Chapter Text
"Is there a way to control it? Using principles of Occlumency, perhaps?”
Hermione looked up from the table cluttered with books and empty teacups. Across from her, Draco was leaning forward on his propped up elbow as he examined a scroll full of her notes.
His massive family collection of tomes had proved to be invaluable in her research to find out what had happened to the three of them. The book she'd originally found in his library didn't go into much detail, but the attic—full of dodgy looking knick knacks that gave off a sinister aura and portraits of long-dead relatives relegated to their dusty prison for spewing blood purity nonsense—was a treasure trove.
In a small trunk, she'd found a stack of letters tied with twine and a journal kept by an ancestor of Draco's, dating back to the early 1800s.
Far, far back in his family tree, a female Malfoy—a rare occurrence—had bucked tradition and the expectations put upon her by her parents, and bound herself to not one, but two Muggle-born witches.
Their coming together was purposeful, but the information found in the journal and the letters she'd sent to her sister after she'd been disowned combined with the book Hermione had found at the manor was just enough for Hermione to piece together an explanation for their own, accidental binding.
Carefully turning to a page somewhere in the middle, Hermione set the journal down and slid it to Draco, finger tapping on the pertinent passage.
"She writes of having mastery over the shared feelings. It sounds very similar to Occlumency but it took years."
"Well that doesn't matter to us, does it? We've got time."
She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips when she looked up at him to find him feigning nonchalance, leant back in his chair and flipping through the worn diary as if he hadn't just said something that melted her heart.
"We do."
On Friday after working late into the evening, Hermione came home to find the house quiet; she and Draco had been staying at Grimmauld through Harry's recovery along with Crookshanks.
Her half-kneazle was used to being the king of his domain and usually when she arrived home, Crooks was terrorizing Kreacher and Harry was there trying to calm him down and keep the elf from turning her cat into a pin cushion.
The silence was nice for a change, and she revelled in it before setting down her bag and heading upstairs.
Crossing the landing at the top of the stairs, she heard a rumbly voice. Curiosity stirred, she peeked around the half-open door of the biggest bedroom. Harry was propped against the headboard, his hair even messier than usual and hanging over his eyes, with Draco's head in his lap.
Fingers gently running through pale hair, Harry had his eyes closed while Draco read from a book floating above him, turning the page with a flick of his wand.
It was downright domestic, and Hermione stood there for a moment, drinking it in.
"The exact angle of the wand will affect the accuracy of the cast. When purple smoke appears, it has been cast correctly. There may be some damage to the skin… Oh look, a handy dandy picture. Some damage?” Draco’s voice was laced with disbelief. “His face is half melted."
“Only half, though,” Harry said.
"Interesting bedtime reading choice."
Two sets of eyes snapped up to meet Hermione's as she nudged the door open with her hip and stepped into the room.
“Right, well, got to keep old Potter here from getting rusty. He’ll be back to work soon and have completely forgotten how to cast a simple Scourgify.”
Harry flicked Draco’s forehead with his index finger. “Shut up, you.” Ignoring Draco’s growl at the mild mistreatment, he glanced back at Hermione. “Long day, love?”
Kicking her shoes off by the door, she crawled onto the tall bed, sliding in beside Harry and tucking her feet underneath her as she snuggled into his side.
“That's an understatement." Laying her head on Harry's shoulder, she gently stroked Draco's fringe back from his forehead and recounted her standoff with the stubborn, narrow-minded old wizards on the Wizengamot.
"I was two seconds from jumping the aisle and throwing a few well aimed hexes their way before Kingsley stepped in."
Harry's chest shook with a laugh. "Good thing. We would've had to come bail you out, little jailbird."
"Imagine the headlines for that one," Draco said. "Former war heroine takes out entire Wizengamot single-handedly before being hauled off to Azkaban."
Harry joined in, pitching his voice to sound like an old timey radio announcer. "Witnesses report that the ends of her hair were actually sparking in her rage."
Lightly, she poked Harry's side with her index finger, waiting for the two of them to settle before she continued.
"It's just… They sit there in their privilege and pretend not to notice the people of their community—a community they are supposed to be serving—crying out for help."
Harry caught her hands, carefully uncurling her fingers to reveal little crescent moons dug into her skin.
"It's infuriating," she huffed.
"I know." His thumb smoothed across her palm, soothing the red marks.
Calming, she let herself melt into his side, hand still gently stroking through Draco's hair. They sat there in silence for a while, soaking up the quiet peace.
Internally, however, Hermione's thoughts were spinning a mile a minute.
It felt like the right time for what she wanted to say, but she was feeling a bit queasy with nerves all of a sudden.
She was brave. She could do this.
I can do this. Right?
Another minute passed and then in a jumble of words that were far less elegant than she'd hoped they'd be, she said, "I think I love you. Both of you."
The stark, tense silence that followed was nearly drowned out by the sound of her pulse beating in her ears as she stared in the opposite direction of the two people to whom she'd just blurted out her heart.
But seconds later, Draco pulled himself to a sitting position, and Harry's hand caught her chin, turning her to face them, one corner of his mouth tucked up in a soft smile.
“I’ve always loved you, Hermione. You know that. It’s looked different over the years, but it's always been there. You've always been there."
Cradling the side of Harry's face in her hand, she leaned into him for a moment, smiling.
The bed shifted slightly as Draco sat up straighter, and they both turned to look at him.
“I— I feel the same."
It was hard for him to say it, she knew.
But he showed it.
It was clear in the way he gently pulled her from her paperwork at night to make sure she really slept, in the way he'd bring by a new bag of kibble for Crooks before she even realised it was getting low. It was obvious in the way he pulled her and Harry close sometimes, clutching them tightly after a particularly gruesome day in the field, as though if he let go for even a moment, they'd be snatched away like everything else in his life.
And now, he showed it in the way he threaded his fingers through Harry's and tugged Hermione closer with his free hand, pressing a soft, tender kiss to her forehead.
"You could move in, you know." Harry stared at their clasped hands for a moment, uncharacteristically nervous, before he took a deep breath and met her gaze, then Draco's. "There's room."
"For Crooks too?" she asked with one eyebrow raised.
"And Midgeon?" Draco added.
Chuckling, Harry nodded. "Yes, Crooks and Midgeon too." With a wince, he said, "Kreacher will just have to get used to a busier house."
"Home," Hermione said, reaching for their hands and giving a squeeze. "It's a home."
Hermione was happy to be rid of her tiny flat for a number of reasons; not only did she no longer feel safe there, but the renovations Harry had done at Grimmauld Place had turned it from a rather dismal townhouse to a place with lots of light and a library just big enough to get lost in, and she moved her things over in an afternoon.
Draco wasn't ready to give up his place just yet, but it happened to be closest to the Ministry, and they all often crashed there during the week.
Though it had taken time, Draco decided his family home was too full of ghosts and pain. He didn't want the reminder anymore, and he passed it off to some distant cousin.
Before handing over the estate, the three of them took a weekend to clear everything out and pack up anything Draco wanted to keep.
There wasn't much he didn't throw in the bin. The hollow ache she felt flare in her chest as they packed away the remnants of his childhood room didn't come from her, and it told her all she needed to know about his memories of this place.
She understood. Just being there again sent a shiver of unease down her spine, despite her rational brain knowing full well that the monsters she felt lurking just around the corner were long gone; they couldn't hurt her anymore.
They couldn't hurt anyone anymore.
Good riddance.
Just as Hermione waved her wand and watched the last of the boxes stack themselves in a neat pile, a crack of thunder shook the ground, and she ran to the large windows in time to see the sky open as a deluge of rain began to fall.
Barely managing to keep herself from squeaking with excitement, she ran around to the back door, kicked her shoes off, and dashed out into the rain.
It had been so long since she'd let herself feel this way, barefoot in the grass, being silly for no other reason than because it simply made her happy.
Harry followed her out, his glasses covered in droplets the moment he stepped off the porch, but he didn't seem to mind as he grabbed her by the waist and twirled her around, her head tipping back as they spun, joyful laughter bubbling out of her.
When they slowly came to a halt, she grasped his forearms to steady herself and turned to stare pointedly at Draco where he stood under the awning, arms crossed over his chest.
"This is ridiculous. You two do realize you have the ability to not be drenched right now?"
"That's entirely besides the point," Harry said—shouted, really. The rain was coming down hard on the stone patio and the fountain, nearly drowning out his voice.
Distaste crinkled Draco's nose as he stared doubtfully at them.
Cupping her hand by her mouth to be heard over the downpour, she said, "You've never played in the rain? Not even as a kid?"
He shrugged. "It's messy. And cold."
"It's fun, Draco.” She waved him over. “Come here."
Shaking his head, he started to back up as she pulled away from Harry and beelined in his direction, but she caught his wrist and pulled the cloak from his shoulders, hanging it from a loop in the wrought iron encasing the porch and tugging him forward.
Fat drops of rain flattened his hair to his forehead, and he pushed it back to keep it out of his eyes, tentatively turning his palm to the sky, watching as the rain collided with a splat and dripped off the side of his hand.
She pushed up on her toes and kissed him, swallowing the sound of surprise that melted into a moan as he tried to tug her closer. Dancing just out of his reach, she tipped her head back and said, "See? Fun."
"Sure it is, as long as you keep doing that." He lunged forward trying to grab her, and she shrieked, sprinting away from him and darting behind Harry who smoothly stepped out of the way.
"Traitor!" Before she could get away, Draco caught her, pulling her against him and cradling her face between his hands for a kiss that burned through her, evaporating the chill from the rain.
In the exact opposite of the events that had just occurred, she couldn't get close enough to him, her arms twining around his neck as she pressed into him.
Draco picked her up and guided her legs around his hips, stumbling back towards the manor with Harry in tow.
They were all soaked through now and dripping onto the marble floors, but that didn't seem to matter because they were safe and together, and the only thing she could feel coursing through any of them was pure, undiluted contentment.