Sipping Serenity

Theo woke up to a floo call to Draco.

Malfoy had faced many dangers in his life. He'd lived through war, seen friends fall, and had blood on his own hands. But nothing could have prepared him for this. The fire crackled ominously in the heart as he paced back and forth, each step sharp and purposeful, though his mind was anything but calm. His usually composed demeanour had shattered, replaced with something raw and desperate.

The faint scent of soot lingered in the air as he knelt by the fireplace, his trembling hand reaching for the jar of Floo powder. He could still hear the faint echo of the Healer's words ringing in his ears: "She's stable now, but another dose like that, and we might not have been so lucky."

Stable. The word was meant to offer reassurance, but it only served to deepen the pit of despair in Draco's gut. She wasn't supposed to be in this position in the first place.

Inhaling sharply, he tossed the powder into the flames. Emerald green flames roared to life, flickering ominously as he leaned in. His voice trembled, the weight of the situation bearing down on him like a suffocating force.

"Theo. Pansy. I need you. It's Hermione."

The urgency in his voice hung in the air for a moment before the flames died down, leaving a stifling silence behind. Draco rose to his feet, running a hand through his hair. His mind was racing, trying to piece together what had happened.

Hermione had always been the strongest person he knew—the smartest, the most resilient, always able to handle whatever was thrown her way. But something had cracked in her. Something had slipped through the cracks of her ever-calm façade. And it had shattered her in a way Draco hadn't seen coming.

A sob threatened to escape him, but he swallowed it down, willing himself to stay composed.

Just hold on, Granger. Please.

Moments later, the fire blazed once more. This time, Pansy's sharp face materialised in the flames, her eyes instantly narrowing as she took in Draco's appearance.

"Draco, what's happened?" Her voice, usually dripping with sarcasm or amusement, was now laced with genuine concern.

"It's bad," Draco muttered, his voice hollow. "She—she tried to overdose on calming potions."

Pansy's face paled, and behind her, he appeared, his tall frame tense as he leaned over to hear better.

"Bloody hell," Theo breathed, his normally carefree demeanour evaporating in an instant. "Is she…?"

"She's alive," Draco cut in quickly, but his voice wavered. "But she's in the hospital. They said if I hadn't found her in time…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

For a beat, there was only the crackling of the fire and the weight of what Draco had said.

"We're coming," Pansy declared, her tone firm. "Don't you dare leave her side until we get there."

The fire flared and died as they vanished from the Floo, leaving Draco once again alone with his thoughts. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he stared into the embers. Every second dragged on like an eternity. He couldn't sit still, couldn't stand the quiet. The silence gnawed at him, a cruel reminder of how close he had come to losing the one person who had come to mean everything to him.

~~~~~~

Minutes felt like hours as Draco stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, waiting for the unmistakable whoosh of the Floo. The silence in the manor was oppressive, each second dragging on as his thoughts raced back to Hermione—her pale skin, her trembling form, and the empty potion bottles scattered on the floor. His heart clenched painfully at the memory.

He had found her just in time, but the image of her lying there, so fragile and broken, haunted him.

Finally, the fireplace flared with green flames, and out stepped Pansy and Theo, their faces a mixture of concern and determination. Pansy's usual biting sarcasm was nowhere to be found, replaced by a softness in her eyes that was reserved for only the most serious of moments. Theo immediately assessed the situation without needing a word.

Draco wasted no time. "I need you both to help me," he said, his voice thick with urgency. "I need Hermione to feel safe again. The manor... it's not the place for her right now. Too many memories. Too much pressure. I need you to prepare her old cottage. Make it perfect for her. Move everything—her cat, her books, whatever she needs."

Pansy raised an eyebrow, concern flickering in her sharp eyes. "The cottage? You think she'll want to go back there after... everything?"

Draco nodded, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's the only place she was truly herself. Before the war, before the marriage act, before all this... madness. I think it's what she needs."

Theo stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Draco's shoulder. "Consider it done. We'll handle everything. You just focus on Hermione."

Draco's jaw tightened, and he gave a short nod. "Thank you."

Without another word, they turned and disappeared back into the Floo, their mission clear. Draco stood for a moment, staring into the fading green flames, before his gaze shifted to the empty corridor leading to Hermione's room in St. Mungo's. The echo of her name caught in his throat as he forced himself to move.

~~~~~~

They wasted no time as they flooed back to the Malfoy's penthouse. Pansy's heels clicked sharply against the floor as she moved with purpose, her mind racing with the gravity of the situation. "You know, Draco's always been tough, but this… this is different," Pansy muttered, more to herself than Theo.

Theo, who was already gathering a few things they might need, paused and glanced at her. "He's scared. And if anyone knows what it's like to hide fear behind control, it's him."

She let out a sharp breath. "Yeah, but Hermione… she's strong too. The strongest of us all in a lot of ways. It's just… people like that, they crack sometimes. The pressure builds until—"

"Until it all comes crashing down," he finished quietly.

Pansy nodded, grabbing a small pile of Hermione's favourite blankets, ones she had given her after the war. "Come on, we have work to do."

With swift efficiency, they packed up everything that might bring Hermione comfort—her books, her writing supplies, the few personal items she had brought with her to the manor after the forced marriage. Everything had to be perfect. They couldn't afford to leave anything behind that might help Draco bring her back from the brink.

As they moved through the penthouse, Pansy knelt down and opened the carrier for Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, who had been sitting on the windowsill, blissfully unaware of the chaos surrounding him. The ginger half-Kneazle padded over to Pansy, rubbing his head against her leg in a lazy greeting. "Come on, beast," she murmured, gently lifting him into the carrier. "You're coming with us."

Theo, now carrying several enchanted bags filled with Hermione's things, glanced over at her. "Think we have everything?"

"Everything that matters," Pansy said, closing the door behind her as they headed for the Floo once more.

~~~~~

Hermione's cottage had once been her sanctuary. It was nestled in a quiet, secluded area just outside the village of Ottery St., where the sounds of everyday life faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustling of trees and the distant hum of nature. It had been the one place she'd felt entirely in control of her life, the one place untouched by the complexities of war or politics.

They Apparated to the front door, and immediately, Pansy set to work. "This place needs to feel like home again," she said, her voice firm.

He nodded, taking in the modest cottage. It was charming, with ivy growing along the stone walls and a wooden door that had clearly seen better days. It was worlds away from the grandeur of Malfoy Manor, but it was cosy, intimate—everything Hermione needed right now.

They moved quickly, transforming the space with a careful touch. Pansy meticulously placed Hermione's belongings around the cottage, making sure everything was exactly how she would remember it. He cleaned the place with a few quick spells, tidying up the dust that had settled during her time away. Crookshanks, now free from his carrier, wandered lazily through the house, occasionally rubbing against a chair leg or curling up in his favourite spot near the fireplace.

Pansy paused in the middle of setting up Hermione's favourite books on the shelf and looked around. The cottage was warm again, like it had been before the weight of the world had settled onto Hermione's shoulders. She glanced at him, who had just finished setting the table with fresh flowers and tea. "It feels like her, doesn't it?"

He nodded slowly. "It does. I hope it's enough."

Pansy exhaled softly, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through her composed exterior. "It has to be. She's done so much for us... we have to help her find herself again."

~~~~~~

Draco arrived just as the sun began to set, his heart heavy but his mind determined. The cottage looked exactly as he remembered it—the small garden, the stone path leading to the front door, the soft glow of light inside. It was simple but welcoming, just as it had always been.

Pansy greeted him at the door with a quiet nod. "Everything's ready."

"How is she?" He asked quietly, his brow furrowed with concern.

"She's... tired. She'll be home soon," Draco replied, his voice raw but steady.

Pansy crossed her arms, her eyes softening as she glanced at Draco. "She's strong, Draco. She's going to come through this."

"I know," he said, though the doubt still lingered at the edges of his mind. "I just… I just need to make sure she's okay. I need her to know she's not alone."

"And she won't be," he added firmly. "You have us. She has us."

Draco's gaze swept the cottage, taking in all the small touches they had made. The place felt warm, welcoming—exactly what Hermione needed. He nodded in appreciation. "Thank you. Both of you."

Pansy smiled softly, placing a hand on Draco's arm. "We're all in this together, Nevie. Now go and take care of her."

With a final glance at the cottage, Draco knew it was time. Time to bring her home.

~~~~~~

A sharp, insistent knocking shattered the fragile quiet of the night, jolting them from a sleep laced with exhaustion and unease. Draco stirred first, blinking away the haze of half-formed dreams as his fingers instinctively sought his wand, a reflex carved into him by years of war. The knocking came again, more urgent this time, a discordant intrusion in the hush of their secluded world.

With a questioning glance at Hermione, he rose, muscles tense with apprehension. He moved toward the door with silent precision, wand poised. Hermione followed closely, her own grip tightening around her wand.

"Who in Merlin's name could be knocking at this ungodly hour?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He shook his head, a sliver of unease threading through his features. "Stay behind me, love," he murmured, his voice steady despite the disquiet gnawing at his gut.

He cracked the door open just enough to see, and relief rushed through him like a sudden exhale. Standing in the moonlit doorway were Pansy, Blaise, and Theo, their expressions etched with concern.

Pansy rolled her eyes, though the flicker of worry in her gaze betrayed her. "For Salazar's sake, you two look like you've just seen a Dementor."

Blaise smirked, though his usual dry amusement was softened by something more genuine. "Apologies for disturbing your beauty sleep, but we thought it was time for a little intervention, wouldn't you agree?"

Theo surprised them both with an uncharacteristically broad grin. "Figured we shouldn't let you lovebirds hoard all the trauma. Sharing is caring."

Draco exhaled, a mixture of exasperation and gratitude in his voice. "You lot have impeccable timing, as always," he muttered, stepping aside. "Come in. But next time, send a bloody owl first."

A faint smile tugged at Hermione's lips, the first in what felt like days. As she stepped back to let them inside, she arched a brow. "It's good to see you all. But why exactly are you here?"

Pansy shrugged, her bravado wavering just enough to reveal something more genuine. "News travels fast, Granger," she said, voice softer than usual. "We heard. And we were worried."

Blaise nodded, his gaze flickering between Draco and Hermione. "We've all danced with our own demons," he admitted gruffly. "And sometimes, the only way to keep from drowning is to let someone pull you back."

Pansy reached out, squeezing Hermione's hand—an offering of solidarity, no words needed. "Like it or not, you're family now. And we protect our own."

What a charming little band of the emotionally maimed .

The pre-dawn gloom gradually gave way to the golden glow of morning, casting long streaks of light across the cottage floor. The hours passed in a strange, comforting rhythm—clinking teacups, murmured reassurances, laughter that bubbled up unexpectedly between the cracks of old wounds.

Memories unfurled like old parchment—mischief made and secrets whispered, battles fought and scars left unseen. Their shared history wove itself into something unbreakable, a tether binding them not just as survivors, but as something more: a family forged in war and tempered in love.

As the sun climbed higher, stretching its light into forgotten corners, Hermione felt a shift. The weight that had threatened to consume her felt just a little lighter, steadied by the hands that held her up. They weren't alone in their darkness.

And together, they'd find their way back to the light.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.

~~~~~~

The soft scent of chamomile and parchment greeted Luna as she stepped inside Hermione's cottage, her eyes drinking in the warmth of the space. The cottage was a perfect reflection of its owners—cozy yet sophisticated, with books stacked neatly beside plush armchairs and the occasional touch of whimsy peeking through in the form of floating candles or enchanted quills lazily scribbling notes in the margins of forgotten parchments. It felt lived in, cherished, a sanctuary carved out of the chaos that had once consumed them all.

The moment Hermione saw her, her face lit up with an unrestrained joy that softened the weariness lingering in her eyes. "Oh, babes, I'm so happy you're here!" she exclaimed, moving forward to pull Luna into a warm embrace.

She returned the hug, her lips curling into a bright smile. "Of course! I came to have some fun today," she said, her usual airy lilt tinged with something playful, something reassuring.

Hermione chuckled, linking their arms together as she led her further inside. "Let's settle in the living room. I have tea and biscuits, and, if I may say so myself, I think I've finally perfected my shortbread."

The late afternoon light poured through the window, casting golden streaks across the wooden floors. The entire space was bathed in a soft glow, as if the universe itself conspired to make this moment feel safe, untouched by the shadows of the past. As they sank into the plush armchairs, Luna let her gaze drift across the room, taking in the little details—the stack of well-loved books on the coffee table, the delicate embroidery on the throw pillows, the framed photograph of Draco and Hermione tucked beside the fireplace.

"Your home is beautiful," she murmured, her voice sincere. "You and Draco have really made it a sanctuary."

Hermione ducked her head slightly, a shy smile playing at her lips as she reached for the teapot. "Thank you. We've worked hard to make it ours. A place that feels... safe."

She hummed in understanding, watching as Hermione poured their tea with practiced grace. She leaned back against the cushions, cradling the warm porcelain between her fingers. "I'm so glad to be here. It's always a delight to escape into your world, even just for a little while."

Hermione glanced up, her expression softening. "Honestly, your visits brighten my days. I always look forward to them."

Luna smiled, but a flicker of concern crossed her gaze as she studied her friend. "How are you feeling, truly? I've been worried about you."

Hermione hesitated, the easy warmth in her expression faltering for just a second. "How much do you know?" she asked carefully, setting her cup down.

Her fingers traced absent patterns against the rim of her teacup as she considered her words. "Draco wanted us to give you space," she said gently, "so I figured you'd open up when you were ready." Her voice was steady, unwavering in its kindness. "Right now, I just want to know how you're feeling."

Hermione took a slow, measured breath, her hands folding neatly in her lap. "I'm better now," she admitted, her voice even but laced with something raw beneath the surface. "We're in therapy—both individually and together. It's helping." A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips. "Honestly, your weekly biscuits have been more of a bright spot than you know. They cheered me up more than I expected."

Her smile turned knowing, as if she had already predicted the answer. "I'm so glad to hear that. It's a small thing, but I hoped it would bring you comfort." Reaching across the table, she took Hermione's hand in hers, squeezing gently. "Remember, love, you're not alone in this. We're all here for you."

Something flickered in Hermione's gaze—hesitation, then resolve. A storm of emotions swirled beneath the surface, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came at first. Her fingers clenched around her teacup, the tension visible in the way her knuckles whitened. Finally, she inhaled sharply, her voice barely above a whisper, weighed down with guilt.

"Luna," she said, her throat tight, her eyes glistening with unspoken turmoil. "I did something… something unforgivable."

Her gaze remained steady, unshaken by the gravity of Hermione's words. She set her teacup down with deliberate ease, tilting her head slightly. "What happened, babe?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with quiet curiosity.

Hermione's breath hitched, and suddenly, her composure cracked like shattered glass. She tried to speak, to force the words out, but they caught in her throat like a noose tightening around her resolve. Her chest heaved as the first sob broke free, her shoulders trembling under the weight of it all.

"I… I… oh fuck," she gasped, covering her face with her hands as the tears spilled over. She tried to hold it together, to swallow the shame and the fear clawing at her insides, but the confession felt too large, too heavy. Finally, between ragged breaths, the words escaped her lips in a broken whisper.

"I poisoned Lucius."

The weight of the confession settled between them like a dense fog, thick and suffocating. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill of her words. Hermione's fingers dug into her lap, her shoulders hunched, waiting—expecting—judgment, horror, something that mirrored the guilt clawing at her insides.

But Luna didn't flinch.

Not even for a second.

Instead, something almost amused danced in the depths of her silver-blue eyes, and then—Luna Lovegood, dreamer, healer, enigma—smirked. The expression was soft, lazy even, but there was something sharp behind it, something knowing.

"Good for you, love."

Hermione's breath hitched, her tear-streaked face lifting in pure disbelief. "What?" she whispered, as if she had misheard.

She simply leaned back, crossing her legs as she reached for her tea, her movements unhurried, deliberate. "I said," she repeated, her tone as light as if they were discussing the weather, "good for you."

Hermione blinked rapidly, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Luna," she said, her voice laced with desperation. "I killed a man."

Luna swirled her tea absentmindedly, watching the way the liquid spun in hypnotic circles. "Did he deserve it?"

Hermione's breath caught. A fresh wave of emotion surged in her chest, tangled and messy, and yet—something about her quiet certainty, her complete lack of judgment, made the confession feel less like a life sentence and more like an inevitability.

"Yes," she admitted, her voice hoarse. "He did."

Luna didn't react with shock or horror, nor did she recoil the way Hermione had feared. Instead, she simply sipped her tea, her expression as calm and knowing as ever, as though this revelation had done nothing to shake her view of Hermione. "Then why are you crying?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was soft, not unkind, but utterly matter-of-fact, as if the weight of life and death had long since stopped surprising her. "You didn't kill an innocent, Mimi."

Hermione blinked, searching her face, waiting for the inevitable judgment—the tightening of features, the slight change in tone, the subtle recoil that always followed confessions like these. But there was none. Just Luna, serene as ever, her silver-blue eyes watching her like she already understood every thought racing through Hermione's mind.

"You're not shocked?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her fingers tightened around hers in a silent gesture of reassurance. "I am not," she answered simply, her voice smooth, unhurried. "We've all done unforgivable things. The universe will handle the consequences in its own way." Her words carried no condemnation, no moral grandstanding—just a quiet certainty, as if she had long accepted that morality was never as black and white as people liked to pretend. "I did what I did out of love and necessity. I assume you did the same."

Hermione swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she nodded. "I did."

Luna exhaled softly, releasing her hand but keeping her gaze locked onto hers. "Then it's not my place to judge," she murmured, her tone carrying an unwavering finality. "We all have our paths and our reasons. What matters is that we move forward and stand by each other through it all."

Hermione studied her, trying to make sense of how easily Luna had accepted something that had been eating her alive. "It's hard to imagine you've done anything wrong in your life, babe," she admitted, her voice tinged with curiosity, maybe even disbelief.

A wistful smile ghosted across her lips. "I have," she admitted, quieter now, as if confessing a secret to the wind. "I've made my share of mistakes. I've faced my demons." Her gaze flickered toward the window, where the last rays of sunlight stretched across the horizon, casting the sky in hues of amber and violet. "But I'm still me."

Hermione followed her gaze, something heavy settling in her chest. She had spent so long drowning in guilt, in the idea that what she had done had fundamentally changed her, tainted her. But Luna? She sat there, light as air, as if she had already walked through fire and made peace with the burns.

" When the game is over ," Luna continued, her voice impossibly soft, " the king and the pawn are thrown in the same box. "

Hermione mulled over those words, letting them settle in her mind. There was something freeing about them, a quiet truth that made the tightness in her chest ease just a little. "That's true," she murmured.

She turned back to her, the warmth in her gaze unwavering. "I've made peace with my past," she said gently, but there was strength in those words, the kind that came from surviving things that no one ever spoke about. "And I suggest that when the time comes, you do the same. It's not about the mistakes we've made, but how we handle them, and how we move forward."

Hermione inhaled slowly, steadying herself. Maybe Luna was right. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as lost as she thought.

As Hermione opened her mouth to respond, the rustling sound of paws against the wooden floor filled the room, a familiar presence making itself known. Moments later, Crookshanks sauntered in with his usual air of superiority, his thick golden fur catching the light as he moved with the confidence of a king inspecting his domain. His amber eyes flicked toward the newcomers, his tail flicking once in quiet acknowledgment before he turned his gaze toward Hermione, as if assessing whether she was worthy of his attention at that moment.

Her face instantly brightened, her expression filled with delighted reverence. "Oh, look at you," she cooed, her voice lilting with warmth. "You've grown even more majestic, haven't you? The wise and noble Crookshanks, the guardian of this cottage."

Crookshanks, however, was unimpressed with the praise, as if he already knew of his own magnificence and saw no reason to acknowledge such an obvious truth. With a regal air, he leapt onto Hermione's lap, his weight settling in comfortably as he stared up at her with a knowing gaze. It was a look that spoke volumes—one of both affection and unspoken wisdom, as if he understood far more than anyone ever gave him credit for.

Hermione let out a soft chuckle, reaching up to scratch behind his tufted ears, her fingers weaving through the familiar, dense fur. "He's been extra clingy lately," she murmured, the comforting purr vibrating against her touch.

Luna grinned, watching the exchange. "Smart boy. He knows you need a little extra love."

Hermione's fingers slowed as she considered that, her gaze softening as she looked down at her faithful companion. "Maybe," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "Maybe he does."

Luna took a slow sip of her tea, watching as Crookshanks curled into Hermione's lap, his purr a steady, rhythmic hum that seemed to fill the space with something unspoken but deeply reassuring. The weight of their earlier conversation still lingered, the revelations they had shared not forgotten, but there was something lighter now too—something that edged closer to peace, or at least the possibility of it.

The moment stretched between them, comfortable and unforced, a reminder of the quiet strength found in friendship.

Hermione's chuckle broke the silence as she stroked Crookshanks again, her touch absentminded but full of warmth. "Gentle, Crooks," she murmured, her voice soft, instinctual, as if she had spoken those words a hundred times before.

Crookshanks, in turn, let out a long, deep purr, his tail twitching lazily against Hermione's thigh. He had deemed the conversation acceptable, the atmosphere to his liking. He would stay.

She observed the scene with quiet admiration, her lips curling into a gentle smile. "It's remarkable, isn't it?" she mused, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. "How something as simple as a purr can bring such comfort?"

Hermione nodded, her gaze lingering on the content feline sprawled across her lap. "It really is," she murmured, tracing small circles through his fur. "Sometimes, it's the smallest things that make the biggest difference."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione cleared her throat, as if gathering her thoughts before speaking again. Her eyes glistened slightly, but there was no hesitation in her voice. "Babes," she said softly, looking at her with a rare kind of vulnerability, "I never told you this, but you are an amazing friend. From the moment we met, your kindness, your ability to see the world differently—it's been nothing short of inspiring. You've been a constant source of light, even when everything else felt dark."

Luna tilted her head slightly, absorbing Hermione's words with an expression of quiet appreciation. She wasn't often one to express herself so openly, and she understood the weight of what she was saying.

Hermione continued, her voice steady but full of emotion. "You've faced so much with grace and unwavering strength. You've supported me in ways I can't even begin to put into words. And now, watching you as a mother, I'm in awe of you. You love so fiercely, so openly, and it's beautiful to witness. You bring joy to those around you. And you remind me, even in moments like this, that there's still magic in the world."

Her eyes shimmered, the words settling deep into her heart. There were few things in life as powerful as feeling seen, truly seen, and Hermione's words had done just that.

The room fell into a brief, comfortable silence before Luna finally spoke, her voice soft but unwavering. "Mimi," she began, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently, "you have no idea how much that means to me. And how much you mean to me."

She took a steady breath before continuing, her fingers tightening ever so slightly. "Your friendship has been a guiding light through some of my own darkest moments. From the very beginning, your intelligence, your compassion, your sheer determination—it's been a source of inspiration for me. You are, without a doubt, one of the strongest people I know."

A warm, affectionate smile spread across her lips as she glanced down at Crookshanks, then back up at Hermione. "And despite everything, despite how much you've endured, you've never stopped being you. You've never stopped loving, protecting, and fighting for the people who matter. That, my love, is the kind of magic that no spell could ever replicate."

Hermione swallowed thickly, touched in a way she hadn't expected to be. She had spent so much time focusing on the things she regretted, the choices she wished she could undo, that she had forgotten—at least for a moment—that she was still worthy of love, of friendship, of the kindness Luna so easily extended to her.

"I don't deserve you," she whispered, her lips trembling slightly.

She shook her head, her smile unfaltering. "You do. And more."

They sat there for a long moment, hands still entwined, the room filled with something beyond words. A quiet understanding. A bond that neither time nor darkness could break.

Finally, Hermione exhaled, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Always," she replied, her tone carrying the certainty of a promise.

As the golden light of the setting sun painted the room in warm hues, their conversation shifted to softer things—memories, inside jokes, dreams for the future. They spoke of old adventures and imagined new ones, the weight of the past not gone but less suffocating.

When the time came for goodbyes, they embraced tightly, the warmth of their friendship lingering in the air. Crookshanks stretched lazily before rubbing against her legs, his version of approval.

"It was wonderful having you here," Hermione said as she walked her to the door.

She smiled, her eyes gleaming. "It was a special day. We'll do this again soon."

And with that, she stepped into the cool evening, the tranquility of the visit wrapping around her like a cloak. As she walked home beneath the soft glow of the stars, she carried with her the quiet assurance that, no matter what, they would always have each other.

~~~~~~

She returned home to a sight that instantly melted away the fatigue of the day. The warm glow of the dimmed lamps bathed the living room in a golden hue, casting soft shadows over the scene before her. Stretched out across the sofa, deep in sleep, was Theo, his usually sharp, ever-alert form now completely relaxed. His breathing was steady, his arm draped protectively over Lady, who had claimed his chest as her resting place.

The little pug, often a bundle of relentless energy, was nestled against him, her tiny body rising and falling in perfect sync with his breaths. It was an image so tender, so unexpectedly sweet, that she felt an overwhelming surge of love swell in her chest. This was the Theo she cherished most—not the assassin, not the strategist, not the guarded man hardened by years of blood and war—but the one who, in the safety of their home, could be something softer, something purely hers.

A soft smile played on her lips as she stepped forward, careful not to wake either of them. For a moment, she simply stood there, drinking in the sight, her heart full of warmth and quiet amusement. Who would have thought? The ever-stoic, ruthless Theodore Nott, brought to such domestic bliss by a tiny, snoring dog.

As if sensing her presence, he stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked sleepily before his gaze found hers, and despite the haze of sleep still clinging to him, a slow, lazy smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"How was your day with Granger?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

She moved to the sofa, kneeling beside him, her fingers instinctively brushing a few stray strands of hair from his forehead. "Joyful," she replied, her tone as soft as her touch. "I do love her."

He let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, shifting just enough to stretch his limbs without disturbing Lady. "I know, my love," he said, reaching for her hand. His fingers laced through hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "I could see how much it meant to you."

She chuckled, her gaze flickering between him and the pug sprawled across his chest. "Looks like you've made a new friend while I was away."

He scoffed, though his hand absently stroked Lady's fur. "She was insistent," he muttered, glancing down at the small dog still snoring blissfully against him. "I wasn't planning on falling asleep, but she made herself comfortable."

She bit her lip to hold back a laugh, her heart warming at the begrudging affection in his voice. "It's good to see you like this," she whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his temple. "You deserve to rest."

He sighed, his eyes slipping shut again, as if lulled by her presence alone. "It's easier when you're home," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her fingers traced soothing circles on his arm as she settled beside him, her body fitting effortlessly against his. "And it's good to see you with Lady. She seems quite attached to you."

One of his eyes cracked open, flicking down toward the pug still burrowed against him. "Don't get used to it," he grumbled, though the way his hand absentmindedly continued to stroke the small creature betrayed the truth.

She merely smiled, shifting to tuck herself more comfortably into his side. "I think I will," she murmured, her voice light with amusement. "I think I'll get very used to it."

The evening had settled into a comfortable stillness, but something gnawed at the edges of her mind. A lingering unease, a whisper of something unresolved. She sat up slightly, studying him with an expression he instantly recognized—the look she wore when something serious needed to be addressed.

"She killed Lucius," she said suddenly, her voice even, but carrying a weight that made him look up immediately. No hesitation. No preamble. Just the truth, laid bare between them.

His gaze darkened, but not in surprise. Slowly, he nodded, his expression unreadable. "I know," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Draco told me."

A flicker of frustration crossed her face. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, the hurt evident beneath her measured tone. "I could have been more gentle with her, more understanding."

He exhaled deeply, rubbing a tired hand over his face. He had known this moment would come. "I promised Draco I wouldn't tell anyone," he explained, his voice laced with regret. "He was trying to protect her… and us, in his own way."

Her expression softened at his words, but the seriousness in her eyes didn't waver. She reached for his arm, her fingers grazing his skin, grounding him. "I understand promises, my Sun," she said gently, her voice as steady as her touch. "I know why you did it. But we need to be honest with each other, especially about things like this. It's the only way we can navigate these difficult situations together, as a family."

Her words struck something deep within him, something that sent a wave of guilt through his chest. He had always sworn to protect her, to shield her from the worst parts of their world—but she had never asked for that. She had always been his equal, his partner, his anchor. And he had made a mistake in shutting her out.

He reached for her hands, pulling her closer, letting his forehead rest against hers. "You're right," he admitted, his voice thick with sincerity. "I should have told you. We're partners in this—always. I never want to keep anything from you again."

Liar.

She playfully nudged him as they sat together in the living room, a mischievous grin on her face. "I mentioned to you after the girls' night out how big Neville is," she said casually, testing the waters.

His reaction was immediate and over-the-top. He practically jumped off the sofa, eyes wide with exaggerated horror. "NO, NOT AGAIN!" he shouted, throwing his hands up as if warding off a particularly terrifying curse. "I should wash my brain with a cactus now!"

She burst into laughter, her joy bubbling up uncontrollably at his dramatic display. "Oh, stop it, my love! It's just harmless gossip. Besides, you very much enjoy a bit of gossip."

Theo, still reeling from the shock, shook his head vehemently, like a dog trying to shake off water. "I do not want to hear any kind of gossip like that!" he insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. "What happened to discussing the weather or debating the latest Quidditch match? Those are perfectly safe topics!"

She leaned in closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, you're telling me you don't want to hear how Matilda from the farmers' market is cheating on her husband?" she teased, her tone light and teasing.

He froze mid-protest, his dramatic act faltering as curiosity got the better of him. "Wait, Matilda? The one who sells those incredible apples?" he asked, his tone now laced with intrigue.

She nodded, a knowing smile on her lips. "Yes, that Matilda. Interested now?"

He, trying to maintain some semblance of his earlier dignity, cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "Well… that's the kind of gossip I'm more comfortable with," he admitted, failing to hide the eagerness in his voice. "I mean, who wouldn't want to know about that? The apples might be cursed!"

She shook her head, still laughing. "You're impossible."

"I'm just a man with very specific tastes in gossip," he declared, settling back into the sofa with an air of mock sophistication.

"And apparently, a very low tolerance for anything remotely scandalous," she added, giggling as she cuddled closer to him.

He sighed dramatically, putting an arm around her. "I'm simply a gentleman. That's all."

She smiled up at him, her eyes full of affection. "A gentleman with a weakness for juicy stories. You're one of a kind, Theodore."

"And don't you forget it," he replied with a playful wink, finally relaxing as he enjoyed the banter with his wife.

As they sat down to eat, their conversation flowed easily, touching on plans for the weekend and the latest antics of their son. The atmosphere was filled with comfort and familiarity, each enjoying the other's company.

After dinner, they cleared the table together, a practised dance of shared tasks and laughter. With the dishes washed and put away, they retired to the living room, where they settled in, the soft hum of conversation continuing late into the evening.