for the first time—not for something so important.

I settled the wand back into its holster and glanced toward the garden doors.

“Tilly,” I said quietly.

The elf popped into view with a soft crack , her large eyes bright and attentive.

“Can you please get Lord Malfoy?” I asked with a small, encouraging smile.
“And—if you wouldn’t mind—could you make yourself busy just inside the patio doors? Not visible, but close enough to listen in case anything goes wrong. If you feel scared at any point, please get Harry.”

Tilly bobbed a deep curtsy, her ears flapping a little.

“Tilly will get Lord Malfoy, then clean the ballroom, Miss Mione,” she said firmly, giving a reassuring nod before disappearing with another soft pop.

The garden felt very quiet after she left.
Lyra leaned her head against my chest, her small fingers still sticky with chocolate, and I closed my eyes for a brief moment, steadying myself for what was coming.

It felt like an eternity before Draco darkened the doorway.

He lingered there for a moment, watching us in silence. Lyra had cuddled into me, her back to him, completely absorbed in the pink butterfly fluttering lazily between the flower boxes lining the patio railing.

Without a word, Draco crossed the patio and sank back into the chair he had occupied earlier, his movements slow and careful—like one wrong step might shatter the moment.

Lyra hadn’t noticed him yet.

I watched the emotions flicker across Draco’s face—raw, unguarded, impossible to miss.

Fear. Anger. Shock. Sadness.

Each emotion washed through him in a single heart-wrenching wave, too real to be masked.

He stared at her the way a parent might stare at their child for the first time in a delivery room—staggered by the sheer immensity of it.

“Mama, can we try to catch the butterfly?” Lyra asked brightly, still oblivious to Draco sitting behind her.

I took a deep breath, tearing my gaze away from Draco.

“My Star, we can certainly try in a few minutes,” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her curls. I tucked a few strands gently behind her ear.

“But… your dad is here. If you’d like to say hello first.”

Lyra shifted in my lap, turning so her back was to the butterfly and she faced Draco instead. She curled closer into me, half-hiding her face against my sweater.

Her small hand twisted into the fabric, and she peeked out at him.

She studied Draco up for a long moment—then offered a tiny wave.

“Hello,” Draco said warmly, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I’m Draco. What’s your name?”

“Lyra,” she mumbled into my shirt, her chocolate-stained fingers clutching the material tightly.

She was usually so fearless. 

Seeing her so shy now made something tight and protective coil low in my chest.

But I held still.

I couldn’t shield her from this. Not anymore.

“That’s a very pretty name,” Draco said gently, keeping his voice soft, careful.

He leaned back slightly, giving her space, and picked up his abandoned teacup to sip quietly.

“Mama, can I have a drink?” Lyra asked, looking up at me with big, hopeful eyes.

I murmured a quick cooling charm over my tea and handed her the cup.

She held it in both hands, sipping cautiously, her small fingers wrapping around the porcelain.

“I’ve never seen someone with the same hair as me,” Lyra said after a moment, leaning the back of her head against my chest.

Draco’s smile deepened, genuine and soft.

“It’s a rare color,” he agreed, his voice easy, almost wistful.

“But yours is even prettier. Those curls are something special.”

Lyra beamed shyly into the cup.

There was a long pause—a deep, weighted breath—and then Lyra, blunt as ever, lifted her eyes to his.

“Are you really my dad?”

The words were so direct, so utterly Lyra, that I nearly choked on my own breath.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Draco didn’t flinch.

He leaned forward, setting his teacup down with steady hands.

“I am,” he said simply.

It was strange—and breathtaking—to see this side of Draco.

This softness was something he had always reserved for me.

Now, for her.

My heart cracked open a little wider.

“I always wanted a dad,” Lyra said, nudging my hand with the tea cup.

I took it from her carefully, setting it down on the table beside us, watching her closely — waiting for her next move.

“All the other kids in my class have dads, but I never did. I just had Mummy... and Auntie Katie and Auntie Allie.”

Draco nodded, his expression soft, understanding.

Lyra swung her legs thoughtfully.

“Auntie Allie does everything a dad can do.” She said seriously “She runs around the playground with me, plays soccer, digs up worms...”

I smiled, brushing a stray curl off Lyra’s forehead.

“And Auntie Katie is like another mummy,” she added matter-of-factly.

I swallowed hard, feeling my chest tighten.
I had never heard her talk about our little makeshift family like this before. Hearing her interpretation of it — so earnest, so full of love — made my heart ache in the best way.

“Sometimes when Mummy brings me to work with her,” Lyra continued, voice dropping into a mock whisper, “Mr. Rich gives me candy when Mummy’s not looking.”

I huffed a quiet laugh into her hair.

Of course I knew.

Draco’s mouth twitched with amusement.

“It sounds like you have a very big family,” he said gently.

Lyra nodded eagerly.

“Grammy and Grampy come to visit sometimes. And now I have Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron and Dudley.”

She paused, her whole face lighting up.

“Mummy said Dudley and Auntie Katie are getting married and I get to be a flowery girl!”

There she was — my little chatterbox — back in full force.

I tightened my arms around her, pressing a kiss into her curls, as Draco smiled — something real and raw and a little broken shining behind his eyes.

“Would you like to help me catch the butterfly?” Lyra asked, turning those wide hopeful eyes on Draco.

For a heartbeat, confusion flickered across his face.

I bit my lip, understanding all too well—that parents chasing butterflies hadn’t been part of the world he grew up in.

“I’ve never done it before,” Draco said carefully, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet, “but maybe you can teach me.”

Lyra beamed, quickly climbing off my lap. She took a few eager steps toward him and grabbed his hand without hesitation.

I stood as well, brushing cookie crumbs from my jeans and shirt, then sank back into my chair, tucking my knees up to my chest.

It took everything in me not to reach for her, not to join them.

I watched as Lyra chattered excitedly at Draco, tugging him toward the butterfly floating over the flower boxes.

They made a few clumsy, laughing attempts to catch it—Lyra giggling, Draco looking bewildered and faintly enchanted—before she became thoroughly distracted by a parade of ladybugs.

Draco kept pace easily, crouching beside her to examine a particularly bright red ladybug that had perched on his finger. His eyes were soft, unsure, but willing.

When Lyra’s cheeks were flushed pink from laughter and the spring sun, they wandered back to the table.

She clambered confidently into the chair next to me, reaching for the last scraps of her cookie and my half-finished tea.

I nudged both toward her without a word.

Draco lowered himself into the seat beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.

He waited until Lyra was happily occupied crumbling her cookie before speaking.

“Lyra, darling,” he said gently, his voice steady but careful, “I have a bit more news for you.”

She looked up from her cookie, curious.

“What is it?” she asked, reaching for a third cookie with sticky fingers.

I opened my mouth to intervene, but Draco was faster—handing her the treat without hesitation.

I closed my mouth with a small, helpless smile.

One more cookie wouldn’t hurt.

“You have a younger brother, as well,” Draco said simply—straightforward, not sugarcoating it.

Lyra blinked at him, then back at her cookie, considering this information with the same thorough seriousness she gave dessert.

She began deconstructing her cookie with great concentration as she processed.

“Piper in my class has a little brother,” she said finally, her voice serious. “She’s six and says he’s very noying.”

I pressed my hand against my mouth, struggling not to laugh.

“I asked Miss Marnie what noying means,” Lyra added thoughtfully, “and she said it’s kinda like… when someone makes you upset. Is my little brother noying?”

I lost the battle then—biting down a laugh so hard it made my chest ache.

Merlin help me with this child, I thought helplessly.

“I don’t think he’s annoying,” Draco said after a thoughtful beat. “He and James get along very well.”

“I like playing with Jamie,” Lyra said brightly, dropping a piece of cookie onto the patio stones. “If my brother is like Jamie, I think I’ll like my brother.”

Draco smiled faintly.

“What’s his name?” she asked, tilting her head quizzically.

“His name is Scorpius. But we call him Scorp,” Draco explained. “He’s two—just like James.”

Lyra frowned thoughtfully, her little nose scrunching.

“Piper and her brother have the same mummy and daddy. Is Mummy Scorp’s mummy too?”

The question was innocent—but it landed with the weight of a curse.

I swallowed and answered softly, “No, Star. Scorp has a different mummy. But… she went to meet the angels.”

Draco’s eyes met mine across the table—grateful, a little broken.

“That’s okay,” Lyra said with a shrug that nearly undid me. “I can share you with Scorp, Mummy. I don’t mind sharing.”

My heart clenched at the pure sweetness of her, the wide-open way she approached the world without fear or resentment.

She didn’t even know yet what having a sibling would truly mean—but she was ready to jump in headfirst.

“Would you like to meet Scorp?” Draco asked, his voice careful, coaxing.

“Can I, Mummy?” she asked, turning those big eyes on me.

I smiled, brushing a curl from her forehead.

“Of course, Star.”

“I’ll be right back then,” Draco said, pushing back his chair and disappearing inside.

Lyra abandoned her cookie without a second thought and scrambled into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“I really like him, Mummy,” she whispered against my neck. “He seems really nice.”

I held her close, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

This was it.

The last moment where it would be just the two of us.

From now on, I would have to share her—share everything.

“Mummy, will you help me catch the butterfly now? Dray was really bad at it,” she added, matter-of-factly.

I blinked, startled by the nickname—Dray—the one I had once used so many years ago. She had slipped into it without even thinking.

“Of course, my Star,” I said, standing and settling her easily on my hip.

We wandered toward the flower boxes at the edge of the patio, her tiny fingers pointing out every ladybug and caterpillar along the way.

That’s where Draco found us—hand in hand—when he returned, Scorpius perched on his hip.

Seeing them side by side—Lyra and Scorpius—was like looking at two sides of the same coin.

The same silvery-blond hair, the same delicate features.

Only the eyes marked the difference: Lyra’s stormy gray, Scorpius’s piercing blue.

“Scorp,” Draco said gently, kneeling down, “this is Lyra. She’s your sister.”

He settled Scorpius carefully on the patio stone, though the boy clung to Draco’s arm with a white-knuckled grip.

“I’m Lyra!” my daughter announced proudly, stepping closer. “I’m going to be a very good big sister.”

She paused, considering.

“Mummy and I are looking at ladybugs, caterpillars, and butterflies. You can come look too. And Dray can come!”

Lyra reached out her hand without fear, offering it to Scorpius.

Draco smiled encouragingly.

“It’s okay, Scorp. You can go with her. Daddy’s right here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Scorpius let go of Draco’s hand.

Lyra didn’t wait—she closed the space between them, wrapping her small fingers around his and tugging him gently toward the flowers.

Draco followed, close but giving them space, his eyes never leaving them.

I hung back, heart full, as Lyra launched into an earnest explanation of the life cycle of a caterpillar, her hands waving animatedly as she spoke.

When she finished her little speech, she turned, beaming at me.

“Mummy, can Jamie come outside and play too?”

At the mention of James, Scorpius’s face lit up like Christmas morning.

“Of course, Star,” I said. “Do you want to come get him with me?”

“No, you can go, Mummy,” she said, already turning back to show Scorpius the bugs hiding in the dirt.

I hesitated—but then Draco straightened up, stepping closer.

“I’ve got her, Maia. Go get Harry and James.”

Still, caution prickled under my skin.

I moved closer, lowering my voice so the children wouldn’t hear.

“Malfoy,” I murmured sharply, “I swear on my magic—if she’s not in the exact same state when I get back, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth for my daughter.”

He didn’t even flinch.

“I understand,” Draco said quietly. “We’re not going anywhere. Scorp would never forgive me if he didn’t get more time with James.”

There was something steady in his voice—something that told me, for the first time in a long time, that I could trust him.

Maybe not fully.

Not yet.

But enough.

I let out a slow breath, nodded once, and turned toward the Manor, the  spring air stirring the edges of my hair as I walked.

Tilly was still nearby, I knew—watching, unseen but present—and if anything went wrong, she would summon me immediately.

I just had to trust.

Just for a few minutes.

Chapter Text

May 3rd, 2004

I made my way quickly toward the sitting room, my heart thudding painfully against my ribs.

Harry and James were curled up together on the couch, lost in some brightly illustrated storybook — the quiet scene a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside me.

I could feel it — worry coursing through my veins, clawing its way up my throat with every step.

There was a part of me that trusted Draco.
Trusted him to stay exactly where I had left him.
Trusted him not to run.
Not to—

But there was a bigger part of me — louder, deeper — that feared otherwise regardless of how irrational it may be.

Feared stepping onto the patio and finding only silence.
Feared the empty space where my daughter should be.
Feared the start of a chase across half of Britain, through any one of the vast Malfoy estates.

I shoved the fear down — hard — and called out from the doorway before I could lose my nerve.

“Hey—can you guys come outside?” I said, my voice tight and quick. “Lyra and Scorpius want to play with James too.”

I didn’t wait for an answer.

I was turned on my heel, already halfway down the hall, when Harry’s hand closed firmly around my arm, anchoring me in place.

James was perched on his hip, blinking up at me with wide, curious eyes.

“Whoa, Mione — where’s the fire?” Harry asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes scanned my face, catching the panic there.

“Lyra’s outside—alone—with Draco,” I blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Tilly’s watching from the ballroom, but she won’t be fast enough if—if he—”

My voice cracked, the terror bleeding through.

Harry’s grip tightened, steady and grounding, even as I tried to pull away, my mind already tearing through every worst-case scenario.

A portkey.
A signet ring.
The damned floo — if he was fast enough.

Every possibility flashed in my mind like a strobe, rapid-fire and paralyzing.

And Lyra—
Lyra was just a child.
And she was my everything.

“Mione, breathe,” Harry said gently. “Draco’s not disappearing with Lyra.”

His voice was calm, measured—but I could see the flicker of unease behind his eyes, the way his knuckles tightened ever so slightly where they gripped James.

“The Floo’s locked down. He can’t Apparate from the grounds. The apparition point is nearly four hundred meters away—he’d have to sprint down the drive carrying both kids.”

He was trying to soothe me with logic. With facts. With barriers and numbers and distance.

But none of that mattered.

“His signet ring,” I said sharply, the words tumbling out too fast. “It’s an emergency portkey. All Lords’ and Heirs’ rings from the Sacred Twenty-Eight are. It’s protection magic—it pulls them back to their ancestral home.”

I heard the note of bitterness in my voice, sharp with old knowledge and older resentment. I knew these things. Intimately. Too intimately. And for a brief, flickering moment, it occurred to me: I might know more about the mechanics of family magic and old blood protections than Harry ever had.

That was… something we’d need to sort out eventually.

“Now can we please just go back outside?” I asked, more pleading than demanding now, trying again to tug my arm from his grasp.

But Harry’s hand didn’t let go.

Instead, he slid it down from my forearm until our fingers laced together, his grip firm and steady.

“We’ll walk,” he said quietly. “We’re not going to sprint out there like you’re chasing a snatcher, okay?”

His voice was soft but unyielding.

I exhaled, shoulders slumping in defeat, and gave a small, reluctant nod.

My chest loosened—just slightly—as we stepped through the ballroom doors and I caught sight of the patio.

Draco was still there. Standing off to the side, hands in his pockets, watching Lyra and Scorpius with a cautious softness I didn’t expect.

They were both still hunched over the flower boxes, wholly enthralled with whatever insect civilization they’d uncovered. My heart thudded against my ribs, gentler now, but still unsettled.

Harry set James down without a word, and he bolted toward the garden, legs wobbling in his enthusiasm, calling for Lyra with a high-pitched squeal.

Harry and I kept our slow, steady pace until we reached the patio table. The kids didn’t even glance up.

Lyra had already launched into an animated explanation for James—something about the bugs they’d found and how Draco said they might be magical. Her curls bounced with every gesture, cheeks flushed with joy.

“Tilly,” Harry called softly.

The elf popped into place with a quiet crack , blinking up at him attentively.

“Please get Pip and start preparing lunch,” he said. “Nothing extravagant—just something quick. I think we’ll have very hungry children on our hands soon.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied crisply, and with a snap of her fingers, the tray of forgotten tea and biscuits vanished from the table. She disappeared a moment later.

Harry settled into the chair beside me while I curled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them like a makeshift shield.

My heart swelled as I watched Lyra—laughing, running, utterly at ease with the children she was always meant to grow up beside.

But the knot in my stomach didn’t ease.

Because it wasn’t just us anymore.

I would have to share her now. With Draco. For the rest of my life.

And that reality pressed against my ribs like a bruise I couldn’t stop prodding.

“How are you doing?” Harry asked in a whisper, barely audible over the sound of the kids' laughter.

“Scared out of my bloody mind,” I replied honestly, without hesitation.

He nodded once, as if he already knew.

“When is everyone else coming back?” I asked.

“They were going to lunch, then head to the shops,” he said. “Probably another hour or so.”

I rubbed my thumb across my knee, eyes still fixed on Lyra as she shrieked with laughter and darted away from Scorpius. James chased after them both, tiny and determined, arms flailing like wings.

“How did the introductions go?” Harry asked gently.

I exhaled.

“As well as they could have,” I murmured. “Lyra was so bloody shy meeting Draco—it was terrifying. I thought she might run the other direction. She warmed up a bit more with Scorp, thank Merlin.”

I paused, the lump in my throat thickening.

“She’s so sweet, Harry. When I told her Astoria went to live with the angels, she said… she said it was okay. That she could share me.”

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, swallowing the ache that rose up like a tide.

Below us, the children erupted into shrieking laughter as Lyra darted off the steps into the grass with James and Scorpius on her heels, their joyful chaos echoing off the stone pillars.

And still, despite it all, the pit in my stomach remained.

Draco breezed over to the table with a quiet ease, though his eyes stayed trained on the children—tracking every movement, every shriek of laughter, like he was afraid to miss something.

He slid into the chair across from me, brow creasing slightly when he noticed his tea had vanished.

“Tilly and Pip are preparing lunch,” Harry offered, his voice casual but kind. “Shouldn’t be long.”

Draco gave a curt nod—acknowledging him, but only barely. His attention shifted fully to me now, gaze steady, unreadable.

“You did a fantastic job with her, Maia,” he said softly, and for a moment the sharp edges in his voice dulled. “I can only hope to do half as well with Scorp.”

He hesitated. “I wish you’d told me.”

I stiffened, the familiar ache flaring in my chest.

“We’ve been over this,” I said, sharper than I intended. “If I’d told you, we wouldn’t be here now.”

My words came fast, spilling out before I could stop them.

“I wouldn’t have my Potions mastery. You wouldn’t be months away from your Healer’s certification. Scorpius might not even be here. You wouldn’t have had the chance to do all that charity work, and I wouldn’t have gotten my Muggle degrees either.”

I exhaled roughly. “I did what I had to do, Draco.”

I looked away then, focusing on the garden, on Lyra’s curls bouncing as she darted between James and Scorpius, trying to stay ahead of them both.

The truth settled like lead in my stomach.

I wasn’t angry with Draco—not really. Of course he wished I’d told him. Of course he wanted to have been there. That was understandable. It was even fair.

But still.

The knot in my chest tightened—not from guilt, but from grief.

Because it was over.

The little life I’d built—the one I fought so hard to protect—was unraveling.

There would be no more quiet summer afternoons in Boston Common, Lyra tugging on my hand and begging to ride the Swan Boats just one more time. 

No more rainy-day adventures to the Children’s Museum, or science exhibits that made her eyes go wide with wonder.

 No more birthday photos beside the Make Way for Ducklings statue, her smile toothy and proud.

There would be no more lazy beach weekends in Maine or New Hampshire with sandy curls and sticky saltwater taffy.

No more trips to Salem for just a taste of magic—afternoons spent sipping tea in Bea’s shop, safe behind enchanted wards where no one knew our names.

My lab in the cellar. The warm wooden floors. 

The walls lined with texts and potions journals. 

The large windows in my Harvard lab, overlooking the Commons.

Gone.

All of it—gone.

The quiet, simple life I built for us had vanished the moment Draco stepped into the sunlit patio.

And no matter how much I loved him—or how much Lyra might come to—there was no going back.

“Maia, I would’ve fought for you to get everything you wanted,” Draco said, his voice low, earnest—but tinged with disbelief, like my words had winded him.

I looked at him, really looked at him—at the regret behind his eyes, the quiet desperation buried beneath the calm.

And I almost wished I could believe him.

But I couldn’t. Not fully.

“Draco,” I said, my voice quiet, but cutting through the space between us like a spell. “Higher education isn’t meant for Pureblood wives. Not in the world we came from. Working—research, mastery, ambition—that’s not for them either.”

His brows pulled together, mouth parting slightly, but I didn’t stop.

“If I’d been your wife, the expectation would’ve been crystal clear. Stay home. Look pretty. Be ready to entertain at a moment’s notice. Bear child after child until you had your perfect little heir—then keep going, just in case.”

The words tasted bitter, but they came fast now, shaped by years of silent truth.

“I could’ve studied on my own, sure. Brewed in secret. Buried myself in books at night after dinners and charity galas and newborn christenings. But what good is a mastery no one respects? The Lords on the Wizengamot—those men older than us, steeped in bloodlines and tradition—they would’ve mocked you for letting your wife pursue something more. Whispered that you were weak. That you couldn’t control me.”

I shook my head, the ache rising sharp and sudden.

“And if I’d been your mistress instead…” My voice cracked, just slightly. “Then I’d have been the woman who ruined your marriage before it even began. The dirty secret you kept in some flat across town. Your mother would’ve had me sent away the moment she suspected I was pregnant.”

My hands curled into fists in my lap.

“She probably would’ve tried to pass Lyra off as Astoria’s. Merlin knows she fits the Malfoy mold well enough. Pale skin, silver curls, clever eyes. It would’ve worked, if no one looked too closely.”

I looked away again, out toward the grass where Lyra was spinning in circles, arms flung wide as if she could catch the wind.

“I wanted more than that, Draco.”

I swallowed, my throat tight.

“We were sneaking through garden gates even after you moved out. Still playing at stolen moments and pretending it could somehow last. We were stupid. We were young. And neither of us was ready for the choices we had to make.”

Draco looked like he wanted to argue—Merlin, he always loved to argue—but nothing came. He stared at me for a beat, shock flickering across his features, before turning his gaze back to the kids. They were mid-spin in a lively game of ring-around-the-rosie, their laughter rising in bursts across the patio.

We watched in silence as the children collapsed in a heap, breathless and giggling, faces turned toward the clear blue sky.

“Mione,” Harry said gently, “take a breath. It’s going to work out.”

As if on cue, the table began to fill—platters of food appearing in slow, shimmering waves. My breath caught.

For a moment, I was eleven again, watching the Hogwarts feast appear before my eyes. It had been years since I’d seen magic used like this—so casually, so familiarly.

I stood abruptly, heart stinging, and made my way down the patio stairs.

“Kids, lunch,” I called, trying to keep the crack out of my voice.

Lyra popped up from the grass first, bolting toward me with wild curls flying. She slammed into my legs, and I caught her easily, lifting her into my arms.

“Mama, I love it here with Scorp and Jamie! Can we please stay forever?” she asked, face flushed, grinning wide.

I squeezed her tight, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m glad you’re having a good time with James and Scorpius, Star.”

I glanced back up at the patio. Draco and Harry were talking quietly, eyes on us.

“Boys,” I called gently, shifting Lyra on my hip, “let’s head up to your dads.”

James and Scorpius scrambled to their feet, following close behind like ducklings in a line.

As we reached the table, I settled Lyra into the chair beside mine and began filling the children’s plates in silence. The motions were second nature—sandwich, fruit, crisps. Harry hovered behind me, gently nudging me to sit and eat, but I brushed him off. I filled their cups with lemonade and finally slid into my own seat once they were settled.

Draco watched me the whole time, quiet but intent, like he wanted to say something and didn’t trust himself to speak.

I poured myself a glass of lemonade and pulled a plum from the fruit bowl, slicing it methodically, eating the strips straight off the blade. Harry and Draco gave me matching looks of disapproval—Harry eventually caved first, placing a sandwich on my plate with a look that dared me to argue. 

I took a few bites to appease them, then reached for an apple.

“I extended my leave from the university,” I said, forcing my tone casual as I focused on the knife and apple in my hand.

“Indefinitely?” Draco asked, though it sounded more like an expectation than a question.

“I extended my leave. I didn’t quit,” I replied, sharper than I meant to be. “Lyra and I will return to the States next week, maybe the week after. I have to be there for exams and commencement. If needed, I’ll come back later in the summer to finalize things. But I’m not abandoning my position—I’m close to a breakthrough in my research.”

Draco sighed, long and dramatic, but before he could reply, Lyra piped up.

“Mama, may we be excused?” she asked sweetly.

I glanced over—plates mostly empty. “Of course, Star,” I said, ruffling her curls. I picked the knife back up and turned my attention back to my apple. 

“Tag, you’re it!” she giggled, poking James’s arm and bolting toward the patio stairs.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as the kids raced off.

“What about your family?” he asked, tension creeping into his voice.

“Lyra and I are fine in America. I’ve got support, family, routines. She comes to work with me in the summers, I work from home when I need to. We’ve made it five years without your support.”

“I told you I want to see my daughter, Maia,” Draco snapped. “She’s bloody brilliant and you’re trying to rip her away from me again.”

“I’m doing what’s best for her , and for me ,” I fired back. “You’re not exactly volunteering your own sacrifices here.”

“I’m three months from certification,” he bit out. “After that, I can go wherever I want.”

“And I already have a career, Draco—one I built from scratch. One I love. I finally felt like myself again, and now my whole bloody world’s been turned inside out.”

“Hermione,” Harry interjected, his voice suddenly sharp, “you’re not the only one who’s hurting. I got divorced. Draco lost Astoria. You were dragged back into the world you ran from. We’re all dealing with wreckage. Fighting about it isn’t going to fix a damn thing.”

I snapped my mouth shut, staring at Harry as the crunch of gravel reached my ears.

“Keep the conversation civil,” he warned, voice low. “You don’t need to have this argument with an audience.”

I followed his gaze as Katie, Alex, Dudley, and Ron came into view, walking up the path.

“Maia, I swear to God—where the fuck do you keep finding these hot guys?” Alex called as she reached the top of the stairs, her eyes flicking between Harry, Draco, and me. She made a beeline for the table, plopping into the chair beside me just as Katie and Dudley settled into the others. Ron gave us a nod before disappearing inside with the grocery bags—a first, I was fairly certain.

“Scottish boarding school?” I offered with a forced shrug, trying to keep my tone light as I loosened the white-knuckled grip I had on the knife. I sliced off a piece of apple, but before I could bring it to my mouth, Alex reached over and stole it.

“You’re such a brat,” I said, rolling my eyes at her.

“But you love me,” she replied with a smirk. “Now, do me a favor and introduce me to this piece of eye candy.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not used to being spoken about like a centerfold.

“This is Draco,” I said, doing my best to keep the edge out of my voice. “Lyra’s dad. Draco, this is Alex, Katie and Harry’s cousin Dudley.”

“What was in the water at that school?” Alex laughed. “I assumed he was handsome but damn , he exceeded expectations.”

I sighed, quietly.

“Maia, I need to get Scorp to Theo and Blaise. I have clinicals in a few hours,” Draco said, voice tight. “What time can we talk tomorrow?”

“Quarter of never sounds brilliant,” I muttered under my breath.

Harry nudged my foot under the table, a silent reprimand. Alex stifled a laugh beside me.

“I don’t know, Draco. I’ll ring you in the morning once I know,” I said flatly.

He gave me a sharp look—doubtful, like he didn’t trust I would.

“Draco,” Harry said gently, stepping in. “You’ll hear from us in the morning. Give her time—this is a transition.”

“Fine,” Draco clipped. “It was nice to meet you all. Maia. Tomorrow.”

He turned and made his way down toward the children. We couldn’t hear what he said, but I watched as he scooped Lyra into his arms and held her tight.

My heart clenched.

No matter how angry or overwhelmed I felt, a piece of my heart still belonged to him. And watching him with Lyra—his arms around her, her tiny frame hugging him back—it felt like a missing piece was finally sliding into place.

Draco set her down gently, then watched as Lyra wrapped Scorpius in a hug. He picked up his son and, without looking back, began walking down the path.

Alex, blessedly, kept her comments to herself as we watched Draco disappear down the path.

“To be fair, I can understand why you punched him in the face,” she said once Draco was out of sight and Ron had settled beside us. “He’s got that pretentious asshole vibe.”

“And this is why I keep you around,” I said, my chest loosening for the first time all day.

“What did he mean, you’ll talk tomorrow ?” Katie asked, tone even. “We have an early afternoon flight.”

“About that,” I said, setting down the half-finished apple and abandoning the knife. I pulled my legs up onto the chair and wrapped my arms around them. “Draco said he wouldn’t bring in solicitors if I agreed to work with him. To do that, I need to stay a few extra days. I talked to my boss earlier — he can extend my leave, as long as I’m back by the seventeenth.”

I exhaled hard.

“I’ve got two weeks to figure out some kind of custody arrangement.” I looked at Katie. “I’ll make sure you have my keys so you can get home from Logan.”

“Maia, how are you doing?” Katie asked gently.

Harry pushed back his chair before I could answer. “I’m going to get the kids settled,” he said. “I know you said Lyra doesn’t usually nap, but I’m confident she’ll crash.”

“Probably,” I agreed, watching him walk toward the kids. My heart tugged after him.

“I’m fine,” I told Katie.

“Maia, cut the shit. You look like crap,” Alex said, blunt as ever.

I didn’t argue. Just watched helplessly as Harry scooped up both kids and carried them inside the Manor. I wanted to go with him. Wanted to fold into the warmth of that simple, domestic bliss and disappear for a while.

“What do you want me to say, Alex? That I feel like my world’s collapsing?” My voice cracked. “That I wish I stayed in Boston? I couldn’t do that to Kate. But there’s a part of me that sees it — that this is where Lyra belongs. She’s supposed to grow up with James and Scorpius. I still love Draco. And I think… I love Harry, too.”

The words spilled out before I could stop them.

“And I’m terrified that neither of them will love me back.”

I broke.

“It was so easy in Boston. You guys, Lyra, me — we had our routines. And now I’m dragged back into a fucking media circus because I fell for the two most eligible bachelors in the.”

“Maia,” Katie said again, cutting me off. Her voice soft with concern.

That’s when it hit me — who else was sitting at the table.

I turned sharply.

“Ronald Weasley, I swear if you say anything to Harry about what I just said—” I couldn’t even come up with a threat. My voice was wrecked.

“Mione,” Ron said calmly, “don’t worry about it. You’ve got to work through your mess. You’ve got enough going on without me throwing you under the bus to Harry.”

I pressed my forehead to my knees, trying to steady my breath as hot tears threatened to fall. The ache behind my eyes bloomed, sharp and relentless. I wished for the time-turner I had in third year — wished I could twist it just once more. Go back a week. Miss the flight. Stay in Boston.

I lifted my head, wiping at my cheeks with my sleeves, fingers trembling.

“Draco’s not going to give up his life here,” I said, voice fraying. “He has too many responsibilities. I’m most likely going to lose everything over this — my career, you, Alex…”

I didn’t even try to make it sound calm anymore.

“Maia, sweetie,” Katie said gently, her voice a balm against the rising panic. “We’re not going anywhere. Dudley and I are still getting married in Ipswich, but…”

She trailed off. I looked up at her.

“We’re considering coming back to England. Dudley got an offer this week from a prominent company, and some of his friends shared insight about the school system and salaries. Honestly, it might make more sense — financially, logistically — for us to move to London than stay in Boston.”

I blinked, stunned. The shift in reality was almost too much to grasp.

“I’ve got a business degree,” Alex said, shrugging one shoulder. “I can work from anywhere.”

She tilted her head toward the other end of the table, lips curving with mischief.

“Plus, the view here is pretty damn good.”

I followed her gaze just in time to see her ogling Ron with absolutely no shame.

“I love my job, and I don’t want to lose it,” I said quietly. “It’s the first thing I built on my own. Not because I was Harry’s best friend. Not because I was Draco’s girlfriend. Just… because I was me. People here trip over themselves because of my name. In Boston, no one cares. I like that.”

“Could you find a job here?” Katie asked carefully. “I’m sure Oxford or Cambridge would take you.”

“I’m sure I could,” I admitted, but the words felt brittle. “But there’s no guarantee Harvard would release my research. Or that any of the universities here would want to pick it up. I’ve poured over three years into that study. I want to be the one to finish it. I want my name on those papers. It’s my stepping stone — the thing that’ll finally earn me respect in the academic community.”

Katie reached across the table, steady and grounding.

“Maia, let’s pump the brakes a bit,” she said gently. “No one’s moving to England in the next two weeks. You said it yourself — you have to be back by the seventeenth. I’ll be in Boston through August, at least. And Alex will do whatever Alex pleases, as usual.”

Alex gave a mock salute, unbothered.

“Like I said, nice view,” Alex said, wiggling her eyebrows. I let out a soft chuckle for the first time today. 

“We can talk more at home.” I agreed softly. I allowed myself the small glimmer of hope that I could end up in England and everything would be okay. 

“We can party when you get home,” Alex said with a smirk. “Honestly, Maia, I think you just need to get laid and clear your head. Where’s Viktor’s number? I’ll give him a call.”

Ron choked on the lemonade he was sipping just as Harry stepped through the doorway. Without missing a beat, Harry crossed the patio and gave Ron a sharp slap on the back.

“You good, mate?” Harry asked, eyeing him with concern.

Ron coughed, then nodded, still catching his breath. “Viktor? As in Krum?”

“That’s what Maia said,” Alex replied, tossing me under the bus for the second time regarding my torrid affair.

Ron spun to face me, scandalized. “You’re shagging Krum?”

I shrugged, letting a slow smile creep across my face. “I know you’re jealous.”

“Wait—are you gay?” Alex asked, cocking her head at Ron.

Harry answered before Ron could sputter anything. “No, Krum’s just his big man crush. Ron’s obsessed with football, and Krum’s team.”

Ron groaned as Harry added, deadpan, “Ron would do dirty things for ten minutes alone with Viktor Krum.”

Alex howled with laughter while I fought to keep a chuckle in.

“Viktor said hi to Ron in the hallway once, and I swear he nearly fainted,” I teased, finally giving in to the laughter.

“Viktor, I love you, Viktor I do,” Harry began to sing in a high-pitched voice.

Ron hurled a handful of crisps at him. “Shut up, mate,” he groaned, face turning crimson.

A  laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. My chest ached with relief as the laughter loosened something in me I hadn’t realized was clenched.

The rest of the afternoon settled into something quiet. Katie and Alex eventually retired upstairs to finish packing, Dudley trailing behind them. There was a strange, comforting nostalgia in sitting beside Ron and Harry again, listening to them debate Bulgaria vs. Ireland like it was still fourth year. We caught each other up on old classmates—many now married, raising families of their own.

Afternoon melted into evening, then into the chaos of bedtime routines. Eventually, the house fell still. Just Harry and I remained in the sitting room, each nursing a glass of firewhiskey.

“You got heated with Draco, Mione,” Harry said gently, breaking the silence.

I nodded, eyes fixed on the flames dancing in the hearth. For a moment, it felt like we were back in the Gryffindor common room, sixteen again and trying to make sense of the world.

“I worked too hard to be some Lord’s wife,” I whispered. “Every accomplishment I’ve earned would be erased. I’d just be Lady Malfoy . I don’t want that, Harry.”

He looked over at me, his voice steady. “Do you want to be with Draco?”

I stared into the fire. “I don’t bloody know. There were soft moments—glimpses of the man I fell in love with—but I also felt the weight of every expectation pressing down on me. He still has a piece of my heart… and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back.”

“Do you want it back?” he asked.

“I want to feel like myself again.” My voice wavered. “I’ve built so much. And I know he still has so much to lose—that’s the part that hasn’t changed. That’s why I left. Back then, I had almost nothing to lose. I gave up Draco, gave up you, gave up our friends… but I didn’t lose my career or any real career prospects. Draco would still have to give up everything if he followed me to Boston.”

I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay steady.

“Harry, I’ve avoided relationships since I left because I didn’t want to risk my heart again. I didn’t want Lyra caught in the crossfire of my bad judgment or the wrong partner. But now she’s already attached to Draco, and it’s killing me—because the simple, easy life I built? It’s never coming back.”

Harry leaned forward, eyes warm, unwavering. “Hermione… you need to let yourself be loved. You deserve to have someone love and cherish you.”

Harry sighed, the sound heavy with something long-carried.

“I loved Ginny so hard I convinced myself she loved me back,” he said quietly. “But she didn’t—not really. She loved the title, the name, the vaults. She had James out of obligation. It was like she loved me just long enough to make a baby… and then she was gone. She threw herself into building her brand, and I was left behind. I never want to feel that kind of hollow again, Mione.”

My heart tightened. I reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Draco loved me hard too,” I murmured. “With everything he had. He would’ve thrown it all away—for me, for us. And I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t live with the idea of him ruining his life because of me.”

I stared into the amber depths of my firewhiskey, the glass cool in my hands.

“I want something simple , Harry. I want rainy days at the museum. Books in bed. Long summer afternoons listening to Lyra laugh in the garden. I want to watch her grow up never once questioning if she’s smart or worthy. I don’t want her hearing that word— Mudblood —on anyone’s lips. Not ever.”

I swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in my eyes.

“She deserves everything we fought for. And if that means I stay single forever, fine. I just… I don’t want her memories cluttered with my heartbreak. I don’t want her growing up confused or crushed because Mummy and Daddy tried to be a family—and couldn’t make it work.”

I took a sip of my drink, welcoming the slow burn as it slid down my throat.

“I don’t want her blaming herself if Draco and I try… and then fall apart,” I said softly. “Seeing him again stirred things I’d locked away in the furthest corners of my mind. Yes, I was terrified leaving her alone with him. But we have to build trust.”

I stared into the fire, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s hard to let myself be loved, Harry. I don’t want some man— even Draco —trying to be her father and then turning into her first heartbreak.”

I looked up at him, meeting his eyes across the flickering shadows.

“I told him… we’re playing with Lyra’s childhood here. And it’s not a game I’m willing to lose.”

Harry took a long sip of his firewhiskey, eyes on the flames. The silence stretched, familiar but full.

Then he spoke.

“Mione… do you remember that night in the tent? After Ron left?” His voice was quiet, distant with memory. “You were listening to the radio. I pulled you up to dance with me.”

My lips twitched at the memory.

“It was the first time I’d seen you smile in months,” he continued. “That moment— you , in my arms, laughing—it carried me through the rest of the war.”

He finished his drink in one long swallow, the glass clinking softly as he set it down.

“That night… something clicked. I loved you, Hermione. And it felt right. Comfortable. Safe. But I pushed it away.”

He looked at me, raw and open.

“Everyone was saying you and Ron , me and Ginny. And Ginny—she made it feel like I was the love of her life. So I listened. I convinced myself they were right.”

A breath.

“But maybe all along… it should’ve been you. ”

Chapter Text

May 3rd, 2004

I blinked hard, Harry’s words still echoing in the quiet. My heart tripped over itself trying to catch up.

He looked stricken, uncertain, like he was already taking it back.

“I’m sorry, Mione,” he said, voice low. “I shouldn’t have thrown that on you. You’ve got so much going on.”

I swallowed and shook my head, barely able to find my voice.

“Harry… that night in the tent—it was the first genuine smile I’d had since the morning Draco and I parted. The day before your birthday.”

His brow furrowed, soft confusion tugging at his features.

“But I’d seen you smile before that. At Bill and Fleur’s wedding. At Ron, sometimes.”

I let out a breath. “I smiled when it was expected. But dancing with you in that tent… it loosened something. Something that had been coiled tight in my chest since I left Draco in that hotel lobby.”

Harry didn’t interrupt. He just watched me—patient, open, hurting.

“You’ve always been comfort to me, Harry. Safe. Someone I could run to, study beside, trust with everything. If I needed a hug, you’d already be there.”

I paused, breath catching.

“But I gave up on the idea of anything more. You started talking about Cho in third year—then it was all Cho until it wasn’t, and it was Ginny. So I tried to find my place.”

I looked away, voice softer now.

“Draco asked me out after seeing me with Viktor and getting jealous.”

Harry raised his eyebrows slightly. “But you went with Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn’s party in sixth year.”

I smiled faintly. “I couldn’t exactly walk in with Draco. We’d already agreed who we’d go with. We just found each other after.”

The memory curled somewhere quiet inside me.

Harry’s voice dropped, almost a whisper.

“Would you have given me a chance?”

I looked at him—really looked at him—and felt the pull of years of shared history stretching between us.

“I think I would’ve,” I said slowly, “if the time had been right.”

I let the truth settle in the air, then added, “Draco and I… we fit. There was something about him that felt easy. Inevitable. There still is—when I watch him with Lyra. But…”

I hesitated, my voice catching on the weight of it.

“There’s another part of me that fits with you.”

Harry’s gaze didn’t waver, but his chest rose with a deeper breath—like he needed it to stay grounded.

“I feel it when I watch you with James. With Lyra. When I curl up beside you and we just talk about the children like…” My throat tightened. “Like we’re already a family. Like we’re doing this together.

The words trembled at the end, and I had to steady myself before I could finish.

“I was just starting to figure out how to be happy on my own.”

I looked up, eyes meeting his, tears pricking at the edges.

“I don’t want to be alone, Harry. It’s just… it’s always felt like the safest way to survive.”

Harry’s voice came softly, like a confession he hadn’t let himself speak aloud.

“I’ve always been alone, Mione.”

His gaze didn’t leave mine. “It was really only you and Ron who ever made me feel like someone was in my corner. Ginny… she made me feel supported, at first. Until she got what she wanted. After that, it felt like… I didn’t matter anymore.”

Without thinking, I shifted closer. My body curled into his side, seeking his warmth, his steadiness. His hand found mine, fingers brushing until they wove together.

“I just want someone who wants me as much as I want them,” he said, his voice shaking now. “That’s all.”

My throat closed around the words I didn’t know how to say. I held his hand tighter, feeling the tremble still there.

“I don’t want to promise you something I can’t follow through on,” I whispered. “You deserve more than that, Harry. So much more.”

My heart felt torn in half.

One part cried out for this—for him. For the warmth of his hands, the steady comfort of this home, the quiet rhythm of raising children side by side. It felt so real already, so possible.

But the other half cried for Draco.

For the way he had looked at me—looked at Lyra—like we were his entire world.

“I can’t promise you a lot,” Harry said after a beat. “But I can promise a quiet life. A warm home. All the books you could ever want. Not a lot of drama—well, as little as we can manage.”

His voice softened further, like he was folding himself smaller so I wouldn’t feel pressure.
“But if you want to try with Draco… I understand. He’s really come into himself. He’s a good man.”

I looked up at him, something aching in my chest.

“I just want someone to tell me what to do,” I said, and my voice broke on the last word.

Harry let out a quiet breath. “You’ve got to listen to your gut. And your heart.”

A hollow laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

“My heart is screaming for both of you,” I said. “And my gut says I’m going to get my heart broken no matter what I choose.”

Harry and I didn’t speak again. We just watched the fire burn down to embers.

I woke the next morning in my own bed, my body stiff and heavy with unrest. My wand whined irritably as I moved to sit up, and I groaned, dragging myself through the motions. Wash. Dress. Breathe. Keep moving.

Lyra was already awake in her room, half-ready and humming to herself. I helped her finish getting ready on autopilot, brushing her curls with distracted hands before rushing back to my room for my keys.

Downstairs, the house buzzed with quiet movement. Harry, Katie, and the others were already in the kitchen. I handed the key to Katie without meeting her eyes.

“Are you coming with us to the airport?” she asked gently.

I shook my head. “If I get within walking distance, I don’t trust myself not to get on that plane—luggage or not.”

Katie nodded in understanding. I turned to Alex, trying to keep my voice light.

“I’ll be home in two weeks. We’ll email, Skype, whatever you need.”

“Maia, Ron still needs help setting up an email,” Alex said with a half-smile.

I chuckled. “I’ll take care of it before I come home. Promise.”

“We should get going soon,” Dudley said, standing. “Why don’t I drop you on my way to work, save Harry the trip?”

“That’s perfect,” Katie agreed.

The room moved around me as they began gathering luggage, pulling coats, checking pockets. I stayed in the kitchen with James and Lyra, sitting them at the table and making sure they were fed and settled. But my mind was far away—caught between what I had, what I’d lost, and what I didn’t know how to keep.

Rain splattered against the kitchen windows, steady and unrelenting.

Eventually, a knock on the doorframe pulled me back to the present.

“Car’s all packed,” Harry said, crossing to lift James into his arms. “If you want to come say goodbye.”

I nodded, reaching for Lyra’s hand. My chest ached.

Katie came to me first as Lyra ran to Alex.

“Take care of yourself, Maia,” she murmured, pulling me in tight. “We’ll be waiting for you at home. We’ll figure this out.”

“I know,” I whispered, swallowing hard as I let her go.

Alex passed Lyra off to Katie, then pulled me into a hug of her own.

“Sleep with them both. Then choose,” She whispered, grinning wickedly. “And don’t forget to get Ron and me set up.”

I laughed through the thickness in my throat. “I’ll at least handle that second part.”

“Two weeks,” Katie said again, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Two weeks,” I echoed, softer this time, lifting Lyra into my arms and holding her close as they stepped out into the rain.

Harry stepped toward me, James on his hip.

“I’m going to alert Pip and Tilly that they don’t need to hide anymore. Unlock the Floo. That sort of thing,” he said softly.

I nodded.

“Mama, can I go play with the toys in my room?” Lyra asked, peeking up at me.

“Of course, sweet girl,” I said, setting her down and watching her bolt upstairs, curls bouncing.

I slipped my wand from my sleeve and cast a soft charm that would alert me if she left her room. Just in case.

The silence that followed was heavy in a way that felt like breathing after a long cry.

I wandered into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of still-hot tea, then drifted into the library. The scent of old paper and rain hit me immediately—sharp and grounding. I let my eyes wander across the vast shelves, stories I hadn’t yet read stacked to the ceiling. Then I saw the window seat.

It was massive, tucked beneath windows that stretched toward the rafters. Outside, the orchard blurred behind a curtain of rain.

I curled into the window nook, cupping the tea between my palms, letting my thoughts spiral. About Draco. About Harry. About the tangled mess of memory and longing I hadn’t dared name yet. About how I still hadn’t written to him. About how terrified I was of what I might feel when I did.

I don’t know how long I sat there before the door creaked open.

I didn’t look up. Not ready to face Harry again. Not ready to face anyone.

But then I heard a softer step. Calmer.

Eventually, Remus settled on the far end of the window seat.

“Hello, Hermione,” he said gently.

I gave him a small, tired smile.

“Harry mentioned you were having a hard time. With Draco and all.”

“Life is just hard,” I replied, the words slipping out before I could temper them.

He huffed a soft laugh. “Don’t I know it. But it does get better.”

I looked out at the orchard. Rain streaked down the glass, soft and rhythmic.

“Remus…” I hesitated. “Did you ever have to choose between two people?”

He was quiet for a moment. 

“Yes,” he said. “And no.”

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He looked away, almost smiling. “I got lucky. Three times.”

I blinked, confused.

“Sirius and I both had feelings for the same woman,” he explained. “Marlene McKinnon.”

The name was a whisper of the past. I knew it, of course—Order member. Brilliant duelist. Dead far too young.

“Merlin, she was brilliant,” he continued, his voice wistful. “Sharp, beautiful, and she didn’t care one bit about my little problem. We were in love with her—Sirius and I. And maybe even with each other, though neither of us could name it then.”

He turned his head toward the rain. The expression on his face was far away, but soft.

“She loved this spot. This library. I think she loved it even more than she loved Sirius and me. She was a pureblood, like Sirius, but she wasn’t raised in the customs. Her parents were a half-blood and a muggle born, I think. Didn’t care about politics. The three of us spent our summer after seventh year here with James and Fleamont, learning about what it meant to be part of an old family—how inheritance and traditions really worked.”

“Because of Sirius?” I asked.

He nodded. “Even though Sirius’ parents had started training Reggie to be Lord Black, we all knew it would eventually revert back to Sirius. Reggie didn’t want the title—never did. So we studied. Fleamont wanted to finish James and Sirius’ education properly, and Marlene and I were just… along for the ride at first.”

He smiled faintly, eyes distant.

“But that summer here in the library—studying bloodlines, magical contracts, old laws—they changed everything. We weren’t just learning. We were building something, even if we didn’t understand what yet.”

His eyes lifted to mine, steady now.

“Marlene didn’t want to choose between us. And Sirius—he told her she didn’t have to. I didn’t understand what he meant at first. But there’s magic, Hermione. Old magic. Older than even the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

I stiffened slightly. My fingers tightened on my mug.

“Magic that recognizes true triads,” Remus continued. “It’s not as common now, but it still lingers in some old families—Blacks. Malfoys. Even the Potters, in some branches. There are spells. Potions. Ways to test for magical compatibility that go beyond simple attraction.”

“Did you test?” I asked, breath caught in my throat.

He nodded slowly. “Fleamont helped us. The summer after seventh year. Marlene, Sirius, and I—we were a match. All three of us. The bond was real.”

I didn’t know what to say. My world felt suddenly wider. Or maybe just more fragile.

“So you all…?”

“Moved into a flat together. Started trying to figure it out. It wasn’t easy, of course. There were arguments. We were barely adults. But there was so much love. And Sirius and I—there was always something between us that only got stronger with time.”

I looked down at my tea, blinking hard.

“But the Shrieking Shack,” I said quietly. “When Sirius escaped Azkaban. I remember how you reacted.”

His expression cracked, grief shadowing every line of his face.

“I spent three years fighting for Harry’s custody. And for Sirius’s trial. I knew something was wrong. Sirius would never have betrayed James. Would never have risked Harry’s safety. Would never have risked me. Not after we lost Marlene.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I couldn’t reach him. Dumbledore kept insisting the evidence was clear, and I was so broken with grief, I convinced myself it had to be true. That Sirius had lost his mind after her death. That maybe he had snapped.”

“And you didn’t get to say goodbye,” I said, my voice small.

He shook his head. “I carried the rings in my pocket for weeks. We’d finally scraped together enough to buy one for Marlene. Sirius and I were going to propose to Marlene the night she died.”

“Sirius didn’t know,” Remus said softly. “I’d scraped enough together to get him one too.”

“I’m so sorry, Remus,” I whispered, looking up at him.

“I felt like I got a second chance when Sirius escaped. When we went on the run, he finally showed me what had really happened. We fell into a rhythm—it was strange and unsteady, but we had each other again. Still, Marlene’s absence clung to everything. Some days it was unbearable.”

His eyes darkened, distant.

“I didn’t think I was going to survive it when Sirius fell through the Veil. My heart shattered—again and again, in every direction. It destroyed me to feel like I couldn’t keep Harry safe, not when he broke from my grasp to chase Bellatrix.”

I nodded solemnly, my throat tight.

“My only saving grace was all of you,” he went on. “Being able to spend time with you kids, to have something outside my grief to hold onto. And then, with Nymphadora... She and I bonded through losing Sirius. It wasn’t as intense as it had been with him or Mar, but it was safe. Steady. Comfortable.”

His voice thinned. “And then that was taken, too.”

My chest ached as I looked at him—this man who had quietly lost more than most and kept going.

“I understand not wanting to try again, Hermione. Especially for your daughter’s sake. But you deserve joy, too. I got more than my fair share of it, even if it didn’t last. And maybe I’ll try again one day, when Teddy’s older. But right now… I’m content to just be his dad. To give him something whole. But you—you still have so much love left to give. You deserve to be loved, Hermione.”

“I just don’t know, Remus,” I murmured, staring into my tea. “I don’t want Lyra’s first heartbreak to be because of my mistakes. Because of something I chose wrong.”

“I know you want to protect her, sweetheart,” he said gently. “But you’re still young. If you wait until she’s older—or off at Hogwarts—you’ll miss years you can’t get back. The best thing you can do for Lyra is show her how to survive it. How to love well. And how not to let heartbreak break you.”

“I love Draco,” I said quietly. “I’m beyond confident of that. As scared as I was to leave Lyra alone with him... seeing them together just fit . Even when I was shouting at him, even when he was asking me to stay in England—I still loved him. Watching him with Lyra was like a piece of my heart finally slid into place, something I hadn’t even realized was missing.”

Remus didn’t speak. He just watched me, patient and kind.

“And Harry...” I let out a soft breath. “Seeing him in my living room in Boston kicked up emotions I couldn’t name at the time. I think I’d buried them for years. But now, here... watching the way he loves. How easily he gives it, how generously. He didn’t hesitate for a second to treat Lyra as his own. He’s been soft with me, Remus. Really soft. Listening to me talk about things I thought I’d already worked through. Catching me when I didn’t realize I was falling. He’s been shielding me while I try to step back into a world that moved on without me. And it feels like... like there was a piece of myself I didn’t even know was missing, and he’s been holding it this whole time.”

I blinked back sudden tears. “I don’t know what to do with any of it.”

Remus gave me a soft smile. “You won’t know anything until you ask. You might surprise yourself.”

He stood slowly from the window seat, knees creaking as he stretched. I watched as he wandered the library stacks, fingers drifting over the spines like old friends. A small stack of books floated behind him, bobbing gently in the air. He paused at the nearest table, laying out four titles before returning to hand me one personally.

“With a Mastery in Potions, I imagine you’ll have no trouble brewing it.” He gave me a small, knowing smile.

I looked down at the cover: Marriage and Magic: A Guide to Pureblood Bonding Traditions .

I raised an eyebrow.

“Fleamont said it’s rare,” Remus explained, “but triads do show up more often among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. And you’re looking at the lords of three of those families.”

My fingers turned the first page almost unconsciously, curiosity prickling at the edge of my thoughts.

Remus reached out and gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “You can always come to me, sweetheart. I know I’m not your dad. I know how much you gave up trying to protect him. But I’d be proud to support you just as much as I do Harry.”

I nodded, throat too tight to answer right away.

“You’re still here,” he said softly. “That tells me you’re willing to try—with Draco, and maybe with Harry too. You don’t have to know the ending. You just have to be willing to write the next chapter.”

I nodded, the weight of it settling quietly in my chest. Maybe—just maybe—I was getting closer to naming what I wanted. Triads weren’t a thing in the Muggle world, at least not openly. It had never crossed my mind as a possibility. But now, at least, I had a place to start.

“Thank you, Remus,” I said, looking up at him. “I don’t know where we’d be without you. And... I’m sorry. About Marlene. Sirius. Tonks.”

His expression softened with a kind of quiet peace. “I got the love I needed,” he murmured. “More than I could have hoped for.”

He stepped back, giving me space. “I’ll leave you to it. Feel free to join us in the sitting room if you’re up to it.” Then he slipped out of the room, quiet as ever.

I sat in silence, watching the rain trace slow paths down the windowpane. The library smelled like old parchment and bergamot, and for a while, I just let myself breathe in the stillness. Then I turned to the book and began to read in earnest.

Some of the early chapters were familiar—basic bonding rituals, the kind referenced in Draco and Astoria’s marriage contract. Ones that were light, flexible. Easy to dissolve. But as I turned the pages, the rituals deepened—layered in intent, permanence, and, at times, soul-level magic.

And then I found it. The ritual Remus must have meant.

The potion itself wasn’t complicated—not for me. It looked like a variant of Polyjuice, requiring hair from all intended partners. Brewed over a full moon cycle, it promised magical and emotional analysis. I could do this. Easily.

But should I?

Did I want answers that badly?

Was there a future—truly a future—for Harry, Draco, and me? A life I hadn’t even considered until Remus gave it shape. Did they have feelings for each other ? Like Sirius and Remus had? Did Harry know about his godfather’s lovers, or what they had survived together? Could we give our children a stable, magical life inside something that had no name in the world I came from?

I stared down at the page. My fingertips hovered above a passage about magical compatibility—how shared trauma, trust, and intent often mattered more than bloodlines.

A soft gurgle pulled me out of my thoughts. My stomach.

I glanced down at my empty teacup, lips twitching. With a quick flick of my wand, I cast Tempus —and stared.

Half past noon.

I dropped the book and bolted from the library, panic tightening in my chest. My wand hadn’t alerted me—where was Lyra?

I took the stairs two at a time, lungs burning, heart pounding. Her room was empty. The sight of the neatly made bed, the scattered toys—it knocked the breath out of me.

“Harry!” I screamed, spinning on my heel, barely catching myself as I half-fell down the stairs.

I crashed into him in the foyer, his arms catching me just before I lost my footing.

“ Oof ,” he grunted, steadying us both. “Hermione—what’s wrong?”

“Lyra—she’s not in her room—and the ward—my wand—didn’t go off—”

His grip tightened around me instantly. “I undid the charm on her door,” he said, voice calm but solid. “She’s been down here since Teddy arrived. I’ve got her, Mione. She’s safe.”

I let out a shaky breath, heart still racing, and clutched the front of his jumper like a lifeline.

Harry softened, pulling me close again. “She’s in the kitchen. With Remus and Teddy. They’re eating lunch.”

I nodded, the flood of relief making me weak in the knees.

“Come on,” he said gently, guiding me down the hall. “Let’s get you something to eat too.”

I allowed myself to be guided, soaking in the soft moment in the kitchen. Remus was chuckling as Lyra and Teddy chatted animatedly to each other. I pressed a kiss to Lyra’s head as I settled in the empty chair next to Harry’s plate. I watched quietly as Harry fixed my plate, as I tried to settle myself. I smiled at Harry when he settled next to me. 

Lyra demanded my attention, telling me the tale of playing tag and kickball in the ballroom. I smiled softly at her, adding another tick to the running list of reasons she belonged here. Eventually Teddy spoke up.

“Da, can we go play more kickball upstairs?” He asked excitedly. “Maybe we can bring the brooms inside later”

“You’ll have to ask Uncle Harry about that one kiddo. But yes, you can go play kickball upstairs as long as you and Lyra include James.” Remus replied. Lyra shot up ready to run upstairs with Teddy as I laughed. The kids bolted out of the room as soon as James’ feet hit the floor. 

“Are you feeling any better Mione?” Harry asked as I picked at the remainder of my lunch. 

“A bit, Remus helped a lot.” I answered honestly.

“Draco’s written three times this morning.” Harry said gently. 

“Do you think he’d wait until dinner?” I asked softly. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Harry answered. I nodded softly.

“Were you ready to go back to Boston?” Remus asked gently.

I exhaled, pressing a thumb against the side of my teacup.

 “I miss my lab, mostly. I was looking forward to checking in—seeing what my assistants have been up to. I still need to write their evaluations. I only have two I'm seriously considering for next semester’s cohort, and two others are graduating, so I’ve got recommendation letters to draft. Then I get to start the glorious process of trials for the candidates I interviewed right before I left.”

“That’s intense,” Harry said, eyebrows rising slightly.

“It is,” I agreed, picking at the edge of my sandwich. “We’re working with dreamless sleep studies. A lot could go wrong. I need to be sure my lab staff is up to par. I’ll be interested to hear what my department head thinks while I’ve been away.”

Harry paused, then asked cautiously, “I know you kinda bit Draco’s head off when he brought it up, but… are there career possibilities here for you?”

“I’m sure I could get in at Oxford or Cambridge if I wanted,” I admitted. “But I need to finish this study first. It’s the first research team Harvard trusted me to lead on my own. I’ve been building it for three years. Walking away now would set me back—at best, I’d be competing for positions against candidates just finishing their masteries, and without a completed study, I’d lose the edge. My name alone won’t carry in England.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “But you’d… consider coming home?”

I took a deep breath, the word home catching in my chest.
“I’d consider it. Once the research is finished. Or if they’d be willing to release the study before completion. Especially if Kate and Alex are thinking about moving here.”

Harry nodded quietly, his gaze distant. “I’m still not sure what I want to do now that the manor’s fixed up,” he admitted. “I’m… really enjoying just being a parent without trying to juggle work at the same time.”

“I can understand that,” I said softly, watching the way his shoulders eased with the confession. “Have you thought about going back to school? Maybe taking a few classes while you figure it out?”

“I’ve thought about it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I haven’t stepped into a classroom in over seven years—outside the Auror Academy, anyway.”

I tilted my head, an idea blooming. “I wonder how the Hogwarts board would feel about a Muggle-born liaison.”

He glanced at me, curious.

“I mean… my parents would’ve taken full advantage of something like that. Someone to meet with new Muggle-born families, explain the basics of the wizarding world, help them process the shift before September. McGonagall came with my letter, but it was overwhelming. They had so many questions after she left—questions no one was there to answer. A liaison could bridge that gap.”

“That’s actually a brilliant idea, Hermione,” Remus chimed in from across the table. “And Harry would be perfect for it. With his Auror training, he’d know how to spot families that might need more support—and be able to help kids who might be in difficult situations.”

I nodded, warmed by the thought. “He’d be amazing at it. I’d recommend a few classes on pureblood culture and wizarding society, though—so he has the context. Then maybe… maybe he could even teach that as a course for Muggle-born students. Hogwarts has Muggle Studies, but nothing for the other way around. I had to learn everything from Draco.”

“I mean… classes wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “Everything I’ve learned about my lordships and seats has been trial and error.”

“I had a suspicion,” I said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll bring the idea to Minerva,” Remus offered. “She’s been trying to get me to take the Defense post next year. Even with the curse lifted, she’s still struggling to find adequate professors.”

I smiled, warmth threading through my chest. For the first time in a long while, it felt like something was clicking into place—like the beginning of a life.

A shimmer interrupted the moment as a letter appeared midair in front of Harry. I recognized Draco’s handwriting instantly, sharp and unmistakable.

Harry reached for it with a soft sigh, and I leaned over his shoulder just as he read aloud:
“Draco and Scorp will be here at four. He’s got the night off from clinicals.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t taken a break,” I murmured. “After Astoria…”

“He’s throwing himself into work,” Harry said, his voice low. “He did the same when you left. No one knew what he was grieving then.”

Remus stood, pushing back from the table with a quiet scrape. “I’m going to check on the kids.”

We both nodded as he stepped out. I waited a beat, then turned to Harry, my heart beginning to thump with quiet urgency.

“Can I ask you something? And can you be honest with me?”
He looked up, meeting my gaze.
“What’s your relationship with Draco really like?”

Harry let out a slow breath. “We got friendly when I was still a new Auror—he kept showing up, asking for updates, offering suggestions. At first it was frustrating, but it turned into the occasional beer. We got married around the same time, ran in similar circles. Sometimes we’d end up debating Wizengamot proposals—me from one side, him from the other.”

He paused, his voice softening.

“Then Ginny and Astoria got pregnant. Scorp and James are only two weeks apart. We bonded over that. Playdates turned into longer talks. When Astoria got sick… and Ginny started pulling away… he needed help. I’d take Scorp here and there. It just… happened. We’re friends, but we’ve never really made it public.”

I nodded, abandoning my teacup. The quiet clink of porcelain on wood felt final somehow. I stood and moved softly through the kitchen, finding the pitcher of pumpkin juice and pouring a glass, needing the motion, the distraction.

But my thoughts ran wild.

Harry and Draco were friends. Real friends.

I thought back to Remus’ story—two wizards in love with the same witch. Sacred Twenty-Eight. Friendships becoming more. Were we walking the same path now? But with the chances they never had? We'd all known heartbreak. Maybe this was a chance to build something new from the pieces.

Harry deserved to be loved fully. But I couldn’t give him that, not yet. Not while part of me was still tangled up in Draco. I didn’t even know what I felt , let alone what I wanted .

“It feels strange,” I said finally, my voice soft, “having all the aspects of my life intersecting like this.”

Harry glanced over, listening.

“I know that if I’d told you about Lyra and Draco right after the war… it would’ve gone badly. No one would’ve understood. I was scared I’d lose everything.”

“I won’t lie,” Harry said, his voice low. “I would’ve been hurt. Maybe even angry. But I never would’ve abandoned you.”

He paused, eyes lingering on mine.

“Sometimes I wonder… if I would’ve married Ginny at all, if you’d stayed.”

My heart clenched, painfully.

I pictured it. A different life. Harry never married Ginny. Him and me, finding love in the shadow of Draco’s wedding. Raising Lyra together from the very beginning.

It was nothing like the life I once imagined with Draco. But it didn’t feel any less right .

“All I can see in either version,” I whispered, “is me ending up as somebody’s wife. And that’s all.” My voice cracked. “I wanted to be more than that. More than just a wife. More than just a mother.”

Harry set his glass down and looked at me, fierce with gentleness.
“You already are , Hermione. You’re brilliant. You’re going to change the world.”

I looked away, swallowing hard.

“I think you need to tell Draco,” Harry said after a beat. “At least some of what you told me. Without biting his head off this time.”

I let out a soft, helpless laugh.

“He’s still in love with you, you know,” Harry added, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “He never stopped. He’s been writing me every day since the Prophet's photos from Lyra’s birthday. Practically pining.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, unsure how to hold the ache in my chest.

“It’s hard,” I said quietly. “Because, like I told you last night… my heart doesn’t know who to choose.”

What I didn’t say—what I couldn’t say—was what Remus had told me. That maybe I didn’t have to choose at all.

Chapter Text

May 3rd, 2004

Harry and I had settled into the ballroom with Remus and the kids, who’d quickly pulled him into an impromptu game of kickball. The game was chaos in its purest form—socks flying, Teddy shouting about rules no one was following, Lyra in a fit of giggles as she ran circles around the boys.

All too soon, the clock struck four, and the familiar roar of the Floo echoed through the manor.

Draco stepped into the room just as James tripped over the ball, sending it skidding under an armchair. He took in the scene—three squealing children chasing Harry in what might’ve generously been called a game—and smirked. I caught the twitch of amusement on his face, and something warm stirred painfully in my chest.

Lyra saw him instantly. Her whole face lit up, and she bolted toward the door with a shriek of joy.

“Draco!”

He crouched just in time to catch her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her once before hugging her tight. Scorpius stood close behind, looking a little shy but smiling. I watched the three of them—my daughter, her father, and his son—and my heart tugged in all directions.

Harry paused the game, his eyes meeting Draco’s. With a brief nod, he gestured toward the hallway.

My stomach fluttered. I glanced at Remus, who gave me the smallest, grounding smile.

Draco put Lyra down and she gleefully took Scorpius’ hand and ran towards James and Teddy.  

While they stepped away, I tried to focus on the game again. Lyra had coaxed Scorpius into a round of tag, and the boys gave chase with renewed energy. James and Scorp had no method to their chaos as they struggled to keep up with the older two, who darted like dragonflies across the polished floor. Lyra’s laughter rang out, light and unburdened, and I held onto that sound with both hands.

After what felt like both forever and no time at all, Harry reappeared at the ballroom door and caught my eye. He tilted his head toward the corridor.

I followed him silently, nerves bubbling in my chest. He led me to the library, the soft click of his heels echoing through the quiet hall. When we stepped inside, Draco was already there, comfortably settled into the armchair beside the hearth, a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

He didn’t look up at first. Just raised the book in his lap and said dryly, “Doing some light reading, Maia?”

My breath caught. He was holding Marriage and Magic .

Draco finally glanced over, eyes sharp with amusement. “You’ve really outdone yourself. Nothing says relaxing family afternoon like a legally binding magical contracts manual.”

He set the book down and began flipping through the rest of the stack on the table—volumes Remus had left for me after our chat. Books I hadn’t even touched yet.

I folded my arms, swallowing the tightness in my throat.

“Some reading Remus recommended,” I murmured.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He just let his fingers linger on a page as the silence settled around us.

The page I had bookmarked—the compatibility potion—lay open in his lap as Draco’s voice pulled my attention back.

“Well, let’s see,” he drawled, glancing through the covers on the table next to him. “ Notable Couples of the Sacred Twenty-Eight , Family Magic in the 21st Century:Parenting and Partnership Beyond Pairs , The Power of Threes , and… ah yes, Wandwork and Heartwork .”

He arched a brow, lips twitching with restrained amusement. “What in Merlin’s name are you researching?”

My breath caught mid-throat. I twisted my hands nervously as I searched for a plausible excuse. Nothing came.

Just then, Remus’s voice echoed down the hall, sharp and urgent—calling for Harry.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry said quickly, already halfway out the door.

I was left alone in the library with Draco, who hadn’t stopped staring.

His grey eyes narrowed slightly, almost curious. “Light reading on the power of triads?” he asked, tone infuriatingly nonchalant.

“I don’t need to explain my reading to you,” I snapped, heat creeping up my neck. “Besides, what would you know about any of this?”

“A lot more than you’d anticipate,” he said smoothly, his voice dipped in old, familiar arrogance. But there was no bite. Just quiet fact.

He closed the book on his lap with a soft thud. “Considering my parents were in one for much of my childhood.”

The air shifted between us.

I blinked. “What?”

“Snape,” he said simply, like it was common knowledge. “Though he didn’t become… deeply involved until I was in Hogwarts. Still, it wasn’t some storybook true love triad. Not exactly what that little potion you were reading about is designed to assess.”

My mouth went dry.

“Let’s play a little game,” Draco said, his voice light, like he was betting on a Quidditch match. “I’ll wager a thousand Galleons I can still read you like a book.” 

I sank into the armchair across from him, tucking my legs beneath me and pulling the blanket over my lap, like it might shield me. I wasn’t ready for this—not when I hadn’t been able to make sense of my own thoughts, let alone explain them to someone else. 

“You’re conflicted,” Draco began, tone maddeningly casual as he leaned against the back of the chair. “You want the picture-perfect version, the fairytale: Mummy and Daddy in love, a big house, a garden behind a nice magical gate, family strolls on Sundays. Maybe another child or two. Lyra, happy and whole.” 

He paused, gaze cutting sharper.

“But I see how you look at Potter,” he went on. “And how he looks at you. I see how easily you fell into playing mum to James—and how easily Potter slid into the role of father with Lyra.”

My chest tightened.

“It was easier when it was just you and I,” he added, quieter now. “No Astoria. No Harry.”

He dropped Marriage and Magic on the pile, then crossed the room in two strides. Braced his hands on either side of my chair, leaning in until his face was inches from mine.

“You’re not confused about what you feel,” he said low, near my ear. “You’re afraid of what it means.”

My fingers twitched toward my wand.

Draco backed off, retreating to his chair in one graceful motion.

“So,” he said, folding his hands into his lap. “Was I right?”

I swallowed hard, trying to collect myself—trying to summon a voice that didn’t crack under the weight of everything I hadn’t yet figured out.

“I never planned for any of this,” I whispered. “I figured I’d be single until Lyra went to Hogwarts. No complications. No relationships. Just safety.”

He stayed quiet.

“The idea of being with anyone again—let alone two people—it’s overwhelming. I haven’t lived in this world for five years. I’ve barely stepped back in, and already people are watching like I’m on trial.”
I gestured to the stack of books. “This—triads, bonds—it’s not even discussed where I’m from. I’m still trying to understand the language.”

“True triads are rare,” Draco agreed, voice more measured now. “The kind where you raise a family together, live a shared life—that’s not something most people grow up expecting. But triads built on affection or convenience? That’s more common. My parents were the latter.”

My fingers tightened on the edge of the blanket. This was too much, too fast. The word triad was still sharp and unfamiliar in my mind, a concept I hadn’t even imagined yesterday.

He met my eyes squarely.

“So. Be honest with me. Do you have feelings for me?”

That smirk was back—the one that used to make my heart trip over itself in school corridors. I ignored the flutter and answered with as much grace as I could manage.

“Seeing you again stirred things I thought I’d buried,” I admitted, thinking of Harry’s advice to be honest with him. “Yes.”

Draco nodded—smug, but not cruel.

“And Potter?”

There was a glint in his eye now—less teasing, more thoughtful. Measuring.

“Seeing him in this light… raised feelings I didn’t know were possible,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Draco leaned back, exhaling like he already knew.

“I’m not stupid, Hermione. I’ve known there was something between us since sixth year. I just never figured out whether it was a love bond—or the kind that gets you killed.”

His eyes flicked toward the window, unfocused. “With the war, it always felt like a fifty-fifty shot.”

“Draco.” My voice was tight. “This talk of triads and bonds—it’s too much. They weren’t even discussed at Hogwarts, not really.”

“I need space,” I continued, firmer this time. “I need to research this on my own. Figure out if I’m—” I paused, echoing his words—“confused or just scared. I locked myself away in the Muggle world for five years. I’m reintegrating into all of this, and it’s… a lot.”

“You work at a magical university,” he said, a hint of accusation seeping into his voice.

“Where no one cares who I am,” I shot back. “This—being back in London, being watched—two of the most eligible Lords in the country circling around me like I’m the last Chocolate Frog on the train trolley—it’s a bit much.”

“Maia.” His voice softened. “I understand. I spent four years in a marriage I didn’t want. Astoria was kind, but there was no attraction. She had her wing. I had mine. Every bloody day, I thought of you. Of how I’d rather it be you in my bed than the empty sheets.”

Draco paused as if looking for the right words.

“I thought you left because you hated me.”

“I don’t know if I could hate you, Draco,” I admitted. “It was just easier on my heart to go. If I stayed, I would’ve had to armor up for another battle. And I didn’t have one in me.”

He looked away, jaw tight.

“My mind healer called it a fight-or-flight response,” I explained. “I understand now—I took a lot from you that wasn’t mine to take. But all I need from you, right now, is this: focus on our daughter. Do what’s best for her. We have time to figure out the rest—whether there’s an us—later.”

“Don’t cut me out again,” he said, his voice low and unguarded.“If you can promise me that, then I’ll give you time.”

“I won’t.” I meant it.

I hesitated. “But… can we not tell Harry? Not yet.I don’t know what he knows about bonds…. Or triads”

Draco gave me a long, unreadable look.

“I won’t say anything,” he said finally. “But you’ll have to tell him eventually. He’s not the kind of man you hide things from.”

I swallowed. “I know.”

“Now, on to more pressing business. You plan to return to America when?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Ideally next week. The week after if I absolutely have to,” I said. The bite didn’t creep into my voice like it had yesterday.

“How long will you be there?” he asked, leaning forward.

“I’ll need at least two or three weeks. I have to get through exam season, commencement, and getting my graduating assistants settled. My lab techs have the summer off, so I can argue for a work-from-home arrangement—assuming I have access to a proper lab,” I said carefully, working hard to keep the frustration out of my voice.

As much as I had feelings for Draco—and as much as he’d just confirmed his for me—I didn’t like having to shape my decisions around someone else’s expectations. Not anymore.

“Between Harry and me, we can secure you a suitable lab. Hollyvale Hall still has one, I believe,” Draco offered.

“It needs to be up to a Potions Master’s standards,” I pressed. “Not just something cobbled together for a homebrewer.”

“Snape set it up himself. It’s up to standards,” he assured.

“What’s Hollyvale?”

“It was a Malfoy summer estate. A bit farther from London—I set it up as my primary residence. The Manor never really felt like home.” He paused, voice softer. “Hollyvale is more like Potter Manor. Open gardens, less dreary. My mother appreciated it. Snape appreciated that it had room for an adequate lab.”

I nodded, absorbing that. The idea of space—real, breathable space—was more appealing than I expected.

“Lyra will be coming home with me,” I said, firm but calm. “She deserves to finish the school year with her friends.”

Just then, Harry reentered the room, dragging over another armchair. “James bumped his head, but he’s okay.”

I gave him a grateful nod.

“How’s it going?” he asked, glancing between us.

“It’s going well, I think,” Draco replied smoothly. “We were discussing whether Lyra will be going back to America.”

“Lyra will be going back to America,” I said firmly. “We can spend most of June and July here, but we’ll return to America for Kate’s wedding in August.” I glanced between them, my spine straight. “I can’t make any decisions past the summer until I talk to my department chair. I’m not giving up my career.”

“I don’t want you to,” Draco said at once, sincerity cutting through his usual coolness. “Hermione, you’re so bloody passionate about everything you do. Emotions were high yesterday. It wasn’t fair of me to expect you to drop your life.”

He paused.

“Blaise and Theo may have yelled at me about it,” he added.

I let out a soft laugh despite myself.

“I just have a lot at stake,” I said, quieter now. “And I need time to figure it out. Lyra deserves to know you, Draco. We have the next week—let’s use it. Let’s get out of this house and spend time together. For the kids.”

“For the kids” Draco agreed. 

Harry looked between us, almost confused by how… civil we were. I turned my gaze to the window, where the rain had finally cleared and late afternoon sunlight peeked through the clouds.

“If you don’t mind wet grass, we should probably get the kids outside before they break something in the ballroom,” Harry suggested.

“You’re the one who let them play kickball,” I said with a shrug and a small smile.

“Teddy won’t let go of the idea of flying. Why don’t we do that, then have dinner?” he offered.

“Sounds good, mate. Do you have enough brooms for the kids?” Draco asked as Harry paused.

“Bloody hell. I don’t,” he admitted. “I’m one short.”

Draco nodded. “I’ll send for Scorp’s from Hollyvale. You two get everyone moving.”

I blinked. Draco had been calling Harry “Potter” not twenty minutes ago, and now it was like they were best mates. I trailed after Harry, still a little dazed.

The next stretch passed in a bit of a haze—wrangling jackets onto excited children, trailing out to the garden as they raced ahead toward the pitch. Draco followed not far behind, a miniature training broom tucked under his arm, nearly identical to the ones Harry was pulling from the shed.

Teddy shot off first, his broom bigger and faster than the others. James followed quickly, Harry helping settle him on before giving him a gentle push. Scorpius was next, kicking off with surprising balance for his age. I cast cushioning charms across the pitch, my wand moving in small, practiced flicks, even as nerves curled low in my stomach.

“Mama, can I fly too?” Lyra asked, bouncing on her toes.

I hesitated. My eyes flicked to Harry, then Draco. I had trusted Harry to fly with her once—but I hadn’t told Draco that. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Not yet.

“I’ll help her, Maia,” Draco said, his voice soft but steady. He looked at me like he was asking for more than permission. Like he was asking for trust.

“Of course, Star,” I said finally, even as my stomach twisted into a knot.

“Come along, darling. Let’s get you settled,” Draco murmured, guiding her to a spot a few feet away from the boys.

From the shed, Harry pulled out his own broom.

“The boys are fine, Mione,” he said, catching my worried expression. “You charmed the ground. Their brooms are capped—they don’t go more than three feet off the ground unless I adjust the settings. Neither of them’s fallen in months.”

He swung one leg over and kicked off, gliding effortlessly toward Teddy.

I watched the toddlers loop across the sky in slow, cautious arcs, no faster than a brisk jog. Remus had settled on a blanket he’d charmed to stay dry, and I sank down beside him, my eyes never leaving Lyra.

She was trying to find her balance, Draco steadying her with one hand on the broom and the other gently braced on her back. Slowly, she began to hover, then drift forward, and Draco walked beside her, keeping pace.

My heart pounded as her broom picked up speed. Then Draco’s hands dropped away, and he jogged next to her instead. Moments later, he stopped completely.

My stomach dropped.

Lyra was flying—on her own.

She looped back toward James and Scorpius, calling out something I couldn’t quite hear. She looked… confident. Like she’d been born with a broom in hand. Strange, considering my own lifelong aversion to flying.

Then Harry landed in front of me, cutting off my view with a cheeky grin.

He held out his hand. “Come on, Mione. Your turn.”

“No way,” I said, crossing my arms. “You know I don’t fly.”

“Fly with me. All you have to do is hold on,” he coaxed, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Harry, I need to be here for Lyra.”

“Remus and Draco are both right there. She’s okay. Come on—you might even enjoy it.”

“Maia, get on the bloody broom,” Draco called from across the pitch.

Remus nudged my shoulder gently.

Harry held out his hand again. “Come on, Mione.”

I sighed and stood, more from resignation than enthusiasm. There was no use fighting them all.

“Harry James, if you do any tricks or go fast or high, I swear I will make your life miserable,” I warned, swinging my leg over behind him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mione. Slow and steady ride, promise,” he said, voice softening.

“Now wrap your arms around my waist. Hold on tight.”

I slid my arms around his middle, pressing my face into his shoulder. My eyes squeezed shut as I felt the ground vanish beneath my feet.

A soft rush of wind tugged at my hair.

“Look up,” Harry said, his voice warm with amusement.

I turned my head and pressed my cheek to his shoulder. We were hovering—twenty feet up, maybe more. From here, the children looked small, their laughter drifting up like birdsong. Teddy zipped past us, a blur of purple and gold.

My stomach dipped. The ground below was a dizzying sprawl of green. Harry leaned forward slightly and the broom began to move, drifting in slow, wide circles. I tightened my grip, trying not to close my eyes as the wind needled my cheeks.

“You doing okay?” he asked.

I nodded against his shoulder. As okay as I could be. I hated being on a broom. It was disorienting—too exposed, too far from anything solid.

We rose a little higher. The wind sharpened.

“I want to get down,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear.

Harry guided us gently toward the ground.

I slid off the broom the moment we touched down, my legs unsteady. The grass beneath my feet blurred, the world tilting as I stumbled—no chance of catching myself.

But strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me upright against a firm chest.

I inhaled sharply and opened my eyes. Harry was still settled on the broom.

My breath caught.

The arms weren’t his.

I stepped forward quickly, heart thudding, and looked back to find Draco watching me with a crooked smile. I turned to face him.

“Not a fan of Potter’s flying skills?” he said, one brow lifting. “Maybe you should try mine instead.”

His arms had felt stronger than the last time he held me—broader, steadier. Less boy, more man. Like time and grief had carved him into something more grounded. I had missed those arms wrapped around me. I’d even dreamed about them, sometimes. Woken up reaching for something that wasn’t there.

“I just don’t like being off the ground,” I muttered, brushing imaginary dust from my jumper. “I’ve avoided it quite well since first year.”

Draco smirked. “Yet every guy you’ve fallen for has been a Quidditch player. How ironic.”

I rolled my eyes. His sense of humor hadn’t changed—dry and needling, just sharp enough to slice through my nerves. Every moment I spent not in fight or flight, I saw more of the boy I had fallen for. The same tilt of his head, the same teasing mouth.

But he was different, too. More composed. Like he’d been reforged in the fire of the years we lost.

Draco knew about triads. He’d even sounded open to the idea. Was there more between him and Harry than I’d realized? Had they found something in each other while I was gone?

“I guess I have a type,” I said, forcing the words out with a dry laugh, trying to quiet the nerves humming under my skin.

I settled on the blanket next to Remus, close enough to hear his gentle commentary on the children’s flying. We watched them circle and dive—Lyra chasing James, Teddy doing loops just to show off.

The rest of the day passed in slow, familiar rhythms. We made our way through dinner, bedtime routines folding in like muscle memory.

I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Draco sit at Lyra’s bedside. He was reading to her in that steady voice, the one that still made my chest ache. Then he tucked her in—his movements instinctive, careful.

It was strange, watching someone else perform the routine I had lived and breathed for five years.

Draco had returned to Potter Manor after settling Scorpius at Hollyvale, where his elf would stay with him until Draco’s return. Now, here he was—fitting into this new version of my life with a kind of ease that was both comforting and terrifying.

Once Lyra was settled in and drifting off, Draco and I made our way downstairs to the library, where Harry had already set up. The fire blazed high in the hearth, casting long shadows across the rug. He’d set out three glasses of firewhiskey on the low table in front of us.

I sank into the chair Draco had been in earlier, pulling a plush blanket over me. The stack of books rested on the side table— Family Magic and Parenting Beyond Pairs  on top. I picked it up without thinking, thumbing through the first few pages as I curled my fingers around the glass.

Draco and Harry took the other chairs, falling easily into conversation—something about Draco’s latest clinical rotation and how he was managing night shifts and Scorp. Their voices were soft and easy, worn-in with time.

I let myself fade into the background, the low rhythm of their voices settling like a blanket over the room. I turned the pages slowly, letting the firewhiskey burn through my chest.

The first chapters were dry—dense theory on magical inheritance and the power of family magic. But then it shifted. Magical Threes.

Triads.

The book was clear: while two wizards couldn’t jointly father a child by magical means, however children born to powerful parents connected by soul-deep bonds — such as those found in true love triads—often manifested unusually high levels of magic. Bonds like that were rare, the text admitted, but not impossible. And when they happened, the child created from such a triad often carried a magic greater than the sum of their parents.

I stilled. My throat burned.

Every magical pediatrician had said it. Lyra was unusually powerful.

Could this be why?

Had she been created from a true love bond I hadn’t even known existed?

The room was still full of quiet: Harry and Draco talking about St. Mungo’s, about Scorpius and Lyra. Their voices dipped and rose in the background, anchoring me as my mind spun.

My eyes traced the runes along the margins of the page, my heart thudding as something shifted beneath my ribs.

I didn’t know if it was possible. I didn’t know what it meant.

But it was there—written in ink and parchment, like a door I hadn’t realized could open.

Chapter Text

May 4th, 2004
After a quiet evening of reading, I woke feeling more settled—and somehow more confused.

Marriage and Magic had been helpful for understanding the logistics of magical unions, especially when it came to contract law and the complexities of triad compatibility potions.
Notable Couples shared a handful of stories about triads throughout history—just as Remus had said, many were from old families like the Blacks, the Malfoys, and, occasionally, the Potters. Curiously, their paths had never seemed to cross.

Parenting and Partnerships Beyond Pairs offered the most practical insight. It focused on how to grow as a unit—how to work together as a team, raise children, navigate jealousy, and build peace.

And then there was The Power of Threes, which explored the ripple effect: the legacy of children raised in triads, and the potent, often extraordinary magic created when three witches or wizards were truly aligned.

Notable Couples was,surprisingly, the one I found most compelling. It highlighted the powerful triads that not only endured but shaped wizarding history in the process. Stories of people who had changed the world—together.

And yet, every chapter I read, every piece that clicked into place, only made me feel dizzier.

Harry had promised me safety. Stability. And I believed him. Life with Harry would be quiet, steady—two children growing up in a peaceful home, maybe more if we wanted. If I asked, I’m sure he’d come back to Boston with me, at least until my study was complete. We could build a life of calm certainty, each of us in meaningful work, surrounded by people we trusted.

Draco was something else entirely. He was fire—untamed, consuming. He was my reckless youth and the man who forced me to question everything I thought I knew. The one who shattered the black-and-white narrative I’d clung to, until all that remained were shades of truth. He was Lyra’s father. My first love. He had grown—more than I’d ever thought possible—from a scared, angry boy into a man full of quiet kindness and surprising depth. Life with him might be steady now, but it would never be small. And there would be no going back to Boston. I doubted he’d even consider it.  

Still, I tried to imagine a future where I didn’t have to choose.
And to my surprise—it wasn’t difficult.

I saw it so clearly: quiet nights like last night, curled into the big library chair with a stack of books while the children slept upstairs, Harry and Draco across from me, deep in conversation or locked in a game of chess. Long summer afternoons sprawled across a blanket at the pitch, the kids squealing as they chased a Quaffle or Snitch while their fathers laughed and shouted encouragement. A life that was both fire and safety. Passion and peace.

And I pictured nights wrapped in their arms—sometimes one, sometimes both—tangled together in the massive bed in Harry’s room. Waking in the early morning light, staring out that wide, sunlit window, the three of us breathing the same quiet breath.

The only part that broke my heart in that imagined future was leaving Boston behind.

I kept trying to fool myself—telling some quieter part of me that in any version of this story, I ended up back there. But the truth settled like a stone in my stomach.

Boston was mine.

It was the place I built from the rubble of who I used to be. Where I brought my daughter home. Where I watched her take her first steps, heard her first words, caught her first sparks of accidental magic. It was where I began to heal—really heal—from everything the war had torn apart.

Even if I still woke up some nights in a cold sweat, I’d rebuilt myself there.

And yet… the only nights I’ve truly slept, deeply and without dread, were in Draco’s bed. Or Harry’s.
Could I give up the safety I forged for myself—for a lifetime of sleep wrapped in someone else’s arms?

The only thing I was certain of… was that I wasn’t certain at all.

I needed to talk to Remus—get a better understanding of what Harry knew, and what Draco might say. Or worse, what I’d have to explain—likely stumbling through it.

Then, I needed to talk to Harry.

That thought had looped through my head all morning, threading itself through every routine: dressing, brushing my teeth, getting Lyra ready and settled with breakfast.

It wasn’t until I was halfway through stirring my tea that a voice pulled me back to the present.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, brow furrowed. “You okay?”

I blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m good,” I said, though my voice felt distant, even to me.

He didn’t push. “Draco should be here any minute. Any idea what you want to do today?”

I looked up at him. “I haven’t been to Diagon Alley in forever,” I said slowly, thinking aloud. “And the Prophet’s already running daily stories… no point in hiding anymore.”

“We can do that,” Harry agreed easily. “How do you want to travel?”

“Can we take the car?” I asked. “I don’t think I’m ready to take Lyra through the Floo yet.”

Harry nodded just as the Floo flared in the room next door.

“Mama, are we going into London?” Lyra asked as she finished her breakfast.

“Sort of,” I said. “We’re going to a different part—with James and Scorp.”

Her eyes lit up. “Okay!”

“Go grab your sneakers and a jumper, please.”

Lyra nodded and climbed down from the table before taking off down the hall. I smoothed the billowy sleeves of my blouse and stood up, stretching a little as I walked to the foyer.
Through the open door, I spotted Harry and Draco crouched near the car, both men puzzling over a tangle of buckles and straps as Tilly hovered nearby with the boys.

“I think these clips go here,” Harry muttered, tugging one of the tethers toward the seat belt loop.

“Back up, please,” I said, stepping past them. “You need to flip up one of the back seats—just one. We’re not hauling a full carload of adults today, but someone’s going to have to climb through the boot.”

I crouched and swiftly secured the additional car seats, muscle memory taking over as I checked the latches and tightened the straps. Draco stood nearby, watching intently.

“Draco, come around to the other side so you can see,” I called. “I want you to know how to do this.”

He obeyed without hesitation, and I walked him through buckling each child in—how the straps should sit, how to check the chest clip, how to adjust the harness. He listened carefully, his brows drawn in focus.

If I moved back to England, I thought, the first thing I’d do was get a car. Magical travel had lost most of its appeal now that I had a small child.

I eventually settled into the third row, not wanting to subject either of the six-foot-tall men to the cramped space. The ride into London was filled with toddler chatter—Scorpius and James peppering us with questions, their fascination with the car palpable. It was likely one of the few times they’d ever been in one.

By the time we found a parking spot near the Leaky Cauldron, I was feeling both nostalgic and a little breathless. As I climbed out of the car and my feet hit the cobblestones, I was instantly transported—back to every back-to-school shopping trip of my childhood, back to the excitement of parchment and robes and cauldrons stacked high in shop windows.
I reached for Lyra’s hand while Draco and Harry hoisted Scorpius and James out of their seats. Together, we crossed the familiar threshold and stepped into the dim, warm light of the pub.

“’Ello, Harry,” Tom called from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a rag. “Fancy a pint?”

“Not today, Tom. Got the kids with us,” Harry replied with a grin.

Tom's eyes flicked toward me, going slightly wide. “Merlin—the rumors are true,” he murmured. “Nice to see you again, Miss Granger,” Tom said.

I smiled, but it was thin. I hadn’t expected to be recognized so quickly—nor the sharp flick of unease it brought.

“Glad to see you’re doing well, Tom.”

Harry stepped forward and tapped the bricks with his wand, the familiar pattern still etched in muscle memory. Lyra squeezed my hand as the bricks began to shift and pull back one by one, her eyes wide with wonder.

Scorpius and James barely reacted, clearly used to the reveal—but for Lyra, it was something entirely new. I watched her eyes track the transformation, the way her mouth parted slightly in awe.

Her first entrance into Diagon Alley. My chest ached at the weight of it. I remembered my own —how the bricks had parted like a secret doorway into another life. I hadn’t known it then, but that magic had changed everything. Now I watched it shift her world, just as it once shifted mine. Only this time, I wasn’t eleven—I was her mother. I was the one guiding her through.

“Where to first?” Harry asked as we stepped into the bustling street. “Flourish and Blotts?”

I smiled, already picturing the towering shelves of books.

“That sounds good,” I agreed, tightening my hold on Lyra’s hand.

“Only if we go to Quality Quidditch afterward,” Draco bargained, his eyes flicking toward the sporting shop down the lane.

“Then it’s settled,” Harry said, already heading toward the bookstore.

Lyra’s face lit up with every step, her head constantly swiveling to take in the sights. Owls swooped overhead, magical items snapped and crackled in storefronts, and parents strolled by with their children, pausing to admire the latest brooms and brightly colored owl cages.

It was quieter than I remembered—no crowds of Hogwarts-bound students or bustling lines at the apothecary. Most children over eleven were at school, and their parents were likely at work.

We reached Flourish and Blotts, and it looked exactly as it had in my memory: a bit chaotic, with books stacked high in every corner and crammed into every available nook. A stark contrast to Bea’s tidy shop, with its plush chairs and organized displays.

Harry and James veered off to browse the new Quidditch releases. Draco followed with Scorpius, already scanning the titles in the healing section.

I wandered with Lyra toward the children’s corner, crouching down beside her as she flipped through picture books I’d never seen before. A smile tugged at my lips as I came across an illustrated Hogwarts: A History and quietly added it to our growing stack.

Draco found us a few minutes later, Scorpius trailing behind him, as Lyra settled into the corner with a book in her lap.

“Izzy and Alec,” Draco murmured, surprised, picking up a familiar cover. “I remember these.”
I looked up at him, confused.

“It’s a series that explores different topics—Quidditch, Potions, Charms, different careers. Even some of the Sacred Twenty-Eight contributed chapters to explain the family histories in a kid-appropriate way,” he explained. “I haven’t picked them up for Scorp yet, but Lyra’s the perfect age.”

He lowered himself to the floor beside me, pulling more of the series from the shelves and adding them to the pile. Then, without hesitation, he joined Lyra and Scorpius, reading along as they turned the pages.

I took the opportunity to slip away and browse for myself. I let my fingers trace the spines of titles I hadn’t seen in years, letting the quiet rustle of pages and the faint scent of parchment soothe me.

When I returned some time later, Harry and I found Draco curled up with all three children, reading aloud from The Tales of Beedle the Bard. I lingered in the aisle, watching him finish the chapter, his voice soft and even. Then he ushered them downstairs where Harry was already waiting with our stack.

“Harry, where are our books?” I asked as I stepped off the last stair.

“Potter Manor,” he said, flashing a cheeky grin.

“You need to let me pay for things,” I protested, nudging him with my elbow.

“Oh, let me spoil her, Mione,” he said with a smile, pushing open the door of the bookshop for us as we all tumbled back into the mid-morning light.

Draco led the charge to Quality Quidditch, Lyra skipping happily at his side, her hand tucked in his as he carried Scorpius in the other. I kept pace with Harry, unable to stop smiling at Lyra’s delight.

Without a word, Harry reached for my hand as we walked. I didn’t pull away. His fingers were warm in mine, steady and familiar. The spring air was soft on our skin, and the sun had just enough warmth to make the cobblestones glow. It was, in every way, a perfect day for a shopping trip.

We piled into Quality Quidditch, the bell chiming as the door closed behind us. The children ran ahead, instantly absorbed by the enchanted model of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch—tiny players zoomed in formation, reenacting a match with astonishing detail.

Harry peeled off toward the broom maintenance section, and I watched him for a moment before following Draco to the front counter.

“I want a Junior Nimbus 2008,” Draco told the shopkeeper in a low voice. “Ebony wood. Silver footrests.”

The shopkeeper nodded and slipped into the back room. I stepped closer. “What did you order? Is that like the one James and Scorp use?”

Draco glanced at me. “Lyra’s still small enough for a toddler broom, but she’s picking up skills more quickly than most kids her size. It’d be a waste to keep her on one for too long. This one’s like what Teddy was flying yesterday—it has safety enchantments and can be limited like the toddler brooms, but it’ll adjust as she grows. She won’t need another until Hogwarts.”

Before I could respond, the shopkeeper returned with a long, sleek box and set it on the counter.

“Is this to your liking, Lord Malfoy?” he asked, eyeing Scorpius. “I believe the young heir is still a touch small for this model.”

Draco didn’t miss a beat. “It’s not for my son,” he said evenly. “It’s for my daughter.”

He turned back toward the model pitch. “Lyra, darling—come here, please.”

She skipped over without hesitation, and Draco lifted her easily into his arms.

“What do you think of your own broom, darling?” he asked, holding her up so she could get a better look.

Lyra gasped, wide-eyed. “I love it! It’s so pretty!”

Draco smiled. “Then we’ll take it,” he said, turning back to the shopkeeper, who looked mildly stunned.

“That will be 250 Galleons, Lord Malfoy,” the man said, stepping toward the register.

My stomach turned. “Draco,” I whispered, reaching for his arm. “That’s—”

I didn’t want to say too much in front of Lyra, but the number rang loud in my mind. That was more than I’d spent on anything for her that wasn’t medical.

Draco leaned toward me slightly, his voice just above a breath. “Not a dent.”

He pulled a small pouch from his coat and handed it over without hesitation, his expression unreadable. I didn’t press him. Not here.

“Potter,” Draco called out as he turned toward Harry, who had drifted back toward the kids, “can you have your elf take this to the manor?”

Harry nodded, already reaching into his pocket. “Pip,” he said, and the house-elf popped in and out again in a blink, broom in hand.

We herded the children out of the shop, Draco’s hand in Lyra’s as she skipped alongside James and Scorpius, still chattering about the enchanted pitch. I led the charge back to the Leaky for lunch.

Lunch at the Leaky Cauldron was a quiet affair, all things considered. The kids ate well, their energy dialed down just enough by food and excitement. Lyra nearly bounced in her seat when Harry promised a trip to the candy shop—and to Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

“Uncle Ron might be there?” she asked, eyes wide.

“He usually is on Wednesdays,” Harry said with a grin.

Lyra lit up. I felt the pull of something deep in my chest—grief and joy stitched together. She was starting to belong.

After lunch, we began meandering toward Weasley Wizard Wheezes, Harry now leading the charge with all the confidence of someone who’d promised a candy store and chaos.
Lyra tugged at his hand, wanting to race ahead, but eventually settled for walking beside him, skipping every third step. Scorpius had insisted on walking too, which slowed Draco’s pace, and I fell naturally into step beside him.

“That was a lot, Dray,” I said quietly.

“It’ll last her till Hogwarts. It was an investment,” he replied breezily. “The toddler ones run about one-fifty anyway. So really, I saved money.”
I rolled my eyes at the logic, which was pure Malfoy.

Draco reached for my hand before I could respond. His grip was gentle but steady.

“I wanted to, Maia. It’s the first thing you’ve let me buy her. And anyway—” his voice softened—“it can count as her birthday gift for the last five years.”

My chest tightened. He was right. This was the first thing he’d been able to give her. I squeezed his hand back, wordless, and he didn’t let go as we walked the rest of the way to the shop.
I wasn’t prepared for the air to vanish from my lungs the moment we stepped inside.

The shop had changed—wider aisles, floating displays, more organized chaos—but it still smelled faintly of peppermint and sulfur. From the top of the stairs, George was shouting something to Ron, who hovered midair on a broom, adjusting what looked like a set of prank fireworks. The two of them were laughing, bickering, moving in a rhythm that was familiar and utterly wrong.

Fred should’ve been there.

Fred should’ve been helping George with shop adjustments. He should’ve run down the stairs alongside his twin, teasing us mercilessly. He should’ve met Lyra first.

But he wasn’t here. And George—who looked like her Uncle Ron but wasn’t her Uncle Ron—was.

Lyra had dropped Harry’s hand the moment George began walking down the stairs and immediately grabbed hold of my leg, half hiding behind me. As George approached, I instinctively lifted her onto my hip, her little arms clinging tightly to my neck.

“Lyra, sweetheart,” I murmured, brushing her curls back from her face, “this is Mummy’s friend George. He’s Uncle Ron’s brother.”
George smiled as he stepped forward, eyes flicking between the two of us.

“Hello, Mini Mione,” he said warmly.

Lyra studied George for a long moment while I held my breath, unsure what my sassy child might say.

“My name’s not Mini Mione. It’s Lyra,” she said, glaring with all the indignation of a five-year-old who knew exactly who she was.

“My apologies, Lyra,” George replied with a grin. “You’ve got your mummy’s curls—and her smile.
”
“You look like Uncle Ron,” she countered, unimpressed.

“He is my brother,” George agreed, just as Ron swooped over on his broom and plucked Lyra from my arms to show her something shiny in the joke aisle.

“I was talking to the little lady!” George called after them, then turned back to me with a fond shake of his head. “Still a right git.”
I laughed, easing slightly at the familiar rhythm of their banter.

“It’s good to see you, George,” I said, smiling as he pulled me into a hug.

“You look good, Mione. I can’t believe you have a baby,” he said softly.

“Not just a baby. A full-blown, sassy five-year-old,” I replied with a laugh.

“She’s definitely got your attitude,” he said, watching her with fond amusement. “But she really looks like Malfoy.”

“I know,” I groaned. “It’s terrifying when Draco’s attitude comes out of her mouth.”

“I bet.”

I glanced at him, then added with a warm smile, “I heard you and Angelina are expecting—congratulations.”

“Three months to go,” George said, his voice going a little soft. “Med-witches say it’s a boy. We’re going to name him after Freddie.”

Emotion surged in my chest at the honesty in his voice—and the small, watery smile that followed.

“That would’ve blown up his ego to sky-high levels,” I said, laughing gently. “But he’d have been so honored.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” George chuckled, brushing at his eyes before the moment could get too heavy.

We stood there for a while, catching up as the boys wandered the shop with the kids, their laughter and footsteps echoing around the colorful displays. Eventually, James remembered Harry’s promise of a trip to the candy shop and began lobbying for it with increasing urgency, which of course set off Scorpius and Lyra. And just like that, we were ushered out by a pack of sugar-hungry children. The bouncing began as soon as we neared Honeydukes. I tightened my grip on Lyra’s hand.

“Five pieces, sweetheart,” I reminded her as we stepped inside.

Harry and Draco each grabbed a basket, already scanning the shelves with amused indulgence. The scent of sugar and nostalgia hit me full-force—bright, sticky, familiar. I snagged a basket of my own and released Lyra’s hand as she darted between the three of us, practically vibrating with excitement. I tracked her with my eyes while reaching for a stack of sugar quills—they were nearly impossible to find in Boston, and I planned to stock up.

Lyra skipped over a moment later, arms full of treats—licorice wands, chocolate wands, and pumpkin pasties.

“I want to try these, Mama,” she said with a grin that made my heart melt.

I crouched slightly to lower my basket so she could drop them in.

“Two more, Star,” I reminded her gently, brushing a curl from her cheek.

As she dashed off, I caught her slipping treats into both Harry and Draco’s baskets. They didn’t stop her—just smiled fondly, like it was the best part of their day. They both almost encouraged her to continue to fill their baskets.

Eventually, she returned to me and proudly dropped cauldron cakes and jelly slugs into my basket. I let her keep them. We gave the boys a few more minutes before I started herding everyone toward the registers.

Unsurprisingly, Draco and Harry’s baskets were at least double mine. I raised a brow as they began unloading mountains of sweets onto the counters.
Once Pip had popped in to take yet more purchases back to the manor, Draco clapped his hands together like he hadn’t just aided in a sugar revolution.

“Ice cream?” he suggested, utterly shameless.

The kids immediately erupted in cheers. I shot him a look sharp enough to cut through his smirk.

He can put Lyra to bed tonight, I thought grimly as he reached for my hand—and I let him take it—allowing him to lead me out and down the lane toward Florean Fortescue’s.
At the ice cream shop, Draco and Harry let the kids order towering sundaes, ignoring my half-hearted protests.

Lyra managed maybe a third before declaring she was too full. I picked at the melting mess, watching as the inevitable sugar crash crept up behind them. When they started bouncing—shrieking with laughter and dripping chocolate—we packed up quickly.

Back at the car, we wrangled three sticky, giggling children into their car seats before heading to a nearby playground.

We spent the rest of the afternoon watching them tumble around the expansive play structure. Draco and Harry took turns chasing them through tunnels and helping them across monkey bars, while I rotated between pushing swings and cheering from the sidelines. Eventually, we all drifted toward the sandbox. Lyra, Scorpius, and James knelt in the sand, heads bent together in concentration. Harry lingered close, hands on his hips like he could stop a tantrum or an eye full of sand with sheer vigilance.

Draco settled beside me on the bench, brushing his shoulder against mine.

“How was your reading?” he asked quietly.

“Very informative,” I answered, honest and cautious. Draco’s hand found mine again, fingers lacing loosely as we watched the children and Harry.

“What are you thinking?”

“I want to talk to Remus,” I admitted. “And I need to know what Harry understands.”

Draco’s thumb traced the back of my hand, slow and steady.

“Are you open to the idea?” he asked.

“I don’t know what I’m open to until I figure out what Harry knows,” I said, eyes fixed on Lyra’s tiny curls catching the light.
He nodded like he’d expected that answer.

“Harry knows about his godfather,” Draco said gently. “We talked a lot about different kinds of families when Remus explained more about Sirius.”
My mind jumped. Of course. I’d wanted to ask Remus that exact question.

“I don’t think Harry’s done any research like you have,” Draco added. “I hadn’t, either—not until recently. My parents were already married over a decade before they brought Severus into things. It was never formal. Sev always kept his own space, his own name.”

His tone was even, but something beneath it was tentative. Like this mattered more than he knew how to say.

“I’ve been reading more lately,” he admitted, eyes on the sand.
I processed that slowly.

He hadn’t considered his own family history until now.

But today… today had felt so settled. So easy. Holding hands with Draco and Harry both felt natural. Harry’s quiet steadiness. Draco’s thoughtful presence. The way they mirrored two halves of the same constellation in my life.

Lyra bounced between them without hesitation. One minute in Draco’s lap with a book, the next clutching Harry’s leg and demanding sweets. Draco bought her a broom like he’d been waiting years to do it. Harry had allowed her to sneak another chocolate frog when he thought I wasn’t looking. She ran across the playground with James and Scorpius like she’d always had two brothers.

It all felt… right.

Chapter Text

May 5th, 2004

I settled at the breakfast table with a steaming cup of tea, letting the warmth seep into my hands as the house stayed quiet. Lyra and James were still asleep—worn out from the chaos of yesterday. Harry moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he prepared breakfast. It was Pip and Tilly’s day off, so he’d insisted on taking over.

My thoughts had barely stilled since we put the children to bed last night. I’d managed a slow, silent game of chess with Harry—grateful for the familiarity of it—but hadn’t had much else in me. Afterward, I wrote to Remus, asking the questions that had taken root somewhere deep inside me and refused to let go.

Draco would be arriving in a few hours, planning to take Lyra out on her new broom for her first proper flying lesson. Harry had an early meeting with McGonagall and had arranged for James to spend the day with Molly, wanting to avoid too much disruption to his routine.

The quiet was interrupted by a soft tapping at the window.

“I’ve got it,” I murmured, standing to open the latch.

An owl—well-trained and slightly impatient—fluttered in place until I relieved it of a modest stack of letters and a small parcel. I handed over a treat before closing the window again.

“Anything good?” Harry asked from the stove, not turning from where he was cracking eggs into a bowl.

I flipped through the items.

“Parcel from my boss, a letter from Remus for each of us, and today’s papers,” I replied, carrying everything to the table. I set Harry’s aside and began tearing into the package from work.

Inside were a few notes from my department—my boss’s attempt to decode a paper from a struggling freshman, and the latest findings from my research team. I skimmed them briefly, stacking them to review properly later, perhaps while Draco and Lyra were flying.

Then I reached for Remus’s letter.

Dear Hermione,

Thank you for being willing to talk to me about this.

Harry does know of Sirius, Marlene, and I’s arrangement, and he’s read a few of the books I once recommended to you—though not to the extent I imagine you’ve researched. 

The best advice I can offer is to be honest with him. I know you mentioned Draco brought it up.

In my opinion, Draco and Harry have been dancing around each other for some time. I see a great deal of Sirius and myself in them. We grew from friends into something more over many years. It wasn’t until Marlene passed that our bond changed in earnest. You may be that catalyst for them.

I see echoes of my life with Marlene and Sirius in the three of you. If you want to explore this, I suggest speaking with Harry first, then letting him and Draco talk. If you’re truly curious, you have the potion—it may help bring clarity.

Don’t be afraid to accept the love you deserve, Hermione. It will always find you.

Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you want to talk more. My door is always open.

With love,
Remus

I stared at the letter, the parchment trembling slightly in my hands. A thousand thoughts twisted through my mind, none of them settling. The line about accepting the love I deserved caught in my chest and refused to move. 

I set the letter down carefully, next to my untouched, now cold, tea.

Across the room, Harry hummed quietly as he stirred something on the stove, completely unaware that a dam inside me had begun to crack.

Love always finds you.

I wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or hopeful about that.

I pushed Remus’s letter aside just as Harry set down two plates of breakfast. With a sigh, I slid his mail toward him and picked up the first paper from the stack the owl had delivered.

“Sweet Merlin,” I muttered, eyebrows already rising as I unfolded the latest issue of Witch Weekly.

“What’s it say?” Harry asked, taking a sip of his tea.

“From Flourish and Blotts to Honeydukes: Hermione’s Darling Daughter Steals the Show.” I read aloud, lips twitching.

Harry snorted. “Could be worse.”

“It’s not bad,” I admitted, flipping through. Light coverage. A few photos of Lyra beaming in front of the bookshop. 

“What’s next?” Harry asked

“The Prophet,” I grumbled, reaching for the bold print and Rita’s unmistakable flair for dramatics.

“‘Malfoy Seen Buying Child’s Broomstick: Confirmed Paternity or PR Move?’”

Harry laughed around a bite of toast. “Rita really outdid herself with that one.”

“Oh, just wait,” I warned, already spotting the embossed heading of a Special Edition.

“There’s another Prophet issue today. Ministry Sources “Blindsided” by Granger Return.”

“Patil special?” he asked, frowning.

I nodded, skimming through. It was Parvati’s work, sharp and clipped, quotes pulled from unnamed officials, heavy with implication.

I set it aside, picking up the last in the stack. World Wizarding News, crisp and formal. “‘Magical Britain Grapples With Legacy of War, Family, and the Future.’”

Harry reached for it. “See? Could’ve been way worse.”

I nodded, though the knot in my chest didn’t ease. “True. But it makes me nervous how… tame it all is. Especially Rita. She’s never quiet unless she’s hunting something worse.”

He grimaced, holding up a photo from the Prophet’s second page — the one in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Draco holding Lyra, Harry at my side, all of us framed in a moment of accidental harmony.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, quieter this time. “Feels like the calm before the storm.”

“I agree,” I said with a sigh, folding the paper shut. “But I think the best thing we can do for now is not say anything at all. Responding will only give her more fuel.”

Harry nodded solemnly, pushing his eggs around on the plate.

“I just hope if we don’t give her a reaction, the novelty will wear off quickly,” I added, eyes lingering on the headlines again.

“What time are you heading out with James?” I asked, changing the topic.

“I’ll go wake him once I finish eating, then get him sorted at the Burrow,” he replied easily. “My meeting with Minerva’s at ten-thirty.”

“When’s Draco getting here? Is he bringing Scorp?”

“Around eleven, I think,” I said, glancing at the clock. Only eight. “I’d assume he’s bringing Scorpius, but he didn’t say for sure.”

Harry nodded. 

“When should you be back?”

“Probably around two,” he said, already stacking his dishes. “Are you settled for lunch?” 

“I can manage,” I said with a faint smile, picking up the letter from Remus. My fingers traced the edge of the parchment. “Harry?”

“Hmm?” he murmured, half-turned toward the sink as the dishes began scrubbing themselves with a flick of his wand. He glanced back at me.

“I don’t know if I can choose,” I said, though it came out sounding more like a question than a confession.

He blinked, setting the tea towel down. “Boston or London?”

I swallowed hard. “You or Draco.”

There was a pause—brief, but heavy.

“I’ve been talking to Remus,” I added quietly.

“I had a feeling,” Harry said gently. “He told you about Sirius.”

“And Marlene,” I confirmed, the words catching slightly in my throat.

He nodded slowly. “Draco and I talked about it, years ago, when Remus first told me.”

I looked up at him. 

“What are you asking?” He asked softly.

“I don’t know,” I said again, frustrated by the truth of it.

“You’ve been reading the books he gave me,” he said, voice softer now. “You always read between the lines. Something’s working itself out in that brilliant mind of yours.”

“The books—the parenting ones—mention how much stronger a child born of a true love bond can be,” I said softly. “It makes me wonder about Lyra. Everyone keeps saying how powerful she is.”

“And every book stresses how rare true triads are,” Harry added. “Plenty formed from lust or circumstance, but love? That’s rare.”

I nodded, chewing the inside of my cheek. The silence stretched.

“What are you thinking?” I asked. “About Draco, I mean.”

Harry sighed and leaned back against the counter, raking a hand through his already unruly hair. The gesture was pure habit, but his eyes stayed on me, serious now.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“Only if you want to,” I said quietly. “I feel like… this is the first piece. The beginning of figuring out my life.”

He exhaled slowly, then gave a short, self-conscious smile. “I think he’s a much better man than I ever thought he could be. I enjoy talking to him. Playing chess. He’s a good father. And—” 

He hesitated, a little laugh escaping, “—he’s admittedly attractive.”

“I don’t want to get hurt, Harry,” I said quietly. “Or confuse the kids.”

“I don’t think I could handle getting hurt again either,” he admitted, voice low.

There was a pause as the weight of the thought settled between us.

“Do you think Draco’s open to this?” he asked finally.

“I think so,” I said. “At least… that’s the impression I got.”

Harry looked down for a moment, thumb brushing the edge of the counter. “How do we even begin to navigate this without breaking something?”

“We could try the potion,” I offered. “See what it reveals. If it’s the real thing—or if it’s just… a trauma response.”

“Honest, as always,” Harry murmured with a small smile. “Chat with Draco, maybe order those potion ingredients, if he’s open to it.” 

“Will do,” I said, picking at the scone in front of me. I hesitated, then added, “Harry… I hope you know I love you. Even if I can’t fully commit to my feelings—not yet.”

“I love you too, Mione. Always have,” Harry said softly. Then, with a gentle nudge of practicality “We should probably wake the kids. Lots to do.”

I nodded, stretching as I stood. The ache behind my ribs didn’t ease, but I followed Harry upstairs, peeling off toward Lyra’s room.

She was snoozing peacefully, the stuffed dragon clutched tightly in her arms. I brushed her curls from her cheek and pressed a kiss to her temple, gently coaxing her awake. Lyra curled up to me for a few extra minutes, her small arms tangled around mine, before I read her a chapter of Winnie the Pooh.

“Mama, Draco does a better Eeyore voice,” she said seriously as she climbed out of bed.

I rolled my eyes, caught off guard by the comparison. 

“Oh, does he now?” I said, amused, as I pulled clothes from her wardrobe and laid them out on the bed.

She nodded solemnly. I helped her with her hair before leaving her to get dressed.

Back in my room, I changed into more presentable clothes, the familiar rhythm of the morning grounding me. I tucked my wand beneath my sleeve and grabbed the book with the potion notes before heading back down to the kitchen. 

The quiet hum of the manor wrapped around me as I scrambled eggs for the kids and popped slices of bread into the toaster.

Once they were settled at the table, Harry picked up the book.

“What page?” he asked, calm and focused.

“It’s marked,” I replied, sipping my tea.

He flipped it open and skimmed quickly. “I’ve got most of it, but it looks like we’d need to start soon to time it right with the moon cycle.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Draco, see what he thinks. We’ll need to coordinate when we’ll all be together—and if there’s someone who can help brew when I’m not here.”

“Draco may be able to help with the brewing. He’s fairly solid at potions,” Harry offered.

I nodded, the conversation settling between us like a pebble dropped in still water. 

The rest of the morning passed in a soft blur of domesticity—Lyra’s chatter as she colored at the table, the clink of dishes in the sink, the comforting rhythm of a quiet plan beginning to take shape.

After Harry left, Lyra and I curled up together in the library, flipping through some of her new books. Eventually, the Floo flared, and Draco stepped into the room.

“Where’s Scorp?” I asked as he dusted off his sleeves.

“Pansy demanded a day with her godson,” he said, looking exasperated but faintly amused. “I swear, sometimes she likes to pretend she has a child—without the responsibility.”

“What are you reading, Lyr?” He asked, turning his attention to her with a smile. 

“Izzie and Alec! It’s really cool, they do lots of magic!” she said, bouncing on the couch.

“Would you like to take a break and go fly?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Mama, can I?” she asked, eyes wide as she looked up at me.

“Of course, Star,” I said with a smile.

She clambered down and bound over to Draco, grinning ear to ear as he took her hand. 

I watched them go, a pang tugging in my chest—some mix of love, loss, and something more complicated. I summoned my paperwork and followed them outside, transfiguring the picnic blanket into a small table and chairs. The air was warm, touched with the scent of grass and late morning sun. I let myself settle into the quiet hum of the morning.

I took a deep breath and pulled out the stack of papers, bracing myself. The first essay—by a first-year Potions student—was nearly illegible, both in handwriting and logic. No wonder my boss had mailed it across the ocean. I could barely make sense of it myself. I marked it accordingly, regretfully certain the student would need to repeat the course.

Shaking my head, I set it aside and moved on to my research team’s progress notes. A sticky note was attached to the top page in my boss’s scrawl: Closer?? The margins were littered with suggestions and questions, but the tone was hopeful—we might only be a few tweaks away from entering full trials.

This batch had brewed into a soft lavender color, a promising sign. When tested on plants, the reaction mirrored that of traditional Dreamless Sleep. They’d even tested it on a toad, but the poor thing hadn’t stayed asleep for long. Promising—but not quite there. The bright side was the toad showed no adverse effects. 

I glanced up now and then, watching Lyra and Draco soar through the sky. He was showing her new tricks, guiding her with a careful hand. My stomach clenched when he adjusted the broom higher—her laughter echoing across the garden as she took off. Too high, my instincts whispered. But she wasn’t scared. She was glowing. I looked away before the nerves could swallow me.

I buried myself in the notes, searching for overlooked angles. The moonstone powder we’d used this time had caused that soft lavender hue—it had replaced flobberworms and enhanced the calming qualities. But something was still missing. The potion smelled right, brewed cleanly, and looked perfect.

But it didn’t work.

Draco wandered over with Lyra on his hip as she tired out, settling beside me with her curled up in his lap, cheeks flushed and hair windswept.

“What are you working on?” he asked, leaning over to peek at the notes.

“Grading an essay so disastrous my boss mailed it to another continent,” I muttered, “and reviewing my team’s latest attempt.”

“May I?” he asked, nodding toward the parchment.

“Be my guest. Maybe you’ll spot something I missed—my eyes are going cross.”

He took the stack and began to read, quiet for a long stretch. Occasionally he asked questions about ingredients we’d already tested, or about method variations I’d long since ruled out.

“Porcupine quill?” he asked eventually, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Tried it,” I said, voice tight with frustration.

“With the moonstone?” he pressed.

I blinked. “No… Wait. Both are used in Draught of Peace. Moonstone stabilizes emotional volatility—”

“—And porcupine quill is used in Elixir to Induce Euphoria, which boosts serotonin,” Draco finished.

“Which helps the body produce melatonin and regulate sleep cycles,” I breathed. My heart skipped.

 “How do you know about serotonin?” I questioned, confusion catching up to me. 

“They cover it in some Healer courses,” Draco said with a shrug. “It’s a newer addition, but they’re incorporating more Muggle research.”

“Interesting. I didn’t think the British wizarding world valued Muggle accomplishments.”

“It’s slowly starting to change. I think the Healers are seeing the benefits,” Draco replied. “They’ve got us reading some Muggle medical books.”

“That’s really interesting,” I said, jotting notes in the margins to send back.

“I can’t wait to see how the next round runs,” Draco said, flashing me a smile.

“Me too. I’ve felt close to a breakthrough for weeks. They were just testing moonstone when I left,” I said, returning his smile.

I looked over, where Lyra was snoozing peacefully against Draco. My heart twitched as I thought of all the moments she’d missed—when this kind of comfort could have been normal for her, not something new and unfamiliar.

“We should probably put her in bed. Then I can start lunch,” I said, gathering my papers into a disheveled clump. I’d sort them later and write up detailed instructions for my team to begin brewing.

“Does she usually nap?” Draco asked as he carefully stood, adjusting Lyra’s weight against his shoulder.

“Not at home. But here, I think she’s worn out—she constantly has other kids around to play with,” I said, offering a small smile as I led him back inside.

I watched quietly as he ascended the stairs with Lyra in his arms, his steps surprisingly gentle. Then I slipped into Harry’s office in search of parchment and quickly scribbled out the notes for my team before sealing them up—with that god-awful essay.

I found Draco in the kitchen, staring at the stove like it might explode.

“How does it work?” he asked, brows drawn in suspicious concentration.

I flicked the knob and the flame sparked to life. 

“Now you put a kettle on. Or, you know, cook,” I added with a teasing grin as I set the kettle down.

“I thought Potter had house-elves.”

“Day off. Don’t yours get that?” I asked, arching a brow.

“They do,” he said with a shrug. “But not all on the same day.”

“Harry and I grew up cooking. It’s... nice, not being rushed out of the kitchen.”

The kettle began to whistle. I grabbed two mugs and poured the water into the teapot.

Draco sat at the table, hands folded. “What’s it like, living in the Muggle world?” he asked softly.

I paused, thinking for a moment. 

“It feels... simpler,” I said. “Here, I can wave my wand and fix or make anything in seconds. But the Muggle world slows you down. You have to do things yourself—fix things, build things, wait for things. It’s frustrating, but also kind of beautiful.”

I smiled, memory washing over me like sunlight. “Setting up Lyra’s crib took hours. Kate and I were useless—she kept reading the directions upside down, and I was too pregnant to use the drill at the right angle. Alex finally had to step in. If I’d used magic, it would’ve taken seconds. But I would’ve missed that memory entirely.”

I poured the tea and slid a cup toward Draco, watching as his fingers wrapped around the ceramic.

“It feels like home,” I said after a moment. “They’ve got things we don’t—tellies, phones, computers. There’s even a version of floo calling being developed for screens. It’s clearer, more personal.”

“And the music,” I added with a smile. “Merlin, the Muggle world lives on music. We always have something playing at home. It’s been a big part of Lyra’s childhood—singing while we clean, dancing in the kitchen... I love that she’s grown up with that.”

“She’s got an idea of magic, but I’ve kept her childhood very Muggle. She goes to a magical preschool, but they don’t do much actual magic. This week has probably been the most she’s ever seen—and even then, I still try to refrain from basic things like summoning a sweater.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Draco murmured. “Scorp has known nothing but magic... and Lyra’s had anything but.”

He looked over at me. “Would you want to live in a fully magical home?” he asked, voice quiet. Tentative.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Like I said, there’s something refreshing about doing things the Muggle way. More intentional. More... earned.”

I studied him for a moment—his sharp cheekbones, his short hair still tousled from flying, the flecks of sunlight caught in his grey eyes. He was watching me in that same unreadable way he had that last summer—like he wanted to ask something but didn’t know if he had the right.

Sitting here like this—talking about potions and parenting and magic—it felt strangely normal. Comfortable. Just like talking to Harry. Like nothing had changed.

“How’s your reading going?” Draco asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

The question caught me off guard—not because of what he asked, but because of how natural it felt. How easy. Like no time had passed at all.

“Good, I think,” I said, taking a sip of tea.

“Do you know what you want yet?” he asked, more pointedly this time.

I hesitated. Then nodded.

“I did more reading. And more talking. The conclusion I came to—after finally speaking with Harry—is that I think I’d like to try the potion. Before we blow anything up or risk something we can’t undo.”

I looked down at my cup, steam curling softly toward my face. “I need to know if what I’m feeling is real. If there’s a real bond there... or if it’s just something born from the trauma we all incurred.”

“I can tell you there’s something,” Draco said quietly. “I’ve just never been able to put my finger on what.”

My mind flicked back to the library—to that moment, his voice low and uncertain, wondering whether the bond between us was love or the kind that got you killed. The jury was still out on that.

“Spending the day with you and Harry yesterday... watching you with Lyra—how naturally you stepped into being her dad, how easily you balanced her and Scorpius—it felt right,” I said softly. “Holding your hand, talking about her as our daughter instead of just mine... it felt right.”

I hesitated, then looked up.

“But on the other hand, it also felt right with Harry. Like you’re both halves of something whole for me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

I exhaled slowly before trying to.

 “Harry is calm. Peaceful mornings and books by the fire. You’re sharp debates, racing brooms, and burning firewhiskey. It feels like I need to see what’s possible but I don’t want it to become a competition for my attention.”

“Harry does have a very soft presence,” Draco agreed. “He was much easier to talk to after Astoria passed. Easier than Theo or Blaise.”

He paused, then looked at me carefully.
“I think the part you’re missing, love, is that it wouldn’t be about us fighting over you.”

My heart skipped. It had been years since that term had tumbled out of his mouth. My stomach tumbled with it. 

“Yes, there would be soft moments between you and Harry. Fiery ones between you and me. But also... wizard’s chess by the fire for Harry and me. Long talks, the three of us, over a glass of firewhiskey. Sending our children off to Hogwarts. Watching them become something extraordinary. Watching our family grow.”

His voice dropped. Gentle. Honest.

“I haven’t told Harry this, but over the last few years, I’ve felt something too. Something I couldn’t name. He’s gone from my sworn enemy to one of my closest friends—and it’s a lot to process.”

“It seems like nothing is easy to process right now,” I agreed. My eyes drifted to the clock—it was a little after one, and Lyra was still sleeping.

The Floo flared to life in the next room, cracking the comfortable silence.

“Are you expecting someone?” Draco asked, brows drawing together.

“Harry isn’t supposed to be back yet,” I said, already rising to my feet.

Harry strode into the kitchen, breathless, urgency written across his face.
“You’ve got to see this,” he said, slapping a rolled-up, ink-smeared edition of the Prophet onto the table.

I leaned over, my blood running cold. 

GRANGER’S SECRET: BASTARD CHILD AND BEDROOM POLITICS?

Chapter Text

May 5th, 2004

It felt like cotton had been stuffed in my ears as I reread the headline. I could see Harry speaking, but the words were muffled—distant and warped, like they were coming through water.

“Maia,” Draco said sharply. The sound of my name pulled me out of the fog, my head snapping toward him.

“Yeah?” I asked, still blinking through the haze as I tried to skim the blurb beneath the headline.

“I want Lyra out of here. She doesn’t need to walk in on war talks,” he said calmly. “Who would you trust to watch her?”

I blinked up at him, still working to process the words. Pansy had Scorp, and while Draco trusted her, I didn’t.

“Would Molly be okay?” Harry asked, calm and steady. I thought for a moment.

“Are you okay with that?” I asked Draco.

“That’s fine. Potter, can you run her over?” Draco asked.

“Is she up?” I asked, confused.

“My wand went off a minute ago—didn’t you hear it?” Draco asked, frowning as Harry headed upstairs.

“I guess not,” I murmured, picking up the paper again. The ink bled slightly under my fingers as I smoothed the page. “Accio highlighter.” My voice sounded flat, distant—even to my own ears. My hands trembled as I uncapped the highlighter. 

Granger disappeared at the most pivotal time of reconstruction, after denying very prestigious jobs in the ministry. Is she now regretting her decisions—or has she run out of money?

“She’s brilliant. Brilliant enough to seduce two men into helping raise a child no one knew existed,” said one Ministry source, speaking under condition of anonymity. “Whether she’s playing house, playing politics, or playing both—it’s working.”

Clearly a bastard—if the whispers are to be believed. With her wild hair, American accent, and no father in sight, little Miss Granger looked more like a stray than the daughter of any respectable pureblood line. A fact, no doubt, that will ruffle more than a few feathers among traditionalist circles, particularly if rumors linking her parentage to a certain blond lord hold weight.

With two of the most powerful wizards in Britain in her bed, what can’t Miss Granger get done?

Harry was back by the time I finished highlighting the worst of it, my fingers shaking just slightly as I capped the pen and threw the paper on the table.

Draco picked up the paper, his jaw tight as he began highlighting his own sections. Harry sat down across from me, his expression unreadable.

“This is such blatant defamation,” Draco said, snapping the cap on the highlighter before tossing it onto the table. “I have half a mind to get my solicitor down here. The other articles speculated—but this? This crosses every line. ”

“Insinuating that three of the most powerful Wizengamot seats can be swayed with sex?” Harry added, his voice sharp. “That could destroy both our reputations—and Hermione’s .”

“I think we need to hit back harder,” I said, the words tumbling out as I leaned forward. I pushed a rough hand through my hair frustrated with every strand that tickled my skin. “Demand letters for redactions. Schedule face-to-face meetings with the Prophet’s Editor in Chief. Push for her removal. Then solicitors. And I want an Auror here—someone from outside Harry’s agency, someone who can’t be accused of bias—to file an unregistered Animagus report.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean, an unregistered Animagus?”

“Rita is a beetle,” I said flatly. “I kept her in a jar for most of fourth year.”

He stared at me for a moment. “You did what ?”

Harry blinked, then let out a low huff of breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I can call for an Auror from a different office.” He summoned a sheet of parchment, scribbled a quick note, and sent it off with a flick of his wand.

There was a moment of silence as we all stared at each other, trying to figure out the next move.

“Who’d fancy a trip to the Daily Prophet ?” Draco asked, his voice dangerously calm. His body was tense, eyes dark with fury.
“She will not be getting away with writing about my daughter like that.”

Harry nodded and turned to me, ready to go before pausing..
“Are you up for it, Mione? You look pale,” he said gently, his voice stripped of the malice it had carried moments before.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I could speak. Draco’s anger shifted as he looked at me—his posture softened, concern taking its place.
“You're shaking, Maia.” His voice was lower now, strained. He glanced at Harry.
“Did she eat today?”

“She picked at breakfast before eight. Did you have lunch?” Harry asked him, referring to me like I wasn’t sitting right there. I wanted to snap, to pull them both back to the present—but my thoughts were fuzzy. Rage churned in my stomach, twisting with the roaring nausea thinking about what would happen if Lyra ever read that article. If she ever believed it.

“We were about to, when you got here,” Draco answered.
Harry nodded tensely.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, standing. The moment I did, the room tilted slightly and dark spots danced across my field of view. My legs felt unsteady, but I didn’t want to admit it.

“Maia, cut the act,” Draco said sharply. “You're pale and shaking. You’re furious and running on nothing. Sit down. Eat something. Then we can set the world on fire.”

I opened my mouth to argue, wanting to tell them I was more than capable of handling myself. Harry spoke before I could. I clenched my fist a bit, frustrated at their incessant need to talk for me.
“Mione,” he said gently, “Lyra’s safe at the Burrow, and you don’t need to worry—Molly’ll feed her, spoil her rotten. Right now, it’s our job to look after you. And Draco’s right. We’ll burn the world down after .”

I let out a quiet huff but sat back down. My chest still felt tight, like I was trapped between grief and fury.

Harry placed a knife and plate on the table, then tossed Draco an apple. I held out my hand for them, but Draco only narrowed his eyes.
“You're not using a knife when your hands are shaking like that. I don’t feel like healing you today.” He started slicing it himself.

A few minutes later, Harry slid a tray of sandwiches onto the table. Draco placed one on my plate and nudged it toward me.

I picked at the plate, feeling like an irritated child—refusing to eat simply because they wanted me to. The silence at the table felt thick, each of us lost in our own thoughts as we poked at the meal. I managed a few slices of apple and half a sandwich before pushing the plate away.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but Harry nudged him under the table, shaking his head. I pretended not to notice the moment between them.

I stood, a little more stable now. The world stayed still this time. I crossed to the sink, filled a glass with water, and downed it in a few long swallows. Behind me, I could hear the boys moving—plates clinking, the soft hum of a cleaning charm.

Quietly, I slipped out of the room and back upstairs.

At the dresser, I hesitated only a second before pulling out more formal clothes. The ripped jeans and Harvard tee might have felt comforting, but they wouldn't serve me now. Not at the Daily Prophet . Not when I needed every ounce of poise.

I slid into fitted black slacks and a dark green chiffon tank, then grabbed a blazer. I slipped on a pair of sleek black heels as a knock rattled the bedroom door. 
“Come in,” I called, already heading into the bathroom.

I yanked the brush through my hair roughly, wincing when strands caught or brushed my face. I still felt flayed open, oversensitive to everything.

Harry stepped in behind me, his reflection watching me in the mirror.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked quietly.

I nodded, pulling the top half of my curls into a bun and smoothing the rest with my fingers. His eyes were worried, soft, never pressing.

He came closer, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” he murmured. “These last few days... Alex and Katie going back to Boston, all the stuff with Draco, the press, your talks with Remus. It’s okay to take a minute. To need a hug. Let us take care of you too.”

I let myself lean into him for a breath, curling my arms around his.
“I appreciate it,” I said quietly. “I’m trying to let other people help.”
I pulled away, straightening my blazer.
“But now we need to watch the world burn.”

We found Draco waiting in the foyer. None of us spoke. There was nothing left to say.

“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded.

“We’re ready,” Harry said sharply.

“Then let’s light some fires,” Draco muttered.

We apparated to the Prophet.

The moment my feet hit the cobblestones outside the building, nerves twisted low in my belly. I smoothed a hand down my blazer, squared my shoulders, and lifted my chin.

The air inside reeked of ink and hot parchment. Quills scratched, typewriters clacked, and the chaotic buzz of the newsroom rose in waves. We made a striking trio—too poised, too focused, too furious to blend in. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. Journalists slowed mid-step to stare as we marched toward the reception desk.

“Nigel Buckley,” I said crisply.

The receptionist didn’t look up. “Mr. Buckley isn’t available. Please direct all correspondence via owl to his assistant.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Draco said, voice low and laced with steel. “You have two Lords of the Wizengamot and the saviors of the wizarding world in your foyer. We will speak to Buckley immediately—or we’ll take our business to the Quibbler . And I assure you, that headline won’t be kind.”

The woman’s eyes flicked up, her face blanching. She swallowed hard.

“Yes, of course,” she stammered, then lifted her wand to her throat. “Lindsey to the front desk—escort urgent guests to Mr. Buckley’s office. Now.”

A young blonde girl bounded toward us, breathless and wide-eyed, motioning for us to follow. She led us through a narrow corridor, heels clicking nervously on the tile. The assistant outside Buckley’s door paled at the sight of us, scrambling to open it without a word.

Nigel Buckley looked entirely too pleased with himself—feet propped on his desk, a glossy financial report open in his lap, chair tilted back like he owned the world.

“Catching up on how much Skeeter’s lies padded your bottom line?” I asked, ice in my voice. “Hope it’s enough to cover three separate defamation suits.”

Harry and Draco flanked me, silent and imposing.

Buckley startled, his chair thudding forward as his feet hit the ground. He blinked once, twice.

“Miss Granger. What a surprise—and alive and well, I see. Lord Potter. Lord Malfoy. Always an honor.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “To what do I owe this... unexpected visit?”

“Are you the editor-in-chief,” Draco asked, voice razor-sharp, “or is Skeeter running your paper now? Because whoever signed off on that article just opened the Prophet up to a full-scale defamation case. My solicitor’s practically giddy, highlighting every libelous line like it’s a holiday.”

“Lord Malfoy, I’m afraid I don’t know what you're referring to,” Buckley said, setting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers like he had any control left in the room.

“You might want to read the piece your paper printed about an hour ago—unless you’re just letting Skeeter run the press unsupervised,” Harry said, his voice edged with steel.

Buckley buzzed his assistant. She appeared breathless, already holding a copy of the paper. As he flipped through the pages, the color drained from his face. “Get me Skeeter!” he barked.

“Lord Malfoy, Lord Potter, you have to understand—Rita Skeeter is one of our most tenured journalists. If she published this, I have to believe her sources are solid.”

“You think this isn’t libel?” I snapped, snatching the paper from his desk. My voice rang louder than I meant, trembling at the edges. I read aloud “Insiders claim Granger exploited legal loopholes to falsify international documents, ensuring her daughter’s parentage remained concealed from British authorities—and from the child’s rightful father.”

“Oh, one of my favorite sections,” Rita said brightly as she sauntered into the room, glee curling her words like smoke.

“I’m sure Miss Skeeter will be happy to cite her sources,” Buckley said, recovering some of his fake calm.

“Minor birth certificates are sealed in the U.S. without a court order,” I said, my voice snapping back to cool precision. “Under both American and British magical law, it’s my right to determine if and when I register my daughter here. And accessing it without cause? That’s a felony.”

“Miss Skeeter,” Buckley said, rubbing at his temples, “who told you Miss Granger falsified documents?”

“Dear Nigel,” she crooned, slipping into a seat uninvited, “you know my sources only trust me because I don’t reveal them.”

“Let’s try this again,” Harry said flatly, grabbing the paper from me and  flipping to another section that accused him of misappropriating Auror resources. “Where did this come from?”

“Lord Potter,” Rita purred, “I’m sure an exclusive with me would clear the air on that. I know you made enemies in the DMLE due to your abrupt departure. Maybe that leave was to protect Miss Granger?”

“Last chance,” Draco said, his voice colder than ice as he took the paper from Harry, his eyes flicking to the section accusing him of using his influence and vaults to make me disappear and reading it aloud.

“Lord Malfoy, it was quite convenient how Miss Granger found the funds to stay away for so long,” Rita said sweetly, peering over her glasses like she was just making conversation.

“This is just the tip of the iceberg, Skeeter,” Draco said, every syllable honed to a blade. “And those few lines? Enough for three, maybe four separate libel suits. The best solicitors in Britain are tearing your article apart as we speak.”

Rita smirked, unfazed. It made my fingers curl. I wanted to slap the smugness right off her powdered face.

“Bloody hell, Rita—start talking,” Buckley snapped.

“Nigel,” she said in that nauseatingly sweet voice, “you know it would ruin my journalistic integrity to name sources.”

“Lord Potter, Lord Malfoy, Miss Granger,” Buckley said, turning back to us, desperation clinging to his voice now, “how can we settle this quietly?”

“Immediate termination,” Draco said without hesitation. “Skeeter has exposed your publication to hundreds of thousands of galleons in liability. We want separate written apologies addressed to each of us—and our children. Full redaction of the article. No unnamed sources in any future stories about us. No photographs of our children. Final approval on all future pieces involving our names and only by approved journalists. And a legally binding contract to make it stick.”

“I will not write a redaction or an apology,” Rita snapped, rising from her seat. “I simply give the wizarding world the truth.”

“Shut it, Rita,” Buckley barked. Then, after a moment  “Could we be guaranteed… an exclusive? If we agree to your terms?”

“You really think this is the time to negotiate an exclusive?” Harry said, his voice dangerously quiet. “We ignored Skeeter’s disgusting gossip when Hermione came back. We didn’t press charges. We didn’t fight back. But she took our grace and weaponized it. You accept the terms—or start hiring a fleet of solicitors. Because if we go to trial, there might not be a Prophet left when we’re through.”

“Lord Potter, please,” Buckley said, his tone veering from pleading to desperate. “If we’re to issue redactions and apologies, we’ll need replacement content. Who better to offer it than the three of you? Set the record straight yourselves. You can choose any journalist in my employ. If I recall, Parvati Patil was a classmate of yours—perhaps she could serve as your correspondent?”

Draco slammed the paper down on the desk with a sharp crack, making Buckley flinch.

“Our generous offer is about to be off the table,” Draco said, each word tight with fury. “My solicitor is practically flying from the joy this lawsuit would bring him. We’ve given our terms. At this rate, you’ll be lucky if we ever allow the Prophet to print our names again.”

His voice dropped, lethal and cold.

“You let her attack not just our reputations—but our children. Our children, Buckley. One day, they’ll be old enough to read this filth. These accusations could affect custody, trigger legal investigations, follow them through their lives—and all based on lies Skeeter spun to sell papers.”

“Lord Malfoy, please—”

“Termination. Redaction. Apology. Contract. End of business today,” Draco snapped. “Or you’ll be served by dinner.”

Buckley opened his mouth to respond, but Draco had already turned on his heel, storming out. Harry and I followed in his wake. The door slammed behind us with a satisfying rattle.

Draco didn’t speak as we crossed the cobbled street, fury radiating off him in waves. We turned the corner, and I spotted the modest black-and-gold sign: Bracton and Associates, Solicitors at Law . Without pausing, Draco pushed through the door.

The receptionist looked up with a bright, unbothered smile. “Lord Malfoy, Lord Potter, Miss Granger—Mr. Bracton is expecting you. Conference room to the left.”

Draco gave a curt nod and strode past her, the tension still rolling off him like smoke. Harry and I followed, stepping into the quiet, glass-walled room just behind him.

We took our seats at the polished mahogany table, the door clicking softly shut behind us. My heart was still pounding. The Prophet meeting had left a sour taste in my mouth—anger, adrenaline, and something close to fear.

I looked at Draco across the table. His hands were clenched. Harry sat beside me, watching him carefully.

I wasn’t sure what came next—but I knew this was only the beginning. 

Harry reached over and gently squeezed my thigh as Mr. Bracton entered, a quiet gesture meant to steady me.

“Lord Malfoy,” Bracton greeted, his tone stiff with formality. “Always a pleasure—though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Likewise,” Draco said curtly, standing to shake his hand.

“Lord Potter. Miss Granger.” Bracton gave us both a polite nod as he settled at the head of the table, a stack of folders in hand. “Let’s begin. My understanding is that you’ve spoken with Nigel Buckley at The Daily Prophet regarding the libelous article published this afternoon?”

“We have,” Draco said smoothly, though his voice was still laced with cold fury. “We gave him until end of business to retract the article, issue a formal apology, terminate Rita Skeeter, and sign the contract regulating all future use of our likeness and names.”

“Excellent.” Bracton opened his own folder. “In an ideal world, Buckley already has his journalists working on retractions, and we’ll have advance copies before we adjourn. If not, I’m prepared to file by tonight. Now—please take a moment to review the contract we’ve drafted regarding acceptable use by the Daily Prophet .”

I opened the folder and pulled out the thick packet of parchment. My eyes scanned quickly—Bracton had been thorough, almost ruthlessly so. It was airtight.

No images of Lyra—or any future children—without my direct, written consent. Protections extended to grandchildren for two generations. The Prophet couldn’t publish our names or photos even from public events without written approval. We had veto power over any article referencing us. And each of us had the right to individually dissolve the contract at any time as would our children once they reached adulthood. It was everything we needed.

“As you finish reviewing, please sign the master copy at the center of the table,” Bracton said.

I didn’t hesitate. I reached for the quill and signed cleanly. Harry followed. Then Draco.

Bracton examined the documents with a critical eye, then duplicated them with a flick of his wand and sent the master copy flying off in a rush of parchment and ink.

“Now that the unpleasantness is—at least temporarily—handled, we have another matter to discuss.” Bracton looked to me. “Miss Granger, the accusation Skeeter leveled was that you falsified legal documentation. Can you clarify what documents were filed, and under what authority?”

“Lyra’s paperwork was filed under U.S. regulation,” I began, already reaching into my handbag. “Skeeter wouldn’t have been able to access any of it. American Ministry and U.S. government laws protect birth records—they’re sealed to anyone except legal parents, guardians, or the child themselves. I obtained a court order for her passport after sending certified letters to Draco’s last known address. They were returned undeliverable. Everything was done by the book—American law, start to finish.”

I unfolded the birth certificate and handed it over.

Bracton adjusted his glasses and skimmed the page. “You did list Lord Malfoy as the father,” he noted. “Which makes every word of Skeeter’s statement libelous.”

“I figured as much,” Draco said coolly.

“Now, Lord Malfoy,” Bracton continued, “this brings us to another matter. Do you wish to formally claim the child, or would you prefer to undergo testing to confirm paternity? As your solicitor, I recommend the latter.”

My breath caught—sharp, involuntary. Did he think I’d lied? Did Draco think I was playing some sort of game? My hand twitched on the table before Harry’s fingers laced with mine, grounding me with another quiet squeeze.

Draco’s voice cracked like a whip. “There’s no question. She’s mine. One look at her tells you that—spend five minutes with her and there’s no doubt.”

Bracton inclined his head respectfully.

 “In that case, would you like to formally name her as a Malfoy heir? As tradition dictates, the title, ancestral homes, and majority of vaults will pass to young Heir Apparent Scorpius. However, you may designate up to two properties acquired within the last century, and create a separate vault with no more than fifteen percent of the liquid assets for your daughter.”

“Wait,” I said, brow furrowed. “I thought the rule was that any children born outside your marriage to Astoria—before the eleven-year succession mark—weren’t eligible to claim the Malfoy name or benefits?”

“That applies to male heirs only, until Astoria’s untimely passing” Bracton clarified. “Your daughter is eligible as are any future child Lord Malfoy may sire regardless of gender.”

“Begin the paperwork on that, Bracton. You know how to reach me. I’ll be at Potter Manor—send word the moment Buckley caves or you file. Otherwise I believe we’re finished here.”

Draco rose, extending a hand. Bracton stood to meet it, his expression unreadable until the final file snapped shut between his fingers.

“Unless anyone else has an undisclosed heir or a libel suit simmering, I’d say we’re done here.”

Draco’s mouth twitched—just barely—and then he swept from the room in a flurry of controlled urgency.

“Lord Potter. Miss Granger.” Bracton nodded to us with crisp finality before stepping out behind him.

I gave a small nod as Bracton left the room.

We stepped out onto the street, and before either of us could speak, Draco disapparated with a sharp crack.

Harry and I exchanged a brief glance. Then we followed, vanishing into the swirl of apparition.

We landed just outside the manor. My foot slipped slightly on the path, and before I could right myself, two strong arms caught me.

I froze as a warm body pressed close, a familiar scent washing over me—clean soap and something faintly spiced. A face buried into the crook of my neck.

Draco.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and wrapped my arms around him without thinking, folding into his embrace.

Neither of us spoke.

We didn’t need to.

I couldn’t tell who needed the hug more. Draco hadn’t cracked—not once. Not even with Harry and me. The moment that article hit the table, he slipped straight into damage control. Harry held me together. But no one held Draco.

He solved the problem before I even found my footing, had Bracton drafting contracts before my head stopped spinning. He went toe to toe with Skeeter and Buckley without flinching, shielding not only his own interests but mine. Harry’s. Our children’s.

He claimed Lyra against legal advice—no hesitation, no demands, no blame. Just quiet, decisive love. I had no doubt vaults and property transfers were already turning over in his mind. Custody would come up eventually, I was sure. If we couldn’t sort it ourselves, the courts would.

But right now, this was my place—wrapping my arms around him, letting him collapse the way I had, the way Harry eventually would. Just holding steady. Being his anchor, even if only for a moment.

I held him tighter, letting him lean into me, letting him be the one to fall apart—finally.

Behind us, I heard Harry's footsteps pause on the gravel, then retreat—quietly, deliberately—giving us space.

And for now, that was enough. Just this. Just breathing, and not being alone in it.

Chapter Text

May 5th, 2004

Draco’s POV

I released the hug, but didn’t let go of her hand. Maia’s fingers stayed laced with mine as we walked toward the manor in easy silence. Harry had slipped inside already, giving us space. We found him in the library, a steaming pot of tea and three cups waiting on the table like he’d known we’d come.

Hermione tugged gently at my hand, pulling me towards the couch before she sank into the center cushion without hesitation, curling into Harry’s side like she belonged there. I sat on her other side and let my hand rest on her leg, grounding myself in the warmth of her, in the steadiness of being near them both. 

The three of us sat in silence. Not awkward. Just... still. The kind of quiet that settles over you when everything has finally stopped moving.

Slowing down was harder than I thought it’d be. Fixing things was simple. Paying solicitors, threatening newspaper editors, organizing damage control—that was second nature. It was the Malfoy way. Solve first, feel nothing. But sitting in this room, with Maia and Potter on either side of me, letting the adrenaline wear off... that felt impossible.

Malfoy men didn’t show emotion. We didn’t break down. We controlled the narrative, rewrote the ending before it unraveled. But I kept circling back to that moment—the first time I read the article and felt a sharp, visceral fear.

Not for myself. For Scorpius. For Lyra.

What if Scorpius read that rubbish someday? What if he believed it? That I’d made Astoria disappear the same way Skeeter claimed I’d made Maia vanish?

He wasn’t old enough to remember her. Not properly. Not the way I did. He might recall the sound of her voice reading him bedtime stories, or the way she smiled from her spot in the garden, too weak to chase him. In that last year, she barely left her bed. She wanted to be his mother. But she never got the chance.

And now Skeeter wanted to take that too—twist it, poison it. She wanted to plant a seed in my son’s head that maybe, just maybe, his mother was still out there. That I had lied. That I had taken her from him.

I hated that Scorpius might one day carry that weight. That Lyra might read her mother’s name dragged through ink and innuendo. That Hermione had to walk back into this world only to be ripped apart again.

I rubbed Maia’s leg gently, grounding myself in the warmth of her body next to mine. Beside her, the soft scratch of Hermione’s fingers tracing patterns on Harry’s jeans slowed… then stilled completely. I glanced over and found her eyes closed, her breathing soft and even as Harry ran a hand through her hair. He met my gaze and mouthed, ‘ Sleeping’.

She looked at peace—more than I’d seen since the summer after the war. With her face relaxed, she finally looked her age. All the worry, all the weight she carried, had aged her. She’d begun opening up to me again lately—smiling when she talked about Lyra, sharing quiet memories. But even those moments hadn’t eased her like this. I could only hope she’d look this peaceful awake one day.

It was still wild, thinking of Lyra as our daughter.

It hadn’t even occurred to me that Maia could’ve been pregnant when she left. The last time I saw her, she’d been tense, distracted. She’d left quickly, after we'd sat down and reviewed the bloody marriage contract. I thought that was the reason for the tension. Thought it was just... that.

I wish I’d pushed. Asked why she wanted to see me. She never asked to visit, only came when I invited her. That should’ve meant something. I should have known.

But Maia had been right. I wasn’t ready then. I needed the years—needed to become the man I am now. A man I’m finally proud of.

“Are you doing alright? Now that we’re just playing the waiting game?” Harry’s voice was low, careful not to wake her.

I cleared my throat. “I think so,” I said honestly. “I can handle whatever Skeeter throws at me. It’s the kids I’m worried about. What happens when they’re older, when they see it?”

Harry nodded, his jaw tight. He understood.

If we were going to explore this— whatever this is —I knew I’d have to be honest. With both of them. If we were going to try the potion, see if there really was a bond here, I needed to let them in.

I’d always felt something with Maia. That strange tether that never left. But Harry—there’d been something there too, even when I didn’t recognize it. I used to tell myself it was strategy, ambition. That I wanted his friendship to raise my family’s standing. But now? Looking back?

Fate always had a strange way of pushing us together. Even when we hated each other. Even after Maia vanished. Especially after Maia vanished. 

I understood triads well. My family was quite fond of them—even when they were little more than arrangements of convenience or pleasure, not true, fated triads. I saw my first triad potion ceremony at the age of seven.

Bellatrix had been obsessed with the idea of creating a true triad, having read that the offspring of such a bond would be unimaginably powerful. She believed that if she could carry such a child, she’d earn the Dark Lord’s favor upon his return.

The next I saw, I was twelve—when my parents decided to test their bond with Severus. It turned out to be a triad of convenience, but the three of them enjoyed the companionship and stayed together until Severus’s death.

It wasn’t until I saw Maia reading those books that I started thinking seriously about the possibility for myself.

I’d always been able to admit that Potter was attractive after the war. Fit. Kind. Deserved better than the Weaselette. But that was the extent of it—passing acknowledgment, nothing more.

Then Theo and Blaise came out as a couple the Christmas after the war. I’d confided in Theo that night. About Maia. About the fact that I’d found blokes attractive too. That I’d spent a few nights in Muggle London trying to forget her—drunken nights with other men, chasing a kind of comfort that never lasted. I told myself it didn’t matter, that it was just a distraction. That none of it meant anything. None of it touched the part of me that still belonged to her.

Potter, though… he was more impressive than I ever wanted to admit. The way he’d searched for Maia like his life depended on it. The way he took her in without hesitation. The way he protected her—and now, my daughter too.

And it wasn’t just duty. That much was obvious. There was love there. Real, devastating love. I saw it in the way Maia’s voice smiled when she said his name. The way he watched Lyra play with James and Scorpius, stealing glances at Maia when she’s not looking. 

I watched as Harry’s fingers slipped through her curls, again and again, slow and gentle. He looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Because she was. At least to me.

And maybe… to him, too.

There was a part of me that wanted to protect him , too. The way I protected her. I understood now—after all those rainy playdates, watching James and Scorpius toddle across the ballroom while we drank tea and talked about wives and toy brooms—I understood that his childhood had been even worse than I’d imagined. That he’d been starved of the kind of love Maia gave so freely.

The more time I spent with them, the more I needed answers. I wanted the potion finished—not just to test fate, but to finally know what we were dealing with. What we might be.

“Knut for your thoughts,” Harry said, turning his glance toward me.

“Do you love her?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I’d been so lost in my own head, I hadn’t even filtered my answer to his question. 

“I do,” he said without hesitation. “She’s been my best friend for thirteen years. I think it was always meant to be her. The only good thing that came out of my marriage to Ginny was James.”

He looked between Hermione and me, and I appreciated that he didn’t try to backtrack or soften the truth.

“How are you feeling about the triad discussions? I know Maia talked to you,” Harry asked tentatively.

“It would explain quite a bit,” I admitted. “There’s always been some string tying me to Maia. I’ve noticed it for years, and it’s never dulled. If anything, it got stronger when she disappeared. The idea doesn’t feel foreign to me.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I’m nervous,” he said after a beat. “It’s not a thing in the Muggle world—at least not where I grew up. It doesn’t feel as strange as it did when we talked about it after Remus told me about his relationship.”

“I would think so, given that you understand more about it than you did then.” I said, a slight bite in my voice before I softened it. “I don’t think I’m as hesitant as I would have been immediately after the war. I think it would help Maia and I figure out how to raise Lyra. Figure out what this actually is.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. Harry glanced down at Maia, as if to check if she was still asleep. “I know she still loves you. Don’t tell her I told you, but she still has your old Quidditch jersey.”

“That sneaky witch,” I laughed, surprised by the warmth of it. “I spent months looking for that.”

“She gets away with things because she’s beautiful,” Harry chuckled.

“She’s very beautiful,” I agreed. “And smart. She knows how to distract you while she angles for what she wants.”

I looked at her—peaceful in Harry’s lap, his fingers still gently combing through her hair—and my chest pulled tight.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Harry said softly. “We’ve all been through so much. We deserve some peace. Some happiness.”

“I don’t think you can mess up any worse than I did,” I admitted. “Trying to force her to make my choices for me. She was always stubborn—I should’ve known better than to push her.”

“She’s always been so fiercely independent.” Harry's voice dropped into something fond and aching. “It’s almost strange, seeing her lean on us now.”

“She’s carried everything by herself for too long.” I said softly as I pictured it—every sleepless newborn night, every fever or scraped knee, every quiet milestone she had no one to share with. I remembered how terrified I’d been when Scorp first got sick, and I still had Astoria back then. She’d done it all alone. “Do you think she’ll move back permanently?”

“I think she’d consider it. But it would have to work with her career.” Harry shifted slightly, gaze softening. “She’s still passionate about advocacy, but the life she built in Boston was quiet. I don’t think she wants the spotlight that comes with a Ministry post.”

“What was she like there?” I asked, quieter this time.

“Stressed,” Harry said with a huff of dry laughter. “But mostly because I showed up unannounced. Once she realized I wasn’t there to drag her back to England kicking and screaming, she relaxed. Like... really relaxed. Happier than I’d seen her in a long time.”

There was a beat of silence before Harry added, “I’m scared Ginny will cause issues, if we keep exploring this.”

“She left you. What kind of issues could she cause?” I asked, confused.

“She doesn’t like being out of control of the narrative,” he said simply. “She’s been speaking to the press. I haven’t. I don’t think she’d actually try for custody—she hasn’t seen James in over a month—but I do think she’d have a problem with Hermione stepping into that role.”

“Do you want her speaking to the press?” I asked. “Is she talking about James?”

“I’d prefer we stay out of the press entirely,” Harry said quietly. “But yes—she’s talking about both our marriage and James.”

Harry paused before continuing with a sigh. “My name’s been in print enough to last a lifetime.”

“Do you think she’d actually go after custody?”

“No bloody way,” he said quickly. “She didn’t want to parent when I was there—definitely not on her own.”

“Connect with Bracton,” I suggested, gears already turning. “He can draft a cease and desist—maybe even a court order barring her from speaking about you and James publicly.”

Harry gave a tired nod.

“How are the proceedings going?”

“The divorce is finalized,” he said. “But we agreed not to involve the Ministry in custody. Ginny said it wasn’t bitter, that we didn’t need a formal order. She promised we’d just work it out ourselves.”

“And has she?”

“She skipped almost every visit we scheduled so far.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Pretty sure she’s partying in Prague with her teammates this week.”

I felt a flicker of something—pity, maybe. He didn’t deserve that. A wife who bailed. A son she barely acknowledged. And now the press.

“That’s not right. You should pull in a solicitor to clarify things. Is she financially contributing?” I asked, heat rising in my voice at the thought of Ginny using Harry to elevate her status and then leaving him high and dry with their son.

Harry blinked at me like I’d grown another head. “I don’t need the money. Between the Black and Potter vaults, I have more than I could ever spend.”

“That’s not the point.” I shook my head. “She’s still his mother. She should carry some of the weight. Right now, she’s coasting—and that’s not right.”

Harry didn’t argue. “I’ll think about it,” he said quietly.

I exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t a good partner to Maia,” I admitted. “We snuck around in the shadows, and I let that blind me. It never even crossed my mind that she could be pregnant. I thought we’d been careful. But I was too fixated on avoiding my marriage contract to notice something was really wrong. I just hope… even if this doesn’t work out between us… that she’ll let me step up as a father.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, a look of confusion etched across his face. “You didn’t deserve a bad partner either, Harry. You’d already been dealt the shit hand every time.”

“Draco, you’ve got to give yourself some grace,” he continued. “That summer, none of us were in a position to take care of each other. We were all making impossible choices, drowning in grief. I mean—look at your plate: your trial, your family’s name, the contract, the whole lordship situation. Don’t discount yourself as a bad partner. We were still basically kids. No one knew how to communicate in a relationship back then. We’ve all grown in more ways than we could imagine.”

I looked at him for a long moment. His words surprised me. I took in a moment to take in the scene before me, his body was relaxed, his fingers weaving gently through Hermione’s curls, detangling them with unconscious care as she slept peacefully in his lap.

Something shifted in me.

It felt like the only thing missing from this moment—this room, this life—was my children. If they were here, I’d be looking at my entire world.

Hermione’s leg stretched across my lap as she turned towards the ceiling.

“If I’m going to sleep, you two need to be quieter,” she mumbled without opening her eyes. But the corners of her mouth curved upward, and something about that small smile made it hard to breathe.

Chapter Text

May 5th, 2004

I rolled over, stretching my arms above my head and pushing my feet out—hitting something soft and warm.
“If I’m going to sleep, you two need to be quieter,” I mumbled, cracking one eye open to find I was gently kicking Draco’s leg.

“Good morning,” Harry said, glancing down at me with a quiet laugh, his hand combing through my hair.

I pushed myself upright, bracing on the arm of the couch until I was settled between them.

“What did I miss?” I asked, stretching again, my body still heavy with sleep.

“Not much. We’ve mostly been decompressing after this afternoon.” Harry’s hand slid up and down my back, steady and warm. I leaned into the touch without thinking.

“We did chat about the potion,” Draco said bluntly. “What kind of facility do you need to successfully brew it?”

I blinked, still catching up. I’d planned to talk to Draco about it today—but not like this. I glanced at Harry, confusion pulling between my brows.

“Do you need a basic lab or a master’s level lab?” Harry clarified gently.

I thought back to the potion. Small batch. Simple enough. Just advanced enough to be irritating.
“A basic lab would probably be sufficient,” I said slowly, my brain starting to catch up to the conversation. “I just don’t know how we’re going to finish it. I’ll be in Boston for at least two, probably three weeks, minimum, and the potion takes four to brew properly.”

I chewed my lip, tension building in my shoulders. “If I start it now, I’m not sure I’d be back in time to finish it before it spoils.”

My thoughts raced. I wasn’t sure how long I’d need to go home—or if I even wanted to come back to England. It had been less than two weeks and the press was already rabid. Did I really want to walk back into the media circus, more than I already had? Even if we managed to shut down Rita Skeeter, there would always be another Rita waiting in the wings.

I wanted to figure this out—whatever this was—with Draco and Harry. I wanted a family again. I wanted someone I could drop Lyra off with and know she’d be safe if something came up. I wanted her to have her dad. Her brother.

“I can work on it while you’re gone,” Draco offered.

“It’s not that,” I said quickly. “It’s more about whether I’ll be back in time.” My mind flipped through calendars at lightning speed. “If I go back on Tuesday, I can finish finals with my undergrads, get my interns sorted for graduation, and attend the ceremony without issue. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to break away before June 4th. I’m usually not released for the summer schedule until the second week of June.”

I dragged a hand through my hair, my breathing quickening as the dates crowded together in my head. “Damn it. Lyra.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Harry said gently, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back, trying to ground me.

“Lyra’s preschool graduation is June 10th,” I blurted, my heart thudding. “We can’t come back to England until that’s finished. We can’t miss that.”

I tried to piece together how I could get this potion to a stable point—just enough to let it sit, waiting for the moon cycles, so I could make it back in time.

“The moon cycles require it to be started next Tuesday or Wednesday,” Draco said, clearly trying to be helpful.

“I know that.” I waved him off, still mentally calculating. “But I really need to be back in Boston by Tuesday, or I’ll fall even further behind at work. That potion—its most intensive weeks are the first and last. I wouldn’t be here for either.” My breath quickened. “And you don’t have the time to manage it. Have you even brewed a successful Polyjuice before? No offense, but I wouldn’t trust someone to brew this if they can’t pull off Polyjuice.”

Draco didn’t take the bait. 

“Maia, take a breath.” His voice was steady, calm in a way I wasn’t. He reached over and grabbed my hand, rubbing soft circles on the back of it.“We’ll figure it out.”

I shook my head, heart still racing. “This is insane. Even thinking about giving up my quiet life—my press-free, tabloid-free life. I’ve spent five years watching everyone I care about through headlines. I’ve been so grateful no one was chasing me or my daughter with cameras. And now I’m seriously considering walking back into it?”

My chest squeezed tight. I couldn’t catch my breath. It wasn’t just logistics—it was the life I’d spent five years protecting. And I was this close to fully throwing myself back into the spotlight.

“Mione,” Harry said softly, his thumb rubbing slow circles between my shoulder blades, “I need you to be honest with us. Neither of us will be upset with you—this won’t change anything about how we feel. Can you see yourself coming back? For good?”

My head pounded. My throat tightened. Tears stung at the corners of my eyes.

“There are moments I can see it—can feel it,” I whispered. “And then there are moments where I just want to be back in my quiet brownstone where no one cares who I am.”

I loved Harry. I loved Draco. I loved reconnecting with the people I thought I’d lost. I loved seeing Lyra slide so effortlessly into this life, like she’d always belonged.

But I hated seeing my life plastered across the front page. I hated the creeping feeling that safety could be stripped away, just like it had before.

“Nothing will be decided tonight, Maia. We have time,” Draco said softly. “We’ll find balance.”

I looked at him carefully, really looked at him. The sharp edges of his face had softened. The tight creases of stress had smoothed from his forehead. He looked at me like I’d hung the moon. Just like he used to.

“Now,” he continued, his voice still gentle but leaving no room for argument, “I want you to go do whatever you need to do to relax. But meet us in the foyer in an hour. There’s been far too much stress and not nearly enough connection.”

He paused, his thumb brushing slow circles over the back of my hand.
“We’re taking you out tonight. No cameras. No stress. Muggle London. After the tornado we stirred up with the Prophet, no one will come near us until it’s resolved.”

I hesitated. “What about the kids?”

“Harry’s going to check in with Molly while you’re getting ready. I’ll reach out to Pansy. Worst case—I’ll run Scorp over to Theo and Blaise. Let us worry about that.”

My mind tried to latch on to another loose thread. “What if Bracton tries to reach us?”

“I’ll take care of it, love.” Draco’s hand tightened around mine, warm and certain. “The only thing you need to worry about right now is getting relaxed and ready.”

I turned to Harry, searching his face, almost concerned.

“Go on,” he said softly, giving me a gentle push to get up.

I stood, still more confused than ever. I gathered my heels and wandered toward my room, feeling untethered.

I moved on autopilot—filling the too-large tub, tying my hair into a messy bun, and sinking into the hot water. The steam curled around me, thick and heavy, the heat loosening the tension in my shoulders.

But my thoughts didn’t slow.

I wanted Draco. I wanted Harry. I wanted to see where this life could go—how our family might settle and grow. But I didn’t want the drama. The headlines. The feeling of being hunted every time I left the house. I wanted my quiet Boston life. The bakery a block away. Sunday morning strolls with Lyra to pick out pastries.

I didn’t know how to hold both things—this life and that one. I didn’t know how to find a version where all of us fit. I didn’t know if that version even existed. Or if I was asking too much—again.

The loop kept spiraling as I reluctantly climbed out of the bath and wrapped a towel tightly around myself.

Maybe I could let the stress go, just for tonight. Allow myself to enjoy the night. I thought as I dried myself off.

When I stepped out of the ensuite, a large box with a red bow waited neatly on the bed.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at my lips as I opened the small card.

I figured you might need something to wear.
—D.

The smile broke fully across my face as I untied the bow. Lifting the lid, I stared for a moment, caught off guard by the dress and matching heels carefully arranged inside.

Of course he’d do this.

I set the box aside and turned to finish getting ready. I sat at the vanity, carefully detangling the knots left by the bun before sweeping my hair into a sleek updo, soft curls falling loose to frame my face. I kept my makeup light—just enough to feel like I’d put in effort.

When I finally lifted the dress from the box, I laughed softly. Crepe champagne, long sleeves, delicate buttons at the wrist, thin belt around my waist—details that made my chest ache with how well he still knew me. The plunging neckline dipped lower than I typically wore, the hem floating higher on my thigh than I would usually allow.

Cheeky bastard.

I slipped into the dress, the fabric cool and smooth against my skin, and stepped easily into the matching heels. As I moved to close the box, I noticed a smaller black case tucked beneath the tissue paper. I opened it slowly to reveal a delicate Y-shaped drop necklace, glittering with diamonds all the way to the point where it would settle between my breasts. Matching earrings nestled beside it.

Of course he’d think of the finishing touch.

By the time I made my way to the foyer, something in me had settled.

Not all the way. But enough.

Harry’s jaw nearly dropped as I stepped onto the landing above the foyer.

He didn’t say anything at first. His mouth opened, then shut again. I wasn’t used to that look on him—like I’d knocked the wind out of him.

Draco’s back was to me, head down as he scribbled furiously on the entry table. Both of them had changed into black slacks and crisp button-down shirts. Harry had already rolled his sleeves lazily to his elbows; his hair showed signs of being briefly combed but just as quickly tousled again.

Draco, by contrast, wore a white button-down, black tie, and black jacket—perfectly fitted, sharp lines intact. His hair was styled to perfection.

Harry nudged him, and Draco turned quickly, his expression shifting the moment he saw me—mirroring Harry’s stunned silence.

Draco stepped toward me as I descended the last step, taking my hand and spinning me gently.

“Absolutely stunning,” he said, his voice a low smile, before placing my hand carefully into Harry’s.

Harry’s gaze lingered, warmer now. As I moved beside Harry, he leaned in slightly, his voice low and soft.

“You look like the reason every man in the restaurant is going to stare at our table.”

The words landed low in my stomach—unexpected, and a little dizzying. I glanced at him, and for a second, I didn’t see just my safe place. I saw someone who still looked at me like I was more than just held together—like I was wanted .I wasn’t ready for how much I wanted that too.

Draco had already turned back to the table, scribbling the last of a note and fastening it to Hunter.

“You look beautiful, Mione,” Harry murmured, wrapping an arm around my waist, warm and steady.

“What was that about?” I asked Draco quietly.

“Bracton got a response,” he said, tone even. “But that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight’s for us.”

“Where are we going?” I asked as Harry guided me gently toward the apparition point out front, his hand firm at my waist.

“Just let us take care of you tonight, Mione,” he said, pulling out his wand. “You alright to side-along?”

“That’s fine,” I said softly, letting myself lean into his side. The world disappeared with a sharp crack.

When I opened my eyes, we were in a cobblestone alleyway, low-lit and quiet.

Draco landed beside us a moment later, his eyes on me instantly.

“I could get used to this view,” he said with a grin, reaching for my hand. His fingers laced through mine as he began leading us out of the alley, Harry keeping pace at my other side.

“Dray, where are we going?” I asked, the nickname slipping out before I could catch it. It felt too easy. Like I was seventeen all over again.

He paused in front of a tall set of glass doors, light spilling warmly from within.

“I told you, Princess,” he said, glancing sideways. “Let us take care of you tonight.”

The word hit like a memory, sweet and disorienting. Draco had almost always called me Princess when I dressed up. For weeks after the Yule Ball, it had been a running tease. And later—after the war, after every gala or ministry event—he’d revive it for days. It had always felt a little indulgent, a little private.

I stared at the familiar doors, trying to place them as Harry and Draco exchanged hushed words beside me. I let Draco guide me in, his hand warm around mine as we greeted the maître d’.

As soon as Draco gave his name, we were led to a private room. A small round table sat in the center with three chairs, a tall vase of white roses, and a cart to the side with three glasses and a bottle of champagne resting in a silver ice bucket.

“Dray, Harry—this is too much,” I protested, even as Harry placed a hand at the small of my back, guiding me forward and pulling out my chair before I could say more.

“You're worth too much,” Harry whispered. 

Draco stared at me as Harry pushed in my chair, then—without a word—pulled one out for Harry. Like he was daring me to say something. Or daring himself not to.

Harry blushed as he sat, ducking his head, and for a moment I couldn’t tell if it was from the gesture or the way Draco’s fingers brushed his sleeve.

Neither of them said anything about it.

Draco moved to the champagne bucket with practiced ease, pouring three glasses with pureblood precision, then set one in front of each of us before taking the seat at my other side.

“To figuring it out,” Draco said softly, lifting his glass.

“To figuring it out,” Harry and I echoed, clinking our glasses together.

I took a sip, letting the sharp champagne burn down my throat just enough to feel something. I glanced between the two men settled at either side of me. It felt too extravagant, too polished. I still couldn’t place the restaurant—but it tugged at something old. Something before .

I knew it had been with Draco. My parents would’ve never splurged for a place like this.

Draco’s voice snapped me out of the thought.

“I’m positive you have questions, Princess,” he said smoothly. “Harry and I have agreed—you’ve got five minutes before we switch to more pleasant topics. The bloody tabloids are off-limits.”

He caught my hand and began drawing slow, calming circles over the back of it.

I thought for a moment. It was easier to ask about logistics than feelings. Easier to track everyone else’s wellbeing instead of naming my own.
So I started with what I could control.

“Is Molly okay with keeping James and Lyra late?” I asked, turning to Harry.

“She’s happy to keep them as long as we need,” he said gently, placing a warm hand on my bare knee. “We can bring them home after this, or she’s offered to keep them overnight. And before you ask—Lyra’s doing great. She’s having a blast with Victoire. She’s okay.”

“Scorpius?” I asked, turning to Draco.

“Blaise and Theo have him for the night. Aunt Pansy has officially tapped out,” he replied with a smile.

“Don’t you have clinicals tonight?” I asked, watching for any flicker in his expression. But it didn’t come.

“Given the headlines,” he said smoothly, “my supervisor suggested it might be best for me to take the night off.”

I nodded, searching my mind for any questions that still lingered.

There were plenty. But none I was brave enough to ask just yet.

“Last chance for questions, before I switch to what I hope will be a pleasant topic,” Draco teased lightly.

“I think I’m okay for now,” I said, surprised by the calm in my voice.

“That’s a surprise,” Draco laughed just as the waiter entered the room.

I instinctively glanced down, searching for a menu, but the waiter had already launched into rapid Italian.

I looked at Harry, who was just as confused—before shifting my attention to Draco, who answered just as fluently.

I frowned, the sound of the words stirring something familiar. I didn’t remember Draco speaking Italian. But then again, the war years were hazy, fractured in places I hadn’t dared to revisit.

When the waiter finally retreated, a new question pressed to the surface.

“Dray,” I said, frustration tightening in my chest. “Why does this place feel familiar?”

He hesitated, watching me closely.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, quieter now. “My birthday?”

I blinked at him.
Then everything slotted into place.

My breath caught—the light, the champagne, the way he’d looked at me like we still had time.

“Our last night together,” I whispered. “Before I obliviated my parents.”

Harry’s hand squeezed my knee, anchoring me. I hadn’t realized I was shaking.

Draco nodded, solemn, his thumb pressing firmer circles into the back of my hand.

“You loved the food that night,” he said gently. “I just thought… maybe it could be a new memory. Something better.”

I nodded softly, eyes falling to the table as the memories came back in waves.

I remembered how I’d been mesmerized listening to him speak Italian, how I’d protested that it was too fancy, too expensive, and he’d only smirked and told me I was worth it.

The red dress. The way it had appeared in a box on my bed that afternoon. The argument with my mother over the neckline and length.

My hand rose instinctively to the necklace, fingers brushing the diamond resting against my collarbone.

My head turned sharply toward Draco. He was already looking at me—and then at the necklace. He nodded once.

He was recreating that night—but this time, without the pressure of war breathing down our necks.

And he’d invited Harry into it.

Not as competition.
But as part of it.

As someone who belonged here.

Maybe this was his way of showing me he could see a future.
Not just with me.
With us .

“Draco… that hopefully pleasant conversation ?” Harry asked, his voice warm, coaxing.

Draco blinked, like he’d been pulled from somewhere far away. His gaze shifted from mine back to the table.

“Right. Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “Maia, you asked about my clinicals.”

I nodded slowly, not trusting my voice yet.

“I spoke with my supervisor while you were getting ready,” he continued. “He pulled up the calendar and said that if I pick up daily rotations from tomorrow until the 19th, I can take time off until June 12th.”

I blinked. “But… how?”

“Clinicals are usually three times a week,” Draco explained, “with work assigned for the other two. The remaining two days are typically off, but it’s flexible. Given everything, he’s agreed to let me compress the schedule—skip some written work days and front-load the hours with extra shifts. I’ll finish the written portions while I’m technically off.”

My brain scrambled to catch up. “Don’t you need to attend classes?”

“We’re past the classroom portion,” he said calmly. “Everything now is clinical hours and written reflections, which are self-paced and reviewed by my supervisor.”

He took a steadying breath, then looked directly at me.

“The long and short of it is… if you’re willing—Harry and I can come to Boston. We can help finish the potion. Help figure this out. Without headlines. Without Skeeter. Just us.”

I stared at Draco, searching his face, before turning to Harry—who gave me a small, steady nod that made something loosen in my chest.

“I didn’t think you’d ever agree to Boston,” I said, once I trusted my voice.

“I know it’s not permanent,” Draco said softly. “But it’s a step. A way to figure out what this is—and spend real, intentional time with you. And with my children.”

“Mione, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Harry added, his voice quiet. “James would rather be with Lyra and Scorp than just me, honestly.”

He gave a small smile, his thumb still moving slow, grounding circles across my knee.

“And I really liked Boston. You were stressed, sure—but you were calmer than I’ve seen you here.”

I swallowed, the warmth of his hand anchoring me even as my thoughts started to spin.

“I think we need that space,” Harry continued. “To figure out us. The manor’s great for privacy, but not much else. And the Prophet? We’ve been on the front page three days in a row. That’s not stopping anytime soon.”

“And it means you can monitor the potion to your exact standards,” Draco added, dry but sincere. “Rather than worrying what Harry or I might be doing to it.”

“You’d need documents to come to America,” I said, scanning my brain, trying to process how Draco would even manage that.

“I went this morning. Expedited passports—I’ll have them next week,” Draco said softly.

Draco. In Boston.

Three kids running around my townhouse. Figuring out life with Harry and Draco. Figuring out if there was an us .

No magic. No headlines. Our past would be just that—in the past. No tabloid photographers in bushes, no twisting of truth into something sordid.

Being able to be with Draco and Harry—but also being able to debrief with Alex and Katie. To get a real, outside perspective. Not one tainted by war memories and blood feuds.

My head felt slightly fuzzy as the waiter set our first course in front of us. Suddenly, all the hands that had been grounding me were gone, and the absence made the air feel cold.

“Are you sure?” I asked, hesitant, my voice barely above a whisper. I wasn’t sure if I could survive hoping for this again.

“Princess,” Draco said, looking between Harry and me with quiet certainty, “I’m more sure of this than I’ve been about anything in my entire life.”

“Harry?” I turned toward him, searching.

“Mione… I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said with a soft, almost sheepish laugh. He wiped his hands nervously on his slacks. “But I’ve dived headfirst before—and it’s always worked out. It’s when I hesitate and overthink that it all goes wrong. So… I’m diving headfirst.”

“Okay, I’ll call Kate in the morning and then get an order of potion ingredients placed,” I said, trying to keep my nerves from spilling into my voice. “Harry, would you be coming out on Tuesday with me?”

“That was my thought, if that’s okay. I don’t particularly want to fly with James alone,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Of course,” I murmured, pushing the food around on my plate as my stomach twisted with all the million ways this could go wrong.

Draco reached over and set a steady hand over mine.

“Maia, this will be good,” he said, voice firm but gentle. “We can’t figure anything out with everyone around us fighting for attention. Once the potion’s done, we’ll have a few days to come to terms and figure out a plan before I’m back on shift.”

Harry gave me a soft, reassuring smile.

I was nervous—Merlin, I was terrified—but something deep in my chest whispered that this would be okay. Maybe not easy. But okay.

I nodded. “Why fly?” I asked, turning to Draco, genuinely confused why he’d choose Muggle transport.

He coughed, caught off guard. “I remember using magical transport with my parents when I was just a bit older than Scorp. It scared me,” he admitted. “Harry said James loved being on the plane, and that it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as flooing. So I figured it might be easier on Scorp.”

I nodded again, softer this time, my throat tight with something unspoken. The conversation shifted—thankfully—with Harry telling stories about pickup Quidditch games they’d played over the last few years. I let myself lean back into the banter, the champagne warming my chest. Draco asked about my university days, little moments in Lyra’s life. I let myself talk and listen.

By the time the waiter arrived with the bill, I had a pleasant, floating buzz. Before I could even twitch, Draco snatched it.

“Draco,” I protested, half-laughing. “Let me pay.”

He chuckled, casually tucking the black bill book out of reach and pulling out his wallet. Harry intercepted it before he could open it, already placing his own card on the table.

“Harry, give it to me,” I said, leaning across the table, trying to snatch the book back.

Harry just laughed and reached over to tuck a stray curl behind my ear.

“Mione,” he said, tone fond and chastising all at once.

He didn’t get the chance to say more—Draco stole the book back with a quick sleight of hand, slid a black Amex inside, and beckoned the waiter. The poor man scurried off without question.

“Draco,” I chided, glaring at him.

“Princess, you’re adorable when you pout,” he said with a fond smile, completely unbothered. “Tonight is about taking care of you—both of you.”

His gaze swept across the table, soft and sure as it landed on Harry, then back to me.

Once the waiter returned and the last sips of champagne were swallowed, Draco rose.
He came behind my chair and gently pulled it back before offering his hand. I took it cautiously as I stood, my body just a little too slow to catch up.

Draco spun me once to the soft music still drifting through the speakers, holding me close with a deep, unguarded smile. Harry stood, watching us both, the corners of his mouth tipped upward in something quieter—something fonder.

All too soon, he stepped forward and tucked me into his side. We began walking toward the exit, slow and steady, the weight of the evening wrapping around my shoulders like a shawl.

Draco guided me to the apparition point, his fingers brushing mine again as Harry moved to Draco’s other side. The two men walked close—brushing shoulders now and then without breaking stride.

I felt pleasantly tipsy, but not intoxicated—just warm at the edges. More than that, I felt relaxed, maybe for the first time since stepping off the plane at Heathrow. Draco kept an arm snug around my waist as we apparated. 

After we landed, I stumbled slightly crossing the threshold of the foyer. Draco’s arm caught my waist, keeping me up right as we entered the house. Draco gently released my waist, allowing me to handle myself. 

“Darling, I’m going to go get Lyra and James,” Harry said calmly, his eyes darting between the floo and me, then to Draco. “Draco, can you make sure she gets up to her room okay?”

“I can come with you,” I offered, turning toward him too quickly. The world tilted and I had to catch myself against Draco’s arm.

He caught me without hesitation, strong and steady. “I’ve got her, Harry,” he said confidently. “You get the kids.”

Draco adjusted his hold, steering me gently toward the stairs.

“Now, fair warning,” he added, voice low near my ear, “if you trip, I’m carrying you the rest of the way.”

I rolled my eyes softly as I began to climb, making a conscious effort not to trip. We eventually made it to my room, and I felt a small surge of victory. I hadn’t stumbled once.

“I swear, I’ll never tire of telling you how beautiful you look, Princess,” Draco said softly, his hands dropping to my waist.

I let him pull me closer, breathing in that sharp, clean scent tinged with smoke — so unmistakably Draco.

His head dipped lower, his voice rougher now.

“Because you look absolutely stunning.”

My cheeks flushed, and I was fairly certain it wasn’t the champagne.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded, slow and sure — not entirely certain what came next, but knowing I’d be alright with whatever it was.

Draco leaned in, lips brushing mine — soft, warm, and achingly familiar. As I closed my eyes, the kiss deepened, and something in me cracked open.

The passion wasn’t new. It hadn’t vanished. It had only gone quiet — like a fire left to smolder, waiting for kindling.

And now it was burning again.

Draco pulled back before I was ready, smiling down at me like the cat who got the cream.

“Do you need anything before I go check on Harry and pick up Scorp?” he asked, voice low and tender.

“Will I see you again before I go home?” I asked softly.

“I’ll be here every day I can manage, between shifts,” he promised. Then, after a moment, “Do you want me here when you wake up?”

His grin turned wicked.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” I said, smirking as I met his gaze.

“Let me sort the children, and I’ll come check on you before I head to bed,” he said with a fond eye roll.

“Now,” he added, tone dropping again, “do you need anything before I go get Scorp?”

“Some help with my dress?” I asked, innocent as sin, turning to present the zipper.

His hands were warm as they slid down my back, slow and careful with the fabric.

“Relax,” he murmured, breath brushing my shoulder. “I’ll come make sure you’re settled once Lyra’s tucked in and Scorp’s downstairs waiting for me.”

Then—without warning—he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss just beneath my ear before slipping from the room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and my head spun. Merlin—I felt sixteen again, flushed and weightless after a date.

At this moment, I didn’t care what the potion said. This felt right. Dinner with Harry and Draco. Their hands on mine, their eyes lingering, the quiet yearning in their voices.

Flirting with both of them. Watching them flirt with each other.

The tenderness of parenting together, of letting someone else carry the weight—just for a moment.

I hummed softly as I moved through my night routine, letting my curls tumble around my shoulders. I slipped into Harry’s old Quidditch jersey and sank into the middle of the oversized bed, a book resting in my lap.

Somewhere beneath the soft light and the scent of the men who had slowly folded themselves back into my life, I felt something like peace.

There was an unspoken understanding tonight: Harry and Draco were in charge. My only job was to surrender. To rest. To relax.

I was valiantly trying to read a few pages when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” I called, closing the book in my lap.

Draco stepped inside.

“Lyra’s in bed, all settled. Harry’s finishing up in the kitchen,” he said, crossing the room to place a glass of water on the nightstand. “You should drink this. I’ll be over by eight—I need to drop Scorp off with Blaise and Theo before my shift tomorrow.”

My thoughts tumbled out before I could catch them.

“Or… you could just stay here.”

“With you?”

“If you’d like. I’m sure we could set Scorp up in Lyra or James’s room with a portable crib.”

The words left my mouth too quickly, but I didn’t regret them.

Draco gave a slow smile, soft and cheeky. “Let me see what I can do.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and slipped out.

I tried again to read, but my eyes skimmed the same paragraph twice before the door creaked open again.

“All settled?” I asked, setting the book aside.

“Yes,” he said with a small laugh. “All three children are asleep. Harry’s already in bed.”

He loosened his tie and disappeared into the ensuite. When he returned, he was shirtless in loose sleep pants, and I tried not to stare as he crossed the room.

I lifted the covers without a word. He sat on the edge of the bed and handed me the glass.

“Drink,” he said softly.

I rolled my eyes but took the glass.

Once I’d set it back on the nightstand, Draco climbed fully into bed beside me and shut off the light.

I turned on my side to face the window, but a moment later, his hand found my hip, drawing slow, lazy circles. That’s when the uncertainty crept in.

Had I invited him too soon? Was I sending the wrong message? Did I need Dreamless Sleep just to quiet my own spiraling thoughts?

“Maia?” Draco’s voice was gentle.

I rolled to face him. Moonlight poured in through the windows, softening the sharp edges of his features.

He opened his arms.

I didn’t hesitate.

He pulled me close, one arm wrapped around me, the other tracing soft lines up and down my back.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Draco said softly, “but I think I much prefer how you look right now.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his hand continuing a gentle path up and down my back.

I didn’t respond—but I didn’t need to.

There was comfort in the way he held me. Familiarity in the shape of his arms, the rhythm of his breath, the quiet cadence of his affection. It didn’t feel new. It felt like a memory. Like a place I’d once belonged and, somehow, still did.

In that moment, I stopped questioning why I’d asked him to stay. I stopped wondering if it was too fast, or too much. Because this —this was the part of him I remembered. The part I’d missed without letting myself grieve it.

I let myself sink into it—into him—until the edges of the room blurred and sleep pulled me under, soft and quiet and safe.

Chapter Text

May 6th
Harry’s POV

I groaned as I rolled over in bed, muscles stiff from sleep. My wand hadn’t gone off yet, but my body was already protesting. I reached toward the nightstand, fumbling for my glasses before remembering I’d shoved my wand under the pillow.

“Tempus,” I muttered, blinking hard as the glowing numbers floated in the air. 8:30.
That couldn’t be right. James was always up by eight. Always.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the shirt dangling off the footboard, pulling it over my head as I padded barefoot across the hall.

James’ door creaked open under my hand. He was sprawled across the big bed, niffler plush tucked tightly under one arm, his soft breaths even. The safety rails were still up—not that he’d fallen out of bed in weeks.

Across the room, Scorpius was curled into himself in the pack-and-play, one tiny fist clinging to the green plush snake Draco had charmed to warm itself slightly at night.

I exhaled and backed out quietly.

Maybe Molly and Blaise wore them all out yesterday. I told myself that. Still, curiosity tugged at me. I crossed the hall and cracked Lyra’s door.

She was fast asleep, limbs flung across the mattress like a fallen star, curls splayed wildly across her pillow. That enormous stuffed dragon I’d gotten her for her birthday was tucked under one arm, her cheek squished against its wing.

I stood there for a moment, just watching. Listening.
Then I shut the door softly.

I padded down the staircase, the manor unusually quiet. Morning light filtered through the high windows, soft and golden. I ran a hand through my hair, working out the worst of the tangles as I stepped into the kitchen.

Tilly was at the counter, juicing oranges into a tall pitcher. She looked up with a warm smile.

“Master Harry sleeps late today.”

“Apparently,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Breakfast?”

She nodded. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee.Please. Strong.”

I slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, the cool wood grounding beneath my palms. Coffee was rare in the house, but after the emotional whiplash of the past few days—even with more sleep than I usually got—I felt like I needed it.

Draco had spent the night in Hermione’s room.

He’d even asked me beforehand—if it was alright for Scorpius to stay, if it was alright with me —and I’d said yes.

It hadn’t been a lie. But it hadn’t been easy either.

Knowing it was Draco’s arms she fell asleep last night instead of mine scraped at something raw inside me. I kept thinking about the way she had curled into me yesterday afternoon before, her hair brushing my chest as she fell asleep in my lap. The way she exhaled, trusting me to hold her. I wanted to be that place for her—her anchor, her safety net, her home.

But I could see Draco trying, too.

Trying to share the space. Trying to include me. The way we circled each other, trading quiet glances and easy compliments. The way he said last night wasn’t just for Hermione—but for both of us. I hadn’t missed that.

When Remus first told me about his relationship with Sirius and Marlene, it felt abstract—something from another life, a different world. Not something I could easily imagine for myself. Definitely not something I could tell Ron about. Or the rest of the Weasleys. They were kind, open-hearted—but not that kind of traditional.

Draco had become my only outlet for those thoughts. Somehow, we ended up confiding in each other over toddler tantrums and snack breaks. Somewhere between talking about James’ fierce independence and Scorpius’s fear of the dark, I’d started to notice the way Draco’s thumb would press against his signet ring when he was holding something back. Not fidgeting—just a steady touch, like he needed to know it was still there. Like he was checking his exits.
The quiet little habits. The softness under the sarcasm.

And yeah—I’d always known he was attractive. That part had hit me square in the chest the first time I’d seen him in the bullpen, sitting across from Detective Andrés. All sharp lines and impatience, speaking animatedly about Hermione’s disappearance. 

Tilly placed a cup of coffee in front of me, pulling me from my thoughts. I stirred it absently, reaching for the cream, when footsteps echoed softly across the hall.

Hermione appeared in the doorway—barefoot, my old Quidditch jersey clinging to her frame, the sleeves pushed up over her elbows. Her legs were covered only by a pair of thick, knee-high socks against the chill of the manor floors. Her hair was swept into a loose bun, a few stray curls escaping to frame her face.

“Coffee?” she murmured, padding over and pressing a soft kiss to my temple before I could answer.

Tilly, ever-efficient, set a second mug on the table. Hermione curled into the chair beside me, pulling the cream toward her like she belonged there—like she’d always belonged.

She looked as beautiful as she had last night. I didn’t know how to verbalize it, but I could feel it in my bones—she belonged here. Or maybe, more truthfully, I belonged wherever she was.

I watched her with a small smile as she fixed her coffee, wrapping her hands around the warm mug and soaking up the morning sunlight. It didn’t help how perfect she looked in my jersey. Like something that already belonged.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” she said softly.

I coughed into my coffee, taken completely off guard.

“Huh?”

“I’m positive you’re wondering,” she said, voice calm, steady. “And I didn’t shag Draco last night. But I did kiss him. Other than that, we just slept.”

“Mione, I wasn’t—what you do with Draco is between you and him,” I stuttered, trying to say it like it didn’t catch in my throat. Like it didn’t ache a little.

But she didn’t look convinced.

“But it’s not, Harry. Not if we’re seriously considering this,” she said, her fingers gliding across the rim of  her mug. “You deserve to know. I’m not going to keep secrets from you. And I’d hope you and Draco would be honest with me, too—if anything ever… happens. I don’t want anyone to get hurt”

“I appreciate you telling me, Mione,” I said, just as Tilly set plates in front of us.

“I don’t want you to discount my feelings for you, Harry.” Her words came out fast, like she’d been holding them in. “I don’t know if it was the emotions after yesterday, or the champagne, but something told me to ask him to stay. He mentioned needing to be gone by noon to drop Scorp off before his shift, and I—”
She stopped, her hand fluttering slightly before she pressed it to the table. The spiral was starting.

I reached over, lacing my fingers through hers. Just enough pressure to bring her back.

“Mione,” I said gently, “it’s okay. Like you said—if we’re really going to do this, there’ll be times when Draco gets that one-on-one time with you. I’ll get my turn too, when it’s right. And sometimes... maybe you’ll be the odd one out.” I smiled, teasing lightly.

She huffed a small laugh but didn’t answer. Her fork nudged at the edge of her omelet, her eyes flicking toward the bowl of fruit. I knew that look—she was slipping into her own head, appetite gone, overthinking every detail.

I grabbed a plum from the bowl, sliced it cleanly, and nudged the pieces onto her plate. She gave me a soft glance—grateful—and finally started eating.

“I can’t believe the kids are still sleeping,” I said, trying to ease the quiet.

She nodded. “I can’t believe Draco’s still asleep,” she added with a faint smile. “Do you know how many hours he’s front-loaded for the next two weeks?”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. He mentioned maybe dropping Scorp with us a few times before we leave, if we were up for it.”

She looked toward the window like she could already feel the weight of what Draco was taking on. I thought of the way his jaw had tightened last night while we waited for her—like he was balancing the world’s most complicated childcare puzzle and praying nothing cracked under the pressure.

I thought of him now, fast asleep upstairs—finally still, finally quiet—and something tugged at me. Not jealousy, exactly. Just… curiosity.

Hermione and I had shared a bed before. After nightmares. Grief. Nights when the weight of the world had been too much and she needed someone steady to hold her together. I’d always been that person—warm arms, steady heartbeat, no questions asked. And I’d told myself that was enough.

But last night, she hadn’t needed steady. She’d chosen something else.

I tried not to wonder what it felt like—not just to hold her, but to be held in return. To be chosen, not out of panic or habit, but because she wanted to.

I’d spent years watching people fall in love from the outside. But this—this felt different. Like I wasn’t outside anymore. Like I was circling the edges of something I hadn’t figured out how to step into.

“You’re worried about him,” I said quietly.

“A little,” she admitted. “I just don’t want him to push himself too far on my account.”

“Mione, you know Draco’s going to do what he wants. All you and I can do is support him,” I said, spearing a bite of omelet as Tilly popped out of the room.

“I know,” she said, finishing her plum.

“I know it’s hard not to help, but Draco will tell us if and when he needs it. He’s not alone—he’s got Pansy and Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and her parents. He did this before we came along.”

She nodded, rising to carry her plate to the sink. I followed, finishing the last bite of my breakfast and rinsing my own.

Hermione leaned against the counter, taking the last sip of her coffee as she watched me.

When she set the mug down, I turned to her. My hands found the counter on either side of her waist, boxing her in gently—not trapping her, just anchoring myself close.

“I hope you know how beautiful you look right now,” I said, brushing a curl from her face.
The blush that bloomed across her cheeks was immediate—and entirely worth it.

“I have to admit,” I added, voice teasing, “I’m a little jealous Draco got to enjoy you sleeping next to him in my jersey.”

Her smile deepened, eyes crinkling in that way that always made my chest ache.

“Maybe tonight can be your turn,” she said softly. “I’ve never really fancied sleeping on my own.”

Before I could respond, she rose onto the balls of her feet and kissed me.

Her lips were warm, familiar in a way I hadn’t expected—like she’d always known exactly how to find me.

Her arms slid up to wrap around my neck, instinctive and sure, while my hands slid to her hips, pulling her gently closer.

The world blurred at the edges.

It felt powerful. Right. Like something I’d been waiting for without knowing it—like stepping into a space I’d always meant to occupy.

My fingers curled into the curve of her waist, fitting there like they belonged.

She kissed me like a promise. Like she was trying to show me—with every soft press of her mouth—that I belonged here. With her.

And for the first time I believed it.

Before I was ready, Hermione pulled back, dropping flat onto her feet.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” I murmured, resting my forehead against hers.

“I’m positive,” she whispered, almost like she was telling herself.

“Positive?” I echoed, giving her a slow, sneaky smile.

“Positive this is right. I don’t care what the potion says,” she said, eyes locked on mine. “I belong with you and Draco. Nothing has ever felt this right.” Her voice shook slightly. “I want this to work more than anything.”

Before I could respond, our wands chimed in unison—soft and insistent.

The kids were up.

We broke apart reluctantly, neither of us eager to trade this moment for chaos.

“Tonight is your turn,” Hermione said, backing toward the door with a smile. “No drama. No stress. Just us.”

She disappeared down the hallway as I called for Tilly, asking her to get breakfast going for the rest of the house. Upstairs, I found James and Scorp were already awake—passing toys over the pack-and-play side like they'd been conspiring all morning.Then I felt small arms wrap around my legs.

Looking down, I found Lyra blinking up at me, grinning as she hugged my knees. I smiled and ruffled her curls.

“Draco’s still sleeping,” Hermione murmured behind me, her voice tinged with concern. I nodded wordlessly.

“Lyra, Scorp—do you want to go wake Daddy up?” she asked, brightening her tone for their benefit.

“Yes!” Lyra chirped, letting go of my legs and turning toward Hermione eagerly. Scorp raised his arms from the pack-and-play like an offering, his grin wide and expectant.

I crossed the room and lifted him first, then reached for James. Hermione had already settled Lyra on her hip as we made our way across the hall.

“You’ve got to be very quiet,” she whispered, easing toward the bed where Draco was still fast asleep in the middle—arms sprawled, hair a tousled mess on the pillow.

She set Lyra down gently beside him. I followed suit, placing Scorp carefully on the edge of the mattress. Across the room, Draco’s wand lay on the floor near the closet, like it had been thrown there in his sleep.

I watched curiously as Lyra pushed herself up on wobbly legs, padding across the bed toward Draco’s torso. She stretched out a hand to Scorpius, helping him stand, and together they collapsed onto Draco in a tangle of limbs and giggles.

James squirmed in my arms, clearly not wanting to be left out. I grinned and plopped him onto the bed just as arms and legs went flying. Draco groaned, half-asleep, trying to wrangle the three children who were now jumping on the mattress and climbing all over him.

After a few chaotic moments, I reached in and plucked James off the bed before someone got accidentally headbutted. Hermione swept in and lifted Scorpius into her arms just as one of Lyra’s flailing limbs nearly caught him in the face.

“Dray, stop it!” Lyra shrieked through her laughter, squirming as Draco began tickling her relentlessly.

He grinned but finally relented, pulling her into his lap as he sat up. Her giggles quieted as she settled against him, completely at peace in his arms.

I glanced at Hermione—at the way she looked at him. There was something in her eyes: fondness, admiration, maybe even a little awe. And for a second, it hit me like a weight in my chest. Would she ever look at me like that?

It felt like I was intruding. Like this was their moment, their family. I nearly stepped back with James in my arms, ready to excuse myself before I shattered something delicate.

But then Draco glanced up, the barest trace of sleep still in his eyes, and gently set Lyra on the floor.

“All little terrors must exit now,” he announced with a groggy chuckle, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and stretching.

“I’m not a terror!” Lyra huffed, stomping her little foot.

Draco leaned over and ruffled her hair. “You, my dear, are the leader of the little terrors,” he said fondly. “Now all children must vacate so I can get ready.”

I rolled my eyes, lips twitching.

“Lyra, sweetie,” Hermione coaxed, “do you think you and the boys can play in James’ room for a few minutes while the adults get dressed? Be my big girl, and come get one of us if you need anything?”

Lyra nodded solemnly. “Yes, Mama.” She reached for Scorp’s hand as Hermione gently set him down. I lowered James beside them, and without hesitation, Lyra took his hand too—leading both boys out like it was her sacred mission.

I stepped into the doorway, watching to make sure the kids made it safely into James’ room before turning back.

“I am overjoyed she’s old enough to do that,” Hermione said with a breathless laugh.

“What time is it?” Draco mumbled, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Little after nine,” Hermione answered, already halfway to the wardrobe, tugging out clothes with practiced ease.

“Nine?” Draco repeated, blinking. “When did Scorp get up? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“He’s been up all of ten minutes. Didn’t your wand go off?” she asked, tossing him an outfit from the open bag on the dresser.

Draco shoved the pillows aside, frantic. I crossed the room, grabbing his wand off the floor by the closet door.

“Over here,” I said, tossing it lightly. “Looks like you threw it.”

“There was a bloody bee in my dream,” Draco groaned, catching the wand midair. “I must’ve thought the alarm buzzing was a bee and launched it.”

“Have you been sleeping at all?” I asked, stepping toward the bed.

“Hit or miss. Long hours at the hospital plus…” He trailed off, jaw tight.

“Nightmares?” I guessed.

He nodded. “Yeah. Maia’s slow developing a version that works long-term. I probably get seven or eight decent nights a month, if that.”

“ Excuse me? Rude,” Hermione called over her shoulder, glaring playfully as she disappeared into the ensuite.

“Let me guess—those good nights are when you take Dreamless?” I asked.

Draco gave a half-shrug, like he was bracing for judgment. “Only when I know I can get ten hours. Otherwise, it’s not worth the dose.”

“I get it,” I said easily. “I take it too. Probably get the same number of solid nights.” I paused. “We went through hell, Draco. It’s not weird we still carry some of it to bed.”

“I don’t know what happened last night,” he admitted, brows furrowed. “I was nervous—didn’t want to wake Maia. It was too late to take anything. But… nothing. Just out cold. Not many dreams, no tossing. I don’t even know how long I’d have slept if you two hadn’t sicced the little terrors on me.”

I laughed. “Mione’s basically natural Dreamless Sleep.”

Hermione came out of the bathroom and gestured for Draco to go ahead.
“Do I need to pick out your clothes too?” she joked, twisting her hair into a braid in front of the mirror.
“Only if it makes you happy,” I said, flashing her a smile.

“What do you want to do today? It’s raining, so the kids are going to be stir crazy,” she asked, glancing toward the window.

“Any thoughts?” I asked as Draco came back into the room.

“Lyra’s been getting into the movies. Or there’s always the aquarium.”

“The what?” Draco asked, blinking.

“The movies. It’s a place to watch a film,” Hermione explained with a fond smile. “I’ve been taking her since she turned three.”

“I’m still lost,” Draco admitted.

“It’s like the telly, but on a much larger screen—and longer programs,” Hermione said patiently.

“Okay,” Draco replied, clearly still confused but not pushing it.

“Whichever,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ve never actually been to a cinema. Or the aquarium, really.”

Hermione spun around, her hands still twisted in her hair, staring at me.
“Harry.” Her tone was soft, threaded with concern.

“Really, Mione—whatever you think the kids will enjoy most,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. I didn’t want this to become a thing.

Draco frowned. “Didn’t you grow up with Muggles?”

“Yes,” I answered softly.

And that was the end of it. I turned and headed to my room, suddenly needing space. I pushed the door halfway closed behind me, but a hand caught it before it shut. Draco pushed it open and stepped in like he owned the place.

“Maia wouldn’t say anything,” he said, his voice low but laced with frustration. “Just turned back to the mirror like you’d hit her with a curse. She looked absolutely gutted. What am I missing?”

“My aunt and uncle were arseholes,” I said simply, tugging open a drawer for jeans and a T-shirt. My choices stood in stark contrast to Draco’s polished polo and pressed beige trousers.

Draco picked up the shirt I’d tossed on the bed and held it like it offended him personally. “Potter, I’m going to order you an entirely new wardrobe. There are holes in this and it’s got to be at least a size too big.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbed what was left of my clothes, and headed into the ensuite to change.

When I came out, Draco was elbow-deep in my wardrobe, muttering to himself as he searched for what he clearly considered the least offensive shirt.

“Now, back to the actual topic,” he said, pulling out a faded Weird Sisters tee and giving it a skeptical glance. “Were your aunt and uncle not in a position to give you those Muggle childhood experiences?”

“Not exactly,” I said, watching the pile of rejected shirts grow, crossing my arms across my bare chest.

“What does that mean? Either they were financially able or they weren’t.”

“They could have. They just didn’t want to.”

Draco paused, his brow tightening. “Did they not want kids?”

“They adored their son,” I said flatly. “Took him to the cinema almost every week. Dropped me off with the elderly neighbor. I only got to go to the zoo once—because they couldn’t find anyone else to watch me. And, of course, that’s when I had the worst case of accidental magic to date.”

I reached down and snatched the Black Sabbath T-shirt from the floor.

“Hey—leave that one. It was Sirius’s,” I added quietly.

“This one—Maia will love it, it'll bring out your eyes,” Draco said softly, handing me a soft green henley I didn’t even know I owned. I tugged it on without comment, the fabric unfamiliar against my skin.

“Are you done tearing apart my wardrobe?” I asked, trying for humor, but my voice came out thinner than I liked. It wasn’t even ten o’clock and I already felt wrung out.

“For now,” Draco said, offering me a rare, almost tentative smile. “For what it’s worth, your uncle and aunt were wrong. You were worthy of those experiences. You are worthy of having nice things. Of being cared about.”

I froze, the words catching somewhere in my chest. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to let something that kind land without flinching.

“I’m going to help Maia with the kids,” Draco added gently, brushing past me with a squeeze to my shoulder.

I stood there, staring after him like I’d seen a ghost.

Draco could be kind—when it came to Hermione, or Scorpius, or even Lyra, he had moments of warmth. But this? Kindness aimed at me, without sharpness or obligation? It felt strange. Off-balance.

Like something I wasn’t sure I was allowed to want. And yet, I did. So much more than I wanted to admit.

I crouched and sorted through the pile of shirts Draco had tossed to the floor—carelessly, like they didn’t each carry a story.
Shirts from when Hermione and I were on the run, now threadbare and snug.
Shirts from that final summer with the Dursleys, still far too big, swallowing me whole.
Shirts Ginny had picked out—never the right size. Some so stiff or delicate they’d tear if I even tried to pull them on. I’d shoved most of those to the back of the wardrobe and stopped thinking about them.

I’d always made sure Ginny and James had what they needed—clothes for press conferences, robes to accommodate her growing bump when she was pregnant. But I couldn’t bring myself to do the same. Not for me.
Not until something was falling apart.

I glanced down at the trainers at the bottom of the wardrobe—cracked at the soles, fraying near the toes. Still technically wearable.
I sighed and looked away.

I ran a hand through my hair, dropped the shirts back onto the pile, and headed downstairs, following the hum of voices.

The kitchen was warm with motion—Tilly flitting near the stove, sunlight pooling across the floor.
The kids were seated neatly around the table, all dressed in sensible outfits. Hermione had even managed to comb James’s hair. My chest twisted at the sight.
How many mornings had he missed like this—because I’d chosen someone who didn’t care to give him them?

Lyra chattered on, animated, her hands waving for emphasis while James and Scorp tried to follow along, eager to be part of whatever story she was telling.

“What are our plans for the day?” I asked, trying to sound casual. The sting of the Dursleys still sat somewhere under my ribs.

“Dray’s got to drop Scorp with Theo and Blaise around noon,” Hermione said, glancing up at me. “But we were thinking of the cinema for the rest of us—if that’s okay?”

Her voice was light, but her eyes were steady, watching me carefully.

“Yeah. Sure.” I nodded. “Maybe the one at the shopping centre?”

I hesitated. The words caught on something small and aching before I finally added, “I’d… uh, like to look for some clothes for James before we head to Boston. He’s starting to outgrow everything.”

I wanted to kick myself. Draco had called me out upstairs without really saying a word, and now I couldn’t even admit the truth—that James didn’t actually need new clothes. I’d just bought him new trainers, a couple of outfits for the summer.
It was me. I was the one who needed new trainers. A pair of jeans that didn’t ride too high or hang too low. Something that didn’t smell faintly like the cupboard under the stairs.
But it felt easier—safer—to say it was for James. Safer than asking for something just because I needed it.

“Why don’t we head out?” Draco said smoothly, like he could see the cracks forming. “The kids are getting impatient anyway. We can knock out the shopping before the film.”

“Kids, go grab your trainers,” Hermione said gently.

I stood there, still stuck in my own head, watching them manage the morning like a well-oiled team. I felt useless. Not because they were doing it wrong—but because I didn’t know how to step in without feeling like I was in the way.

The kids all but sprinted from the room, Lyra shrieking about popcorn and candy. Draco stood to follow, abandoning his tea. As he passed, he gave my shoulder another squeeze. Like he was trying to… I don’t know. Anchor me? Apologize without words?

“Harry, I’m sorry,” Hermione said gently, collecting dishes before Tilly swooped in with a shrill protest.

“Miss Mione! Stop doing Tilly’s job!”

Hermione backed off with her hands raised and turned toward me. I reached for her hand and pulled her in, wrapping my arms around her.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. Holding her steadied something inside me I hadn’t realized was shaking.

Draco’s comment—about this shirt, of all things—had lodged in my chest. If I wanted a real chance at this… with her, with them ... I had to start showing up for myself, too.

“You sure you’re alright?” Hermione asked, pulling back just enough to look up at me. Her eyes searched mine like she already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile that wasn’t quite as fake as it might’ve been an hour ago. “Let’s have a good day, yeah?”

Hermione flashed me a smile as we walked hand-in-hand toward the foyer.

The next ten minutes were pure chaos—herding three kids into the car, settling them into car seats, dodging Tilly’s last-minute insistence on snacks—but somehow we made it out.

Hermione convinced us to rent a double buggy for the boys at the shopping centre, saying it’d save everyone’s backs and sanity.

We wandered in and out of a few children’s shops. It was sweet watching Lyra tug Draco toward whatever caught her eye—tiny jumpers, sequined dresses, rainboots with dragons on them. His whole face lit up every time.

I browsed through James’s size, tugging a few summer things off the rack—shorts, a lightweight jumper, a few new socks. Nothing extravagant. Just enough to look like that’s all I came for.

“Does Scorp need anything, Dray?” Hermione asked gently, eyeing the too-snug sleeves on his cardigan.

I glanced over just in time to see Draco’s expression falter. Like someone had pulled the air from his lungs. I’d never seen that look on him before—shame, plain as day.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes dropped.

“Astoria took care of that,” he said finally. His voice was flat, almost rehearsed. “I…”

He hesitated, like the words didn’t want to be said aloud.

“I’m not sure what size he would be now.”

I felt the ache in my chest. I wanted to reach out, clap a hand on his shoulder, say it’s okay , that no one’s born knowing how to do all this alone. But I stayed quiet, giving him room.

Hermione rifled through the rack in front of her, squinting at the size labels, flipping between a 2–3 and a plain 3.

My mouth felt dry, but I cleared my throat.
“I’d guess three. Maybe size seven or eight in shoes,” I said quietly. “That’s what James wears, and Scorp’s not much smaller.”

Lyra bounded over, looking at a pajama set she could barely reach. She tugged at it until I helped her get it off the rack.

“Dray! Scorp would like these ones,” she said brightly, thrusting the fabric at him. It was covered in tiny snakes—Slytherin green on soft grey.

Draco looked down at her, lips twitching into a sad smile.
“Thank you, darling. Maybe you can help me pick out a few more things for Scorp, hmm?”

Hermione was already in full gear, neatly stacking shirts, shorts, and lightweight jumpers across the buggy’s sunshade. She didn’t say anything—just moved with purpose and care.

I stepped closer to Draco, reaching out and resting a hand on his arm.

“It’s okay,” I said softly. “Astoria’s only been gone a few months. Scorp is just starting to out grow his clothes. It’s normal to lose track of something that was never your job before.”

I gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and for the first time, he didn’t flinch. Draco nodded slightly, turning just in time to catch whatever outfit Lyra was now proudly marching over.

We wrapped up the shopping not long after, Draco insisting on paying for the lot while I winced at the total. I wasn’t hurting for money—I had more than I could spend in a lifetime—but the sheer act of spending still made my stomach twist. Old habits, hard to break.

He insisted on carrying the bags to the car and pulled me along, feigning innocent interest in a Muggle men’s shop we passed on the way inside.

Hermione caught my eye, brow raised in silent question.

“I suppose that would be fine,” she said lightly. “Why don’t you find us in the food court? I’ll take the kids for a snack before the film.”

I paused, watching as she wrangled Lyra’s hand and adjusted Scorp’s hood, before fixing James’ hair as she unlocked the buggy wheels. She made it look effortless. Like adding two more children hadn’t changed a thing.

“Are you sure you’re okay with it?” I asked, lowering my voice, searching her face for any trace of hesitation.

“I’ve got it,” she said warmly. “If we’re not in the food court, check the children’s center.”

“Okay.” I nodded, still feeling the pull to double check, to be sure. But she was already halfway turned, calling Lyra back from the toy store front. I followed Draco toward the car park, falling into step beside him.

“Draco, it’s really okay. Being a single parent is hard,” I said, trying to break the silence but unsure where to start.

“I never expected to be the caretaker,” he snapped, sharper than I anticipated. “I was lucky to see my father once a week. House-elves raised me day to day. If I was lucky, Mother would join me for lunch. Dinner on Sundays—holidays if I was particularly good. I can only imagine the hell that would’ve broken loose if my father had ever had to do it on his own.”

“You’re not your parents,” I said quietly. “Scorp adores you. Lyra lights up every time you give her attention.”

He didn’t respond, just kept walking.

“Astoria’s been gone for two months. You don’t figure everything out that quickly. Especially not with everything else going on. You’ve got to give yourself some grace, Draco.”

“That’s easier said than done,” he muttered. I watched as his hand twitched to his ring, pressing it gently into his finger. 

“I know it is.” I sighed. “There are days I want to scream, or throw something, because I’m so angry that Ginny abandoned James. I don’t even care what she did to me anymore—but leaving him , and not looking back? That burns. I have to give myself space to feel that. Let myself be angry, so I can move through it.”

I glanced at him. “Same goes for you. You’re stepping into shoes you never expected to wear. You’re allowed to be overwhelmed. But you’re doing it, Draco. That counts for something.”

“Does it ever feel easier?” he asked softly, placing the bags in the boot.

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “Usually when James and I are having a good day.”

He nodded, slow and small, not quite meeting my eyes.

We walked back into the shopping center in silence. Draco finally turned to me as we entered.

“It’s your turn,” he said simply.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confusion tugging at my voice.

“You deserve nice things. So let’s go get them.” He turned and walked toward the department store in front of us. I followed, still not entirely sure what he meant.

Draco moved with quiet confidence, navigating until he reached the men’s section.

“In my opinion, you need at least five to ten new shirts, maybe three pairs of trousers, and a pair of trainers. Based on last night, your formal wear is up to par.” He scanned a nearby rack of polos like he was preparing to restock my entire wardrobe.

I blinked hard, trying to process what Draco had just said. When did he start taking an interest in my life like this?

“That seems like a lot,” I said tensely.

“Harry, answer this honestly,” Draco said, giving me a pointed look. “How many shirts fit you—the way the one you're wearing fits? Not too tight or too big, not threadbare or ripped. And not from work.”

I hesitated. “I don’t know,” I admitted, sheepishly running a hand through my hair.

“Exactly. Five to ten shirts, a few pairs of trousers, and a pair of trainers. A week’s worth of clothes, essentially.” He pulled a soft green polo from the rack in front of him. “What size are you?”

I looked down at the floor. “I’m not sure.”

“Then you’ll just have to try them on,” he said simply, turning back to the rack without missing a beat.

“Draco, let’s just go find Hermione and the kids,” I said quickly, my voice tightening. “I promise I’ll go to the charity shop this week and get some new clothes.”

His head snapped back toward me, eyes narrowing.

“Harry, you deserve nice things. And that starts with this.” His tone was low and final—leaving no room for argument.

I didn’t fight him. Not in public.

I wandered off toward a nearby table of folded T-shirts, picking a few out. Found a couple pairs of trousers. When I returned, Draco was holding an armful of shirts, jumpers, and more trousers, like he was building me a proper wardrobe from scratch.

“Good. You chose some things.” He turned and marched toward the fitting rooms. “Let’s go.”

I followed him reluctantly as he nudged me gently into a changing room and hung the clothes on the back of the door. Then began the ordeal: trying everything on, stepping out into the corridor for his critiques. He was annoyingly thorough—scrutinizing fit, color, length. But he wasn’t cruel.

After what felt like forever, we’d narrowed it down: two pairs of trousers, two pairs of jeans, eight tops, one jumper and a bathing suit.

I stared at the pile, a cold sweat prickling at the back of my neck. My stomach flipped as I imagined what the total might be.

“Harry?” Draco asked gently, catching something in my expression. Concern softened the sharp lines of his face. “I need you to think—to remember—you are worth this. You deserve things for yourself. Things that weren’t someone else’s first.”

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to breathe. Trying to believe him.

“Let’s get you a pair of trainers, then we’ll head back to the car before meeting Maia and the kids,” Draco said, checking his watch. “I’ve got about thirty minutes before Blaise and Theo pick up Scorp—and then I need to get ready for work.”

My stomach twisted. I’d eaten up most of his morning. Time he could’ve spent with his kids, or with Hermione. Instead, he spent it with me.

“We can just go find Mione and the kids,” I said quickly. “It’s okay. I really don’t need new trainers.”

Draco gave me a sharp look. “Harry. Be honest.”

I glanced down at my feet. The soles were cracked clean through, the toe peeling. The shame settled in deep.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, already striding toward the shoe department.

We passed through a few sections before finally finding the right aisle. Draco made me try on five different pairs—because of course he did—before we settled on a sensible black pair that wasn’t overly indulgent. He herded me toward the register like a man on a mission.

As we passed the undergarments section I hesitated, then grabbed a new pack of socks and pants. If Draco noticed, he didn’t say anything.

I felt sick to my stomach as the cashier rang everything up. The anxiety didn’t ease when I swiped my card, or as we walked back to the car in silence. I hadn’t bought this many new things for myself ever. Never from a shop that wasn’t a charity shop. Not all at once. Not without guilt crawling up my spine.

We found Hermione and the kids in the children’s center—a big room with an indoor climbing structure and padded floors. She was chatting with a woman around our age, her expression relaxed and open.

“Daddy!” James shrieked as he caught sight of me, barreling across the playroom and crashing into my legs.

I smiled tiredly, scooping him up. “Hey, pal.”

“You two were gone a while,” Hermione said with a smile, brushing James’ curls back from his forehead as I sat down beside her. “The kids have been burning energy. Hopefully this, plus the movie, means they’ll crash hard tonight.”

I gave her a nod, too tired to say much. My chest still felt too full. My head too loud.

“I don’t have much time, love,” Draco said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to meet Theo and Blaise in five minutes.”

“That’s okay,” Hermione said, as Scorp and Lyra bounded over, noticing James had disappeared.

I watched as Draco scooped Lyra up. He promised he’d see her tomorrow, pressed a kiss to her cheek. Then he bent down and gave Hermione a quick kiss on her lips.

I looked away, suddenly feeling like I didn’t belong. Like I was intruding on something small and sacred.

And then Draco did something unexpected.

He reached down and ruffled James’ hair, murmuring that he’d see him tomorrow too. Then his hand brushed my arm—just a soft squeeze, grounding and warm.

And then he was gone, Scorp in his arms, moving through the crowd like he didn’t just rearrange something inside me.

Hermione watched me like she was trying to read something beneath the surface, then checked her watch.
“If we’re going to make the film, we should head over,” she said softly, already shepherding the kids as I tried to process the morning.

I barely registered the movie — something about talking, singing cattle. Once we arrived home, Hermione and I slipped into an easy rhythm for the rest of the day: reading stories, playing games, anything to keep the kids awake until bedtime.

After dinner, the kids were practically begging for bed, and the bedtime routine began in earnest.

Eventually, it was our turn to wind down. Hermione said she’d be in soon — she wanted a bath — so I headed to my room, eyeing the shopping bags Pip had left in front of the wardrobe like they might explode.

I shook my head, grabbed another old Auror tee and sweatpants, and went to shower.

It felt natural — being with Hermione, parenting with her, falling into step like we’d done it for years.
It was easy to care for her. Easy to step in where she needed me, to hold her, validate her, be the one she leaned on.
It was even easy to step up for Draco — to reassure him he wasn’t falling behind, wasn’t failing Scorpius.

But Draco trying to take care of me?
That was harder.

It made me nervous, uneasy in a way I couldn’t name.
Hermione mother-henned me sometimes — that was familiar, predictable. But this was different.
Draco wasn’t doing it because she asked him to. She hadn’t sent him to check on me. She didn’t know about my wardrobe.
He just... wanted to.

Hermione was curled in the middle of my bed when I came out of the ensuite, a book open in her lap.

“There you are,” she said, smiling as she closed it. “What did you get?”

I winced at the question — at being reminded how much money I’d wasted on myself today.
“Uh, Draco.” I hesitated. “Draco took me to get some new clothes. That’s what took so long.”

I ran a hand through my damp hair, nervous, not meeting her eyes.

“Good. You deserve something for you,” she said simply. “Want help putting it away?”

I blinked at her, confused.

“It’s a pain to take all the tags off. Hand me a pile — I’ll start,” she said, shifting into a criss-cross position on the bed.

I padded over and dumped the bag’s contents across the duvet. Hermione cast a quick Scourgify over the pile, explaining that while normal washing was better, this would do for brand-new clothes. I nodded, slightly overwhelmed.

I turned to the pile of shirts Draco had left on my floor this morning, gathering them up and stuffing them into the now-empty shopping bag.
One by one, I pulled threadbare jeans and ripped sweatpants from the wardrobe, adding them too. When I finally turned back around, Hermione had everything sorted — folded, organized, ready to be put away in the now almost empty wardrobe.

“I could’ve done it,” I said, sheepish. “I’m sure you wanted to relax.”

“Harry. We help each other — you know that,” she said gently, standing to tuck a pile into the wardrobe.

Soon, everything was put away — but the guilt lingered.

Hermione tugged my hand, pulling me back toward the bed. I sat against the headboard, and she curled into my side, warm and close. I began rubbing her bare leg where my jersey didn’t quite reach.

“How are you doing?” she asked quietly.

“I’m good,” I replied, keeping my voice smooth. She didn’t need to worry about my nerves.
“I’m sorry I monopolized Draco’s time today. I know you, Lyra, and Scorp wanted to be with him.”

“Draco told me you needed clothes,” she said softly. “He was worried about you. I’m glad you two got that done.”

I blinked, surprised. I didn’t know they’d talked about it.

“I could’ve popped out with James another day,” I murmured. “I don’t know why Draco’s so invested right now.”

“Harry,” she said, tipping her head to look at me, “you understand what us exploring a triad means, right?”

“We’re all together. In a relationship,” I said honestly. “But I know Draco’s just... interested in you.”

“Are you interested in Draco?” Hermione asked, voice steady, gaze unrelenting.

My cheeks flushed. I turned toward the window, grasping for words.

“Yes,” I said at last, quiet and nervous.

“Good. He’s interested in you too.”

She paused, fingers trailing lightly down my arm.

“Harry, he came in almost wrecked after checking on you. He was so worried when he couldn’t find more than one shirt that wasn’t too small or full of holes. He told me he wanted to help — to get you into things that fit — but didn’t know how. You made him so happy when you suggested shopping.”

“I didn’t realize he was worried about me,” I said honestly.

“You do a great job caring for everyone else, Harry. Let us take care of you for once,” she said, tilting her face toward mine.

“Draco is here because he wants you — just like he wants me. And I want you just as much as I want him. It feels like we’re a puzzle that fits. No one is here out of obligation or pity.”

She reached for my hand, fingers threading gently through mine.

“I hope the potion, in a few weeks, proves that to you.”

I looked at her, unsure what to say or do.

“I love you, Harry,” she said, leaning up to kiss me softly.

I kissed her back gently, the kiss feeling exactly as it had this morning. Like coming home, like safety. Like I was finally letting myself fall.

Chapter Text

May 10th, 2004
Hermione’s POV

I don’t know the last time I got four consecutive nights of uninterrupted sleep without the help of potions. Since the night of our first date, I’d slept next to Draco on the nights he didn’t work, and Harry on the nights he did. Last night Draco worked so I slept in Harry’s room. The bed next to me was cold and empty, like I’d overslept. 

Casting a Tempus, I realized it was after eight. I yawned and stretched, before easing myself out of bed.

Harry’s wardrobe stood ajar, his cracked, worn red trainers sat in front of it, but the new black trainers were gone.

The thought of Harry and Draco shopping together made my heart swell. Growing up with Harry, I learned not to push when it came to his clothes. Suggesting he buy new ones always made him self-conscious, worried they’d get taken away or ruined. It meant more than I could say to see Draco step in where I couldn’t. And seeing Harry in fresh clothes that fit—it did something to him. He looked more confident. More at ease in his own skin.

I could still feel the thread of worry under the surface—his instinct to retreat and let Draco take the spotlight. But I also saw something steadier forming. I saw how he split his time evenly among all three kids while we watched Scorp yesterday. How he did bedtime solo without complaint, insisting I go downstairs and pick out a bottle of wine. How he entertained Lyra and James at the phone shop, keeping them calm while I got new Sidekicks sorted for him, Draco and Ron.

Harry had endless courage—wild, reckless Gryffindor bravery—for everyone but himself. I’d give every last knut in my vault if he could see himself the way Draco and I do.

I could tell Draco was trying to boost his confidence—telling Harry, in his own subtle way, that he was worth every hour of overtime he was working. The way he began to flirt with Harry wasn’t teasing—it was intention. A quiet declaration that he wanted Harry as much as he wanted me. I tried to give them space.

Padding back to  my room, I pulled on my worn Harvard shirt and a pair of jeans. I twisted my hair into a bun, planning to spend the day around the house, maybe even help Harry pack. I could barely wrap my head around the fact that we’d be heading home in less than three days.

My thoughts drifted to Draco. He hadn’t come home until nearly eleven the last night he stayed over, and last night he and Scorp had left just after dinner. Draco had dodged every question Harry and I asked about his shifts, and he’d looked utterly exhausted when he left.

I wandered downstairs in search of coffee—and found two children covered in syrup. And Harry, somehow worse.

“Did you lose a duel with breakfast?” I asked, sliding his sticky glasses off his face and carrying them to the sink.

He huffed a laugh. “Something like that.”

I handed the glasses back laughing softly, then wet a rag and crouched beside Lyra. “Go take a shower,” I told him gently, brushing a sticky curl from her cheek. “I’ll get them ready.”

Harry gave a grateful nod before disappearing upstairs, and I got to work wiping syrup from Lyra’s hands and face. Strangely, Harry had caught the worst of it—syrup caked in his hair, while the kids looked relatively clean, syrup just covering their faces.

As I moved through the quiet routine of picking out clothes and doing hair, my thoughts wandered. Scorpius and Draco had slipped into our rhythms so easily. Lyra lit up around the boys, chasing James and Scorp through the halls in endless games of tag or curling up to read to them in the library.

Draco had become a fixture too, grabbing my hand just to spin me around the kitchen, kissing me as if the urge had struck mid-thought. And with Harry—how he’d rest a hand on Harry’s shoulder, adjust his collar gently, or give a subtle squeeze like he was grounding him in place.

He never let the kids see how tired he was.

I gently herded the kids down to the patio, pulling out the bottle of bubbles I’d bought yesterday and letting them go to town. Tilly soon brought a pot of coffee and a tray of muffins. I settled at the table, watching the kids blow bubbles and chase them to pop.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Harry asked, dropping into the chair beside me, hair still damp from the shower.

“The next few days are going to be full-on,” I replied.

“I know,” Harry said simply. “But we’ll get through it.”

He smiled. I returned it, small but genuine. The days felt lighter. Easier. Maybe going home would make it easier still.

The Prophet had accepted our terms, fired Skeeter, and printed retractions, though the rumor mill still churned. Perhaps the trip home would be exactly what we needed. I was ready for work and rhythm again.

“Oh, Ron was hoping he could pop by, or we could pop over. He’s still wrestling with his Sidekick,” Harry said, pouring coffee and sliding the mug to me.

“Any idea when Draco will be over?” I asked. Harry grimaced.

“No clue. He wouldn’t give me his schedule. Said he’d pick Scorp up from Pansy and come over. If it’s like Friday, he’ll be dead on his feet.”

I nodded, gears already turning about how to get his rota. “Tell Ron to come whenever.”

Harry nodded, sending a patronus before going to help the kids with the bubbles.

Before I knew it, Ron was wandering up the path. Both kids dropped what they were doing and ran to greet him, smiles wide as he scooped them up into a hug. I smiled watching them, the warmth of the morning wrapping around us like a blanket. Harry came over and kissed me softly.

Draco’s kisses felt like fire and passion, but Harry’s felt like warm tea and a good book. Both felt like coming home—just in different ways.

“Oi, enough of that,” Ron said, dropping the kids back to the ground. “Alex is trying to message me, but the stupid thing won’t work.”

Harry pressed one more kiss to my forehead and went back to the children.

Ron plopped into the chair beside me and shoved his phone over. Three missed AOL messages blinked on the screen.

I glanced at the kids, who were now entirely occupied with the bubbles Harry was expertly keeping in motion.

“Now,” I said, arching a brow as I tapped. “Am I going to find anything dirty here?”

Ron flushed. “Dunno. Doubtful,” he muttered, not quite meeting my eyes.

I rolled my eyes but continued anyway, narrating each step as I demonstrated how to view and reply to messages.

It felt like being back in the Hogwarts library, slowly and tediously walking Ron through the process. I even added a mini-lecture about avoiding outrageous charges. After the fourth attempt—and finally receiving a response from Alex—Ron had it.

I reminded Ron he could message Harry and me once we were in Boston, not just Alex. He nodded, left the phone on the table, and coaxed Harry into a pickup Quidditch game while the kids zoomed about. Harry convinced me to bring a book out as I settled on the picnic blanket. 

Outside of a brief break for lunch, we spent most of the afternoon outside. The crack of apparition snapped my head up around four. Draco strode toward us, Scorp heavy on his hip. Even at a distance, I saw the dark shadows under his eyes.

I stood and jogged to intercept them. “Hey! We’re at the pitch!”

Up close, his tie was crooked, the knot yanked tight like he’d done it in a mirror between patients. I took his hand as he reached me, guiding him the rest of the way. Once we arrived, I lifted Scorp onto his broom and watched him zoom off to join the others.

Draco lowered himself onto the blanket with a weary exhale, shoulders slumping as though the weight of the day had finally caught him.

“I’ve only got a couple hours,” he said wearily as I curled up next to him. “Daphne’s picking Scorp up early tomorrow when I head to work.”

“Dray… how many hours are you working between today and when we leave?” I asked, more serious now.

He shrugged, gaze sliding away. “Tomorrow I’ll be over around the same time, then have to leave after dinner. The night before you go—I’ll be here late. I can stay over then.”

I brushed a few strands loose from where he’d tried to keep them styled. “You look exhausted. What time did you go in?”

“Seven?” Draco guessed, like he was trying to convince himself. “I go in at seven tomorrow—Daph’s picking up Scorp at six-thirty.”

“You should take a nap. Merlin knows you could use one,” I suggested gently.

“I just want time with you, Harry, and the kids,” he murmured, his hand dragging softly down my back.

“Please don’t burn yourself out, Dray,” 

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I won’t.”

We stayed curled up for a while, watching the kids fly around with Ron and Harry. Another sign of how tired Draco was—he didn’t even try to join them.

“I forgot to give this to you yesterday,” I said, shifting. “While you were working, I set up phones.”

I slid a Sidekick from my pocket. “This button calls Harry or Ron. This one sends messages to me, Harry, or Katie and Alex. It works in America too—while we’re apart.”

He turned it over, brow furrowed. “It can’t call you?”

“My number’s American—calling me would rack up ridiculous fees,” I said. “But messaging through AOL is free.”

“How does it work?”

“I’m… honestly not sure. But I got you the international plan, so it’ll work wherever you are.”

He studied it like it might reveal something important.

Draco nodded in and out of sleep for the next hour while I read. When Pip popped out to tell us dinner was nearly ready, I closed my book and began corralling the kids.

Ron helped herd them toward the house, while Draco and Harry insisted they’d clean up the pitch.

I glanced back in time to see Draco flare—voice sharp, posture tight as he snapped at Harry. Harry lifted his hands in calm. Draco looked away first. I filed a mental note to ask Harry about it later.

Dinner and bedtime were calm, quiet affairs. The kind of evening that passed in soft movements and low voices. Afterward, we all settled in the library—Draco reading bedtime stories to the children, Harry and Ron locked in a heated game of wizard’s chess, and me curled up in the armchair with my book.

At exactly eight, Draco stood. He helped settle Lyra into bed before gathering Scorpius. Then, with a gentle goodbye, disapparated.

My heart twisted at the thought of him going home alone, slipping back into bedtime routines without us.

Harry passed behind my chair, pressed a kiss to the top of my head, then rejoined Ron at the table. Hours slid by in murmured conversation and the clack of chess pieces. Eventually, we said goodbye to Ron as he flooed home and headed upstairs.

After a quick shower, I settled in the middle of Harry’s bed, waiting for him.

“What happened with Draco?” I asked as he padded around the room.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “He snapped at me.”

“Why?”

“I think I hit a nerve. I told him he looked knackered and offered to have Pip or Tilly keep a plate warm if he wanted to lie down. He snapped that he was fine. That we didn’t need to worry.”

I tugged the covers up. “I may have prodded him too. He wasn’t even sure what time he worked today… or he didn’t want to tell me.”

“Probably the latter.” Harry climbed into bed. I curled against him, resting my head on his chest.

“Hopefully he’ll feel better tomorrow,” I murmured, yawning as Harry turned the lights off.

May 12th 2004

I woke with a jolt at six o’clock. Nothing was chiming. Draco lay dead to the world beside me, having come in just before midnight after a long shift.

Early light spilled into the room, and a small pit bloomed in my stomach. Five hours until we needed to be at Heathrow. 

One suitcase stood neatly packed against the wardrobe. Another lay open, half-finished, clothes spilling like an accusation.

Draco had pulled me to bed just after his shower, insisting I could help Harry finish packing in the morning. Lyra’s bag was mostly sorted, but we were still negotiating the toys. I’d convinced her the oversized London bus didn’t need to make the trip immediately, but the bloody plushies were a non-negotiable. I’d shrunk most of them when she wasn’t looking, compromising with Paddington as her designated travel companion.

My mind spun with what was left to do. The half-open suitcase glared from across the room.

Careful not to wake Draco, I gently untangled myself from his arm and padded toward the suitcase, grabbing a few clothes and heading toward the bathroom.

As I passed his side of the bed, Draco stirred. His hand found mine, tugging me gently back towards him.

“Lay down. Sleep,” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion.

“I need to get ready,” I whispered. “You sleep.”

“In bed, Maia. Rest,” he said, more insistent, wrapping an arm around my waist and tugging me back.

“You rest, Dray,” I murmured, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. “I can sleep on the plane.”

He groaned softly against my ribs.
“Let me hold you for a few more minutes, then we’ll both get up,” he mumbled.

I relented, leaning back against the headboard as his head rested in my lap. My fingers threaded through his hair in slow strokes until his breathing evened. Carefully, I slipped free and forced myself into motion—messy bun, a touch of skincare, toiletries zipped away. Each item thudded into the bag like a stone.

If someone had told me a week ago that Draco would be sleeping in my bed, slipping back into my heart, working himself to exhaustion just to be with me and Lyra, I’d have dragged them to St. Mungo’s myself.

Now the nerves clawed at me sharper than when I walked out of the garden at Amwell Court. 

Would he make it onto that plane to Boston next week? Would Boston even feel like home now, or had the ground shifted too much beneath my feet? The idea of my sanctuary suddenly felt like a stranger’s house—and for the first time, I wasn’t sure where I belonged.

I moved quietly, packed the last of my things, and zipped the suitcase shut. For a moment, I just watched Draco. He’d rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes to block the light. Like this, he looked younger—closer to his twenty-four years. The tension carved into his muscles had melted away, leaving his face softer, unguarded. Like, for once, the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on him.

It surprised me, how easy it was to forget our youth. Between grueling workloads, toddler tantrums, and now stolen scraps of romance, it was easy to lose sight of the fact that most people our age weren’t carrying such heavy burdens. They were still finding themselves—building careers, traveling, partying in clubs—not dissecting car seat safety specs or planning a household around exhaustion and compromise.

What would our life have looked like without the weight of war and expectation? If Draco and I had simply had the freedom to choose—marriage, children, stability—without scandal or family obligation. Would he and Harry have found each other without loss pulling them closer? Would I still have found my way to Harry?

My eyes caught on the clock at the bedside table. Four hours. I sighed, rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes before slipping downstairs.

Tilly was already bustling around the kitchen, the counters crowded with half-prepared breakfast.

“Miss Mione is up early,” she chirped as I entered.

“Morning, Tilly. Is there coffee?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

“Sit, Miss Mione. Tilly will bring coffee. And breakfast,” she said firmly, darting toward the pastries cooling by the window.

“Tilly, just the coffee, please,” I insisted.

“Master Harry will be cross with Tilly if Miss Mione doesn’t eat,” she scolded, hands on her hips.

“I’ll deal with Harry. Just the coffee,” I said with a tired smile.

She huffed but relented, setting a steaming mug in front of me before bustling back to her fruit. I drank half in silence, letting it steady me, then carried the rest upstairs to Lyra’s room.

An Imperturbable around her bed let her sleep on while I finished packing in her room. James was already sorted—less particular than Lyra—so by the time I slid her suitcase into the hallway, only Harry’s remained.

I knocked softly.

“Come in,” he called, voice thick with sleep.

I slipped inside to find him patting blindly at the nightstand for his glasses.

“Mione? Everything alright? Where’s Draco?”

“Still sleeping. I thought I’d come help you finish packing.” 

Harry muttered a Tempus. The glowing numbers hung in the air.

“Mione, it’s eight,” he said, running a hand through his hair as the fog lifted from his voice. “How long have you been up if you’re itching to pack my things?”

“Sixish,” I admitted, sheepish. “I’ve already finished mine and Lyra’s.”

“C’mere,” Harry said gently, patting the mattress beside him. I sighed and perched next to him, tucking my feet under me.

“What’s going through that head of yours?” he asked. “You’ve actually been sleeping when you’re with one of us.”

“Couldn’t this morning. The light woke me,” I bluffed.

“Mione.” His tone softened as he tugged me down so I could curl against him. His arm came around my shoulders, steady and warm. “What’s really bothering you?”

I hesitated, then whispered, “What if Boston doesn’t feel like home anymore?”

“Then we figure out what does,” he said simply.

I swallowed. “What if Draco doesn’t come to meet us?”

Harry didn’t even pause. “I can’t picture a world where he lets you get away twice. He’ll come.” His hand smoothed up and down my back, steady as a heartbeat. “Now breathe, yeah? By tonight you and I will be in Boston. Katie and Alex will fuss over you, tomorrow we’ll start the potion, and from there… we build. One step at a time.”

I listened to his heartbeat until his wand chimed. I felt steadier. Anchored.

“James is up, love,” he murmured, rubbing my back once more. “You can pack if you want, but you don’t have to. I can finish it after.”

I nodded and moved to his wardrobe. By the time he returned from the ensuite, I’d set clothes on the bed and tucked his toiletry bag neatly into the suitcase. He gave me a small smile and crossed to James’s room.

It was nearly nine. In my own room, Draco’s wand lay abandoned against the closet door again. Lately, his alarms turned into whatever his dreams could swat away—a bee, a timer, something to fling aside—so the wand inevitably ended up across the room.

I perched on the edge of the bed, watching him sprawl across the mattress, and reached out to brush the hair from his forehead.

I perched on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from his forehead. “Dray,” I murmured, giving his shoulder a soft shake. “We need to get up.”

He groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. “What time is it?”

“Nine. Scorp’s up—and Lyra won’t be far behind.”

He pushed himself upright, blinking slowly as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. “How long ’til your flight?”

“We need to be at the airport by eleven,” I said, my voice catching at the edges.

“Well, let’s get ready then. We don’t want to waste any more time,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“I’m going to get Lyra ready,” I added, lingering a beat before heading out. I wasn’t sure he heard me as he turned toward the ensuite.

Back in Lyra’s room, I woke her gently, brushing the hair from her face and whispering her name until her eyes blinked open. She bounced up with excitement, already chattering away about going back to school tomorrow.

I guided her through our morning routine as she spoke a mile a minute. I tried in vain to tame her curls into a braid, but eventually settled for a high ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. The moment I pulled the band tight, she bolted downstairs without another word, leaving me to tuck her pajamas and dragon stuffy into the suitcase.

When I stepped back into my room, Draco was buttoning his shirt. I paused in the doorway, watching his careful, slow movements.

“Please promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” I said softly.

“It’s only a week, love,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“You’ve come in every day this week looking ready to pass out. Please—sleep. I’m worried about you. You even snapped at Harry for suggesting a nap.”I added, voice barely above a whisper.

“Maia,” he said, voice calm but sincere, “this week isn’t as intense. I stacked doubles while I had help from you and Harry. While you’re gone, it’s single shifts. Maybe one or two twelves. No sixteens. I promise.”

He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms.

“Sixteens?” I pulled back enough to see his face. “Why were you doing sixteen-hour shifts? You could’ve stayed here more—we would’ve taken Scorp so you could sleep.”

“I worked it out, Maia,” he said gently, brushing a curl behind my ear. “Sixteens are part of being a Healer sometimes. I’m okay.”

“I just don’t want you to overdo it.”I whispered as I let my head rest against his chest, listening to the steady thrum beneath.

“I won’t. I promise.” Draco pressed a kiss into my hair, then drew back with a reluctant smile. “As much as I’d like to keep you to myself until you leave, we should head downstairs.”

I sighed, detangling myself from his arms. He guided me toward the stairs, our footsteps falling in sync. Pip had already retrieved the suitcases from the hall; they sat neatly stacked in the foyer as we passed.

“Are you coming to the airport with us?” I asked.

“If you’d like me to. I have to drop Scorp with Daphne at two.”

“What’s your shift today?” I lingered with him just outside the kitchen door, hoping for honesty.

“Today’s a three-to-eleven. After that: a seven-to-three, two seven-to-sevens, then a three-to-eleven, an overnight eleven-to-seven, another three-to-eleven, and finally a seven-to-three before our five p.m. flight.” The rota finally spilled out of him, matter-of-fact but weary.

“Seven-to-sevens?” My voice was hesitant.

“Astoria’s parents will take Scorp for one, Blaise and Theo the other. He’ll love it. Daph and Pansy are helping too. For the overnight, Mimsy will stay with him, and Grindle will fetch me if needed. My home is warded as tightly as Potter Manor. I trust my staff.”

It was still strange to me, the way pureblood households relied on elves to watch children overnight.

“If you’re sure,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as him.

“I am.” His smile softened as he tugged me closer. “And I can’t wait to get to Boston—to have two weeks without the circus of London.”

His kiss came fierce and hot, flames catching in my chest. We broke apart far sooner than I wanted, then stepped into the kitchen where Harry already had the boys dressed and ready.

“Miss Mione, time for breakfast,” Tilly scolded fondly, bustling up behind me and nudging me toward the table.

I relented, joining Harry and the kids for breakfast. Lyra and James were already deep into telling Scorpius all about airplanes and what it was like to ride them. I listened fondly as Draco only shook his head at their wild, exaggerated storytelling.

Well before I was ready, we were packing the taxi for the journey to Heathrow. 

Soon, we were gathered in front of the terminal, suitcases stacked high on trolleys. My heart was heavy with the weight of goodbyes.

Draco crouched to lift Lyra, holding her tight and whispering how much he loved her, promising he’d see her soon. As he set her down, he slipped a sugar quill into her hand with a wink. I rolled my eyes fondly.

Next, he bent to James, gathering him into a small hug before tucking a pumpkin pasty into his pocket. Nearby, Harry knelt to scoop Scorp close, promising to see him soon.

When Harry set him down, Lyra all but tackled Scorp, hugging him fiercely.

 “I love you! I’ll see you at my house!” Lyra said voice bright as ever.

Their laughter soared, easing the ache in my chest. I bent and lifted Scorp into my arms.

“I’ll see you in Boston, sweetheart,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair.

He wrapped his arms tight around my neck. “Bye, Mimi. See you later.”

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Scorpius was usually so quiet—and this was the first time he had ever addressed me. My heart swelled, my throat went tight as I looked up. Draco’s eyes met mine, just as wide with shock.

I gave Scorp one last squeeze before setting him gently on his feet.

When I turned, Draco was already pulling Harry into a quick hug. The sight made my chest ache in a different way—the chemistry, the admiration sparking between them was undeniable. For the first time, I could really see the connection beginning to bloom. 

Then Draco turned to me. He gathered me close, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“I’ll see you in Boston, love. I’ll miss you.” He tipped my chin up and kissed me once more.

“I’ll miss you more. Remember, you can message us while we’re apart.” I kissed his cheek and forced myself to let go.

Draco lifted Lyra onto the top of the suitcases, steadying her before dropping a kiss on her cheek. Harry carried James against his hip. Together we watched as Draco took Scorp’s hand and led him toward the line of waiting cabs.

I allowed myself one last glance as Harry and I pushed the trolleys into the airport, catching sight of Draco and Scorp climbing into a taxi before it pulled away.

Tears blurred my vision as we reached the ticket counter. I lifted Lyra gently off the suitcases and set her down, steadying myself for the next steps.

After handing over our documents and shuffling the luggage onto the scale, we moved through security.

Before long, we were walking the same corridor I’d taken alone almost six years ago—the day I first learned about Lyra.

Back then, every step away from London had felt like betrayal and a step towards an uncertain future. Even now, parts of me screamed to turn back. To find Draco. To not walk away again.

I settled Lyra and James into seats at the gate and passed them a find-it book. TThe hum of announcements, the rattle of wheels over tile, the burnt-coffee smell pressed around me as my thoughts spun.

Leaving London felt the same as it had when I was pregnant—scary, confusing, like I was drowning in a crowd of people who all knew exactly where they belonged.

But this time I wasn’t lost. I knew where I was going, and I knew I fit there. But I saw what I was losing, what Lyra was losing and the hard truth that we fit here as well. 

Harry eased into the seat beside me, sliding a cup of coffee into my hands. His other hand came to rest lightly on my thigh, steady and warm.

The only question left was where I wanted to belong—London or Boston.