Chapter Text
Christmastime in London was something Hermione always looked forward to, even in the years after her parents’ Obliviation. The streets would fill with merrymakers, the scent of mulled wine and gingerbread wafting from the pop-up markets in Covent Garden and Leicester Square. Shopkeepers would fill their windows with stuffed bears and bottlebrush trees while red and green tinsel glittered in the festive fluorescents.
And hope, however fleeting, would unfurl in her chest.
Maybe it had something to do with the joy foisted upon her at every corner, the merriness shoved down her throat until she choked on it. But she didn’t think that was the case. It was far more likely that she had a fondness for the season due to the possible, if not improbable, promise it held.
For a future where she had a family waiting for her at home and traditions that didn’t remind her of what she’d lost.
As she walked down the crowded Muggle street, she thought about how far she’d come in the past several months.
Optimism now seemed firmly rooted in her being, something she never thought possible with the trauma that characterized her childhood. A part of her always believing to expect the worst because it would find her. And it was far better to be prepared than not.
But she’d somehow made it to that reality, the one where loss wasn’t her shadow - threatening to drag her under once the decorations were stowed away and the snow finally melted.
She’d made it to the other side.
Hermione was currently doing some last minute shopping, her arms laden with gifts for her loved ones. Puddles was set to receive several new toys stuffed with catnip alongside a new scratching post. Molly had new knitting needles to look forward to while Ginny would unwrap several books that would undoubtedly make her fiancé blush.
The Golden Girl’s chest swelled with excitement over the upcoming celebration at the Burrow. Of course, Molly still grieved her lost sons every morning and night. But she’d also begun picking up the pieces so that she might learn how to live for the people that remained.
As such, Hermione expected there to be far fewer tears this year. Though she knew better than to hope for the ghoul to behave or for George to give a gift other than coal. (After all, there was optimism and then there was delusion.)
She strolled underneath a cascade of yellow stars strung overhead, enjoying the snow flurrying around her. The powder was already accumulating in small mounds in the crevices of buildings and atop parked cars, turning her nose and ears a bright red.
She would need to head home soon, having told Draco she’d make it in time for dinner.
As promised, he’d be getting a separate Christmas celebration from the one taking place at the Weasleys. The couple having set aside Boxing Day for that very purpose. But tonight would be for stockings and opening one present each, a new tradition they were starting together.
She chewed her lip, second-guessing the gift she’d selected. It was a toss-up between golden-tipped quills or the new lingerie set she’d purchased in Slytherin green.
Her original plan was to meet Draco by the Christmas tree dressed in nothing but the barest of lace. But, maybe, the writing utensils were better. They were much more sentimental, considering she purchased them as a nod to the quills he’d given her in sixth year.
Ones she used until the feathers snapped and the nibs bent. They were the singular thing she allowed herself to have and find comfort in during the Horcrux hunt, everything else being shared with the boys. When she finally had to trash them, she cried herself to sleep for weeks.
Which was what decided it. He’d just have to wait for her planned seduction in two days time.
She sniffed, thinking about how different previous holiday seasons had been. The Golden Duo had a terrible Christmas in the last year of the war, being almost murdered by Nagini. And then, in peacetime, she always returned from the Burrow to an empty apartment - the abode a mirror to her own heart.
When Draco found out about her pathetic celebrations of years past, he insisted they decorate their home on the first of December. The partners, in every iteration of that word, spent all night putting ornaments on the tree. Magical ones that zoomed and swirled, sparked and cheered. Then, they draped fresh garlands over the mantle, dotted with pinecones and cranberries, that made the rooms smell like an evergreen forest. He’d even coaxed Puddles into wearing a little Santa costume on occasion.
Her love made sure every second had been infused with such magic and wonder that it helped her forget about the losses she’d suffered.
But it hadn’t stopped there. Every weekend, Draco planned a different outing. They’d been to the Christmas markets in Germany, ice-skating in New York and had even seen traditional caroling in Poland.
Not to mention the fact her Slytherin found a new place to nail mistletoe every day so that she was assaulted with kisses whenever she walked through a door. (Not that she minded, of course.)
All in all, the love of her life had done an excellent at job at transforming the season into something she genuinely cherished.
And, of course, there were the presents. He started setting them out on that first night and the pile kept growing. At first she thought the neatly wrapped boxes, covered in forest green paper, were for the Weasleys and soon-to-be Potters. Maybe even a few for the Scottish fold. But, no, they were somehow all for her. (He assured her he had gifts for the others, he just hadn’t bothered placing them under their tree.)
It put Hermione’s own meagre pile for Draco to shame. She’d done some shopping before now but hadn’t been as enthusiastic as her beau. Hence why she was out on Christmas Eve of all days.
Becoming a detective had been everything she imagined it would be and more. She got to experience late-night stakeouts featuring coffee and stale donuts, dueling Dark wizards, and even her first court appearance. (She’d successfully convinced the Wizengamot to stop considering Greyback’s parole applications until he could show signs of remorse.) When she wasn’t getting caught up in the thrill of her work, she was busy getting lost in her heart. Her time now so accounted for that she had to find the remaining presents in the very last hour she could.
She quickly popped into the Sherlock Holmes Museum where she grabbed a set of cufflinks before turning towards the apartment. Until, of course, her eyes caught on a vibrant shade of purple. Something she hadn’t seen since that first fateful assignment into Muggle London months earlier - when the heat threatened to kill.
Hermione stared at the neon blue sign flashing in the shop window, the one that depicted a hand, moon and star.
Only when certain it wasn’t a figment of her imagination did she walk through the cracked door. It smelled like patchouli and myrrh inside, just as she remembered.
“I was wondering when you’d come back to see me, little one.” Milena smiled at her from her place on the plush maroon couch shoved into the corner. She was wearing a long black dress, which looked to be made of cashmere, paired with her combat boots. It seemed the Seer’s new location in the heart of Westminster had been a financial boon.
“I would’ve come sooner had I known where you relocated,” Hermione responded.
“Maybe you found me when it was right,” she mused, her head cocking as she studied the Gryffindor. “I can now offer that reading you originally wanted. It’s an auspicious day for it.”
The Golden Girl brushed the snow from her mittens, her nose burning with the sudden change in temperature. The Seer had a roaring fire going, the flames much more welcome in the winter than they’d been in the July heat. Though the herbs hanging from the ceiling still made her nervous about the shop’s flammability.
“You know, I think I’d like to be surprised.”
“I suspect you might.” Milena gave her a knowing smirk before offering tea. Her talismans and crystals clinking around her neck as she stood to put the kettle on. Apparently, she was maintaining appearances because Hermione didn’t see a wand in sight as the woman set about making them each a cup.
The Gryffindor had come to the reluctant conclusion that there were some authentic Seers in the world and she happened to be in the presence of one. Because she’d unwittingly run into quite a bit of good fortune after investigating Milena. After all, she finally found a safe place to put her heart after years of isolation. Though it’d taken a string of bad luck to get there - the detectives spending more time at each other’s throat than falling in love.
And, of course, there was the part where Draco nearly died.
Milena returned to her spot on the opposite couch with two mugs in hand - each filled with a dark liquid. The Golden Girl eyed hers skeptically, unsure what she was signing up for with the drink.
“You don’t need to stare at your tea so intently. Readings only occur with the dredges afterwards,” the Seer chided, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts. “And to answer your question, it’s just PG Tips today.”
“Right,” the Gryffindor smiled before taking a sip. It was bitter and slightly over-steeped for her liking. Feeling suddenly awkward, she turned her attention to the room.
Even though Milena had a larger shop now than the one previously rented in Piccadilly, the space was just as crammed. Dusty velvet curtains still hung heavily from golden rods, her couches pushed against the walls. Candles dripped onto the mantlepiece and wooden table where the hand-painted tarot cards lay.
Hermione leaned over to pick at the cooling wax, taking in all the new additions. Alongside the banishment candles, customers could now purchase an array of pendulums and crystal wands, statutes and metal cauldrons. There was even a small bookcase with magical guides for sale, something which made the Gryffindor frown.
Surely those weren’t real grimoires … right?
“I thought you were a hack when I first came to your shop.” The Gryffindor confessed this quietly, her breath moving the tea in her cup.
“Oh, I’m aware,” Milena laughed. “That’s why I didn’t offer you a reading. You wouldn’t have believed anything I said.”
The Golden Girl hummed, knowing the words were true but not wanting to admit it.
“So why did you offer me tea then?”
“Because even a skeptic can’t deny destiny,” the woman said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“You told me I was the sort of person to make my own fate,” Hermione stated. Her brows pulled together in confusion as she got the sense that she was missing something.
“And you did. It only took you six years and a trip to a psychic to do it,” the Seer brightened. “Might I suggest not waiting so long next time?”
“I … ” She opened and closed her mouth, not knowing how to respond. “Well, for what it’s worth, I see no point in turning you into the Ministry.” She glanced at the bookcase before adding, “so long as you aren’t manipulating others with your gifts.”
“Ah. I should’ve expected you to find the bookshelf,” Milena nodded knowingly. “Those are blank. To be filled out by their owners. I’m of the belief that magic can be found anywhere, including where you least expect it. Same with love.”
Again, she found herself at a loss for words as the woman arched a brow at her.
“I suppose so.” Though the Gryffindor didn’t elaborate on what exactly she agreed with, feeling as though the rug had been pulled from underneath her feet. “It makes sense why you’ve chosen to set up in Muggle London then. Though I’m still not sure it’s wise to offer legitimate fortunes to the unknowing.”
“Believe it or not, I only offer actual ones when they involve a happy outcome. I don’t think misfortune needs to find company with anticipation,” the Seer shrugged - setting her jewelry rattling once more.
“That’s … nice.” Hermione jerked her head back, startled by the woman’s policy.
“We need more of that in this world.” She sat back and studied the Golden Girl carefully. “Now tell me, do you regret the choice you made?”
“You mean with the tea?”
“Sure,” the Seer shrugged.
“No.” Hermione smiled over her cup. “Not at all.”
***
Hermione and Draco were running late to the Burrow, having stopped by the Manor estate to place a bouquet of flowers on Narcissa’s tomb. Snow covered the Weasley grounds when they finally arrived. But someone, probably Arthur, had dug a shoddy path from the Apparition point to the front door.
Surprisingly, the Gryffindor was more nervous than her beau. Christmastime at the Weasleys was always an uncertain affair. Though Molly had made progress, the tides could turn. And Hermione worried that it would happen on today of all days. But things had been good recently so the Golden Girl could only hope they would remain as such.
As the lovers rung the doorbell and got ushered in by George wearing an Elf costume, it seemed the day held promise after all.
Colorful lights were strung haphazardly across the hallway, hanging so low in places that Draco had to duck as they walked towards the living room. The ghoul could be heard chanting a rather horrid tune somewhere upstairs while the scent of cinnamon and sugar wafted through the air.
Molly was chasing Bill with a rolling pin when they entered the main room, his hand holding a piping hot gingerbread man missing a head. The Golden Girl’s shoulders fully easing when she saw the smile on the Weasley matriarch’s face.
Across the room, Ginny and Harry were playing with Poppy, Percy and Penelope’s first child, while the two parents huddled in the corner. They were putting the final touches on wrapping their daughter’s mound of presents, coffees resting by their sides.
Charlie was watching everything with a bemused expression, his own caffeine in hand and bags appearing under his eyes from too much booze the night prior. He was sporting a rather nasty burn on his forearms and one of his eyebrows seemed to be singed off. Arthur, meanwhile, was covered in tinsel like a festive swamp monster. Strings of yellow and green falling to the floor with every movement as he finished up the decorations.
“Happy Christmas,” Hermione called as she directed Draco to set down her beaded clutch with the other presents. He promptly began unloading all the gifts the pair brought for their family.
Her heart throbbed painfully as she took a closer look at the tree. It seemed those lost weren’t so far away after all. Molly and Arthur having decorated the boughs with Chudley Cannon ornaments and miniature bobbles from the joke shop. Little dragon fireworks exploded constantly around the pine needles, reminding the Golden Girl of the twins’ infamous exit from Hogwarts. Blue bows were also found throughout, in seeming ode to Bill’s ex-wife, Fleur, who’d attended Beauxbatons.
“I was wondering if you two were going to show up,” Bill said around his bite of cookie. “Supposed you might be too busy f - ”
“LANGUAGE,” Percy trilled. His loud voice immediately making Poppy cry and earning him a wallop from his wife. “Sorry dear.”
“Killjoy.” Bill rolled his eyes before turning back to the couple. “Anyway, your tardiness better not result in a leave of absence in nine months time, Granger. We’re short-staffed as it is.”
“That’s because you keep firing everyone,” she snorted.
Soon, bellies were stuffed and stockings emptied. George had gifted everyone coal, of course, as it was family tradition. Hermione somehow managed to smudge it onto her nose which Draco found adorable, insisting on a picture before removing it.
Puddles had a new bed to ignore, having developed a recent fascination with sleeping in the couple’s bed and biting their ankles in the night. The Golden Girl had a lock-picking kit to refine her break-ins, something she was eager to play around with, while Molly only cried once watching the lovers pull on their knitwear. Draco donning a Gryffindor red sweater while Hermione wore a Slytherin green one.
Overall, it’d been a wonderful day.
“You know, it’s okay to give something other than books one year.” Harry grimaced at the volumes surrounding him and Ginny, taking particular grievance with one that donned a half-naked fae on its cover.
“Most of those are from the list your fiancée gave me,” the Golden Girl sniffed. “So if you want to blame someone, don’t look at me.”
“How many of these are enemies-to-lovers,” he complained as he looked at the pile in his fiancé’s lap.
“All of them,” Ginny responded with a bright grin before cracking the spine on the topmost book - causing Hermione to wince violently. “This one has forced proximity in it too!”
“Crikey,” he winced.
“Says the man bound to get the benefit of whatever’s in here,” she responded to a cascade of groans.
The Chosen One, having nothing to say to recover from the embarrassment of the comment, turned to the new broom Draco gifted him. The two being set for a rehashing of their old school rivalry later that day when the annual Quidditch match occurred.
“Draco, this one’s for you.” Hermione placed a small envelope in his hands, having waited until he unwrapped all the other presents first. (He was currently wearing the hat and scarf she’d made and was thumbing through the tome on breaking Dark curses Bill found. The eldest Weasley also agreeing to tackle the Manor free of charge as a Christmas gift.)
“Thanks, love.” He pressed a kiss on her cheek before carefully ripping open the gift. Inside were two seats for the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione had spent three month’s worth of paychecks on the box seats that Theo discounted for her. (He did offer them free of charge but she insisted on paying something. Because she would not, under any circumstances, buy in to the nepotism inherent to pureblood society.)
“Are you bloody serious,” George shouted over the Slytherin’s shoulder. “You could’ve given those to me, Hermione. Malfoy doesn’t need them anyway. He probably owns a box.”
“I don’t actually, but Theo does. I’m sure he’ll like the company,” Draco commented before placing kisses all over her face in appreciation. Bill and Harry’s loud gagging could be heard over the couple’s adoration as the twin asked for Nott’s contact details.
“You see this every single week.” She sighed at the two Aurors once she was freed from her lover’s embrace. “I’m not sure why you’re still affected by it.”
“Just because you two act like a couple of teenagers all the bloody time doesn’t make it less harrowing,” Bill sneered.
“You lost your right to complain when you refused to give Hermione her own office,” Draco said before turning his attention to determining how many presents remained. His cheeks coloring when he realized there were none left.
“And if I gave her Finnegan’s old room, she’d spend none of her time in there anyway.” The Head Auror rolled his eyes before grabbing the eggnog from Charlie’s hands and finishing it, his own cup sitting empty in his lap.
A loud whirring sounded beside Hermione’s head, drowning out the bickering taking place among the elder Weasley brothers. She swiveled in time to see her Golden Snitch racing off to the other side of the room. As one of her first presents, Draco gifted her the Quidditch ball he’d set as an international Portkey during the war. Originally wired for New Zealand, he recently altered its destination to Australia. More specifically, to the little town in the Outback where her parents lived.
Though Hermione couldn’t interact with them meaningfully, now that their memories were gone, she could watch from afar on New Years. It was the best present she’d ever been given.
At the thought, she looked over to her Slytherin to find him somewhat panicked. His earlier color now replaced with a ghastly pallor.
“Is something wrong,” she asked urgently. “Was it the second serving of my Christmas pudding?”
Draco encouraged Hermione to bring over the dessert she’d made for the Weasley clan. Admittedly, it was far too burnt to be considered edible but he insisted everyone try a slice. Bill choked down a few bites while Percy politely spat his mouthful into a napkin. Molly commended her on the effort while Arthur asked if it was a Muggle delicacy. When no one went back for seconds, their first pieces mostly uneaten, her Slytherin took another for himself.
“No, sweetheart, it’s not that.” Having heard her panicked tone, Draco seemed to come to his senses and spent the next several minutes calming her down. Which included sitting still as she cast diagnostic spells on his person before sending precautionary healing charms his way.
“At this rate, Malfoy’ll be as old as Merlin was before he kicks the bucket,” Charlie said with a laugh.
“Speaking of puddings though, it was a little on the poisonous - ” George wasn’t able to finish the thought, having been elbowed by Molly and firmly told to shut it.
“Hermione, darling.” When she turned back around, Draco was sitting directly in front of her. A small box in hand as he clasped her fingers. “I’ve thought about this moment for years - planning one elaborate surprise for you after another. In the end, I thought you’d want this to happen with the people you love most surrounding you.”
It was in this moment that the Golden Girl returned to the feeling of being in free-fall. She was almost certain that she was hurtling through space instead of sitting on the Burrow’s living room floor - her cheeks pink from the fire and with wrapping paper surrounding her. But it only lasted a second, up until Draco opened the powder-blue velvet box, revealing a vintage ring inside.
Then she was certain where she was because, never in her wildest dreams, had she imagined something so beautiful for her engagement ring. The piece of jewelry was made with a black hexagon diamond in the center. Marquise, baguette and round stones surrounding the prominent gem. It was elegant and exactly what she’d expect from him.
She watched silently as he plucked out the golden ring, the proto-Germanic rune for ‘sunshine’ carved into the band.
“You’re more than just the love of my life,” he continued, drawing her attention back to his grey eyes. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever known. Quite simply, you’re the heart in my chest and the reason I draw air. I would do anything for you and I’d quite like to be yours for the rest of our lives. That is, if you’ll have me. So, Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?”
She nodded before bursting into tears. She couldn’t help it, having never believed this sort of happiness would find her after the war. But, as he slid the ring onto her finger, she knew that this was all hers.
And she’d never take it for granted again.