Chapter Text
Interlude - Theo
Theodore had never known true pain until the day he Obliviated Hermione. He had never reached so deep into the darkest parts of himself, never mourned so fiercely for a love he might never reclaim. “We’ll find a way,” Draco had told him. But it sounded more like an attempt to convince Draco himself than Theo.
As Theo walked past the whispering portraits of the Hogwarts corridors, their hushed voices blurred into background noise. He barely heard them. His feet carried him on instinct, back to where it had all started. Every stone he passed seemed to echo with memory, a silent witness to the love he’d lost and the choices that continued to haunt him.
They failed.
He failed.
No matter how often he tried to convince himself there was nothing else he could’ve done, the truth always clawed its way back to the surface. He failed her. And because of him, she got hurt. Because of him, she didn’t remember him.
Returning to Hogwarts for an eighth year felt like a cruel joke. He cared about nothing—not the classes, not the politics, not the empty conversations, or even the reforming he was supposed to be doing. All that mattered were the fleeting glimpses of her .
The curve of her smile. The way she bit her lip while studying. The rare, accidental brushes of their hands or arms in passing that sent lightning through his chest. He collected those moments like sacred relics, something to carry with him through the quiet ache of the years to come.
Every time their eyes met, he hoped—hoped for a flicker of recognition, a spark of something she had forgotten. But each time, he found only emptiness and a bit of animosity, and the heartbreak carved a little deeper into him.
A heavy sigh escaped him as he stepped into his dorm room and sank onto the edge of his bed. His thoughts, as always, were consumed by her. He wondered where she was, what she was doing, and who she was with. The longing was unbearable–and yet, it was all he had.
He remembered the day Ron Weasley stormed through the corridors like a man possessed, trying to stop Draco and Harry from being together. Theo had watched as the redheaded fool turned on her , raising his voice in the middle of the hallway. The moment he saw her flinch, Theo had nearly lost all control. His wand was halfway drawn before he reminded himself that dismembering the Weasel in public would do nothing but horrify the woman he loved.
His wife.
She didn’t remember, but that didn’t make it any less true.
Now, he thought of all the ways he could make her fall in love with him again. Start fresh. She didn’t have to know the truth—not all of it. She was already warming up to Draco again, laughing with him, exchanging knowing glances like old friends rediscovering their rhythm. Maybe that was his in. Maybe this time, he could do things right.
But what if she did remember?
What if the vow did as intended and killed her?
What if it didn’t?
His thoughts spiraled, threatening to drive him mad, and a flicker of light caught his eye. He turned sharply. His small black leather-bound journal— the journal—was glowing softly. The one she had given him. The one linked to hers.
She was writing in it.
Theo’s breath caught in his throat. Could it be? Had his Obliviation failed? Did some part of her remember ?
Hope ignited like a match in the darkness.
Nearly tripping over himself, Theo launched toward the journal, hands trembling as he snatched it up. He flipped through the pages frantically, breath shallow, heart hammering in his chest—
There it was.
Her signature scrawl. That familiar, slightly hurried but still beautiful, handwriting.
His wide eyes read the words as they appeared in front of him, disbelief and something dangerously close to joy crashing through him all at once.
Dear my new dream journal,
I’ve been having the same dream over and over recently, and last night was no different. Another dream. That dream. Starring my mystery man.
I was surrounded by the smell of parchment and old textbooks, blindfolded, restrained with magic to a hard surface, completely vulnerable. And yet, I wasn’t afraid. The man—faceless, nameless—treated me with a kind of reverence I’ve never known. He touched me like I was something precious, something to be worshiped. Every kiss, every caress felt deliberate, almost desperate.
And the worst part? I liked it. No. I loved it.
Even now, hours later, I can still feel the ghost of his hands, his mouth. I woke up breathless, flushed, completely undone. Knickers ruined.
I’ve never experienced anything like this before—certainly not in real life. Which leads me to the troubling question: why now?
Is it the trauma? Am I disassociating in my sleep, creating fantasies to cope with everything I’ve buried? I’ve read about this kind of response. Repressed desires that emerge in dreams, the mind attempting to reclaim some sense of power or control. It’s plausible. It’s textbook, actually.
And yet, there’s something about the man in the dream. He feels familiar. Not by face as he has a blurred one, but by presence. The way he makes me feel.
Safe. Wanted. Most importantly, desired.
It’s maddening. I hate that I’m affected by it. I hate that I want it again.
And I hate that I wake up missing him.
— HG
Theo read her words three more times before finally setting the journal down, stunned into silence. The dream—it wasn’t just fantasy. It was a memory . A fragmented echo of their memory.
She didn’t remember him in her mind, not consciously. But her body did.
His chest tightened with something dangerously close to hope. That night— their first night—when he had shown her just how deeply desired she could feel, how completely worshiped she could be… she remembered. Maybe not clearly, not logically, but deep in her bones, in her magic , the imprint of him was still there.
Theo exhaled shakily and closed the journal, then layered it with at least a dozen protection charms. He couldn’t risk anyone getting their hands on it—not Draco, not Granger, not anyone.
She was dreaming of him .
Maybe he’d never have to tell her the truth after all. Maybe he could draw it out of her, coax it from the part of her that already remembered. Once he had her again, once she truly felt him, she’d know. She’d remember not just with her mind, but with her soul. And then, the rest wouldn’t matter.
Draco had made Theo promise. No interference. No stunts to trigger her memories. They’d struck a fragile agreement: Theo could visit now and then, spend limited time with her, but only if he didn’t try to bring the past to the surface. Draco feared for her, just as Theo did—especially now that Draco had fallen for Potter. The stakes had never been higher.
But Draco would have to understand.
Because this journal—these words—were proof.
She remembered him.
Theo slipped the journal into his robes, lips curling into a slow, wicked grin as a plan began to take shape.
“It’s time to provoke my beautiful little kitten.”
He longed to feel her claws again.
Present - Hermione
The ritual circle had been drawn in salt and powdered moonstone, carefully measured and etched with runes older than Hogwarts itself. The ancient library of Nott Manor—the place her memory was taken from her—now flickered with candlelight, the shadows dancing along the worn stone walls. The air shimmered faintly with the weight of layered enchantments.
Hermione stood at the center of the circle, her heart pounding against her ribcage. Her bare feet tingled where they touched the cold stone, the runes beneath her pulsing with a faint, rhythmic energy. She wore a flowing cotton dress that brushed the tops of her feet, the ambient magic in the air making the fabric sway and ripple around her legs, sending shivers cascading up her spine. Her hands trembled—but not from fear, but anticipation.
She was ready.
Around her stood the people she trusted most: Harry, quiet and steady at her back; Ginny, a reassuring hand on her arm; Neville, ever calm, offering her a small nod of encouragement. Pansy leaned casually against the far bookcase, fiending indifference but watching closely, while Blaise stood near Draco, wand in hand, eyes sharp and unreadable.
And Draco… he was focused, his expression tightly controlled as he murmured final instructions under his breath to Theo.
Theo. Oh, Theo.
He stepped toward her, crossing the circle with deliberate care. His robes were simple tonight, black as ink, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The silver ring on his wand hand caught the candlelight as he extended it toward her. But he didn’t speak right away. His eyes searched hers first, as if looking for any sign of doubt.
She gave him none.
His voice, when it came, was quiet, meant only for her.
“Ready, kitten?”
The familiar nickname tugged something warm and aching deep inside her chest. She didn’t know exactly when he’d started calling her that. Or rather, she didn’t remember . Not yet. She thought it was after she lost her memory, but Theo informed her he had always called her that. Regardless, the sound of it pulled at something old and tender inside her.
She nodded. “I’m ready.”
Theo stepped back to the edge of the circle, as did all her friends, exchanging a brief look with Draco. Wands were raised. The room fell silent, save for the flicker of candle flames and the soft intake of collective breath.
Harry joined them, and they stood at three points equally spaced from each other around the circle, creating a triangle around Hermione. The three wizards with their wands raised began the incantation, their voices low and steady, ancient syllables flowing like water, winding around her, through her. They had been preparing for the ritual for about a month, she hoped it was enough time, that it would be successful.
The magic felt like silk at first, cool and delicate, but quickly deepened, becoming something denser, heavier. Too much.
Her knees buckled, her friends flinched to go to her, but with Draco’s raised hand, they stopped, only watching Hermione in sympathy. Her knees hit the floor, but to her surprise, it was soft, as if it had been anticipated that it would happen. Theo was always mindful like that, sending cushioning charms when she was on her knees for him.
Her vision blurred, flashes of light blooming behind her eyes.
Then—images. Sounds. Smells.
Laughter. A deep voice calling her name. Fingers brushing her cheek. The taste of expensive elf wine and something darker. A pair of hazel eyes. Hands on her hips. Moonlight through stained glass.
Pain.
A spell. A promise. A memory ripped away.
She gasped, clenching her fists at her sides, grounding herself. It didn’t all come at once—Draco had warned her it would take time. A week, maybe more, for everything to settle. The mind needed to protect itself from overload.
But still— something had returned. A flicker. A thread of a memory she hadn’t had just moments ago.
Theo stepped into the circle once the spell was complete, eyes wide with concern, a bead of sweat, or a tear cascading down his cheek. “Hermione?”
She swayed slightly, then looked up at him and smiled through the tears pooling in her eyes. “I remember… elf wine. And your voice. And—moonlight.”
Theo’s breath caught, and though he didn’t touch her yet, his hands hovered close, aching to.
“The night we snuck into the astronomy tower with wine and nefarious intentions.” He laughed as he fell to his knees and wrapped her in his embrace.
She turned slowly, looking at each of her friends—her family —gathered around her. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Draco gave her a tight smile, clearly trying not to look too emotional. “You’re going to need rest. It’ll come in waves.”
Hermione nodded. She was tired. Bone-deep, soul-deep tired. But beneath that was something else.
She was healing. She was on her way to being whole.
She was loved.
Epilogue - one month later - Theo
“Well, well, well… look what we have here.”
Hermione’s voice—his wife’s voice—slipped into his ears, though his still-sleeping body barely stirred.
At first, Theo had every intention of staying asleep. But there was something in her tone—something wickedly soft—that piqued his interest. Maybe she was planning to wake him up with her mouth again. That would be lovely. Or perhaps with his favorite pancakes?
He’d already been obsessed with the ones X used to make, but since Hermione started making them for him with her tiny, soft hands, he’d become completely addicted.
“Wake up, pretty boy,” she cooed.
Ah. So not pancakes, then. Her tone was anything but innocent.
He loved it when she got like this.
Shifting slightly, Theo quickly realized he couldn’t move much. Interesting. A low groan slipped from his throat as he tried to rouse himself, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“There we go,” she whispered, her breath brushing against his lips—and just like that, his body responded instantly, heat pooling low in his abdomen.
He blinked open his eyes slowly, vision still hazy. And there she was.
His wild-haired, wild-eyed wife hovered above him in all her chaotic, glorious beauty.
And gods, he loved her.
“Hiya, Kitten.” He grinned—until he actually saw her.
And then his smile faltered.
Because, what she was wearing? It was going to kill him.
She was dressed head to toe in black leather, every inch clinging to her like a second skin. Her top pushed her breasts together in a way that should’ve been illegal, her midriff bare save for two sleek black buckles that crisscrossed over her stomach. A tiny leather skirt clung to her hips, barely covering anything, her long legs encased in fishnet tights that had his brain short-circuiting.
He couldn’t see her feet from where he lay, but he’d bet all his galleons she was wearing stilettos—or maybe those all-black boots he secretly hoped she’d step on him with someday.
Merlin, help him. He was doomed .
“Like what you see?” she asked sweetly, her voice dripping with false innocence.
All Theo could do was stare at her cleavage, utterly transfixed, wishing it were his hands pressing her breasts together like that.
“Careful, love,” she teased, giggling softly. “Keep your mouth open like that and you’re bound to drool on yourself.”
Theo snapped his jaw shut with a clack, blinking hard. “Salazar, Hermione…what is this all about?” He tried to mask the anticipation in his voice, but it came out strained, far too eager.
“I’m so glad you asked,” she said, standing up straighter, the shift in posture making her outfit even more dangerous. “Well, it’s about time you got your punishment, dear.”
“My punishment?” he echoed, raising a brow.
“Mhm,” she hummed, beginning a slow, deliberate circle around the bed.
Theo was completely immobilized, wrists and ankles secured with the very restraints he’d bought for her . Muggle sex toys, sturdy and sleek—he’d once teased her about how they’d look on her. He hadn’t exactly expected the tables to turn.
Not that he was complaining. Not yet, anyway. That would depend entirely on what this “punishment” entailed… and what he was being punished for .
“You see, love,” Hermione said, her tone deceptively light, “while we were married, you did some very, very bad things. And as much as you’ve been forgiven—officially—I feel it’s in both our best interests to get this punishment over with. That way, we can finally move on .”
Theo’s eyes widened slightly. “Hermione, you’re still healing…”
“I’m perfectly healed, and you know it.” She shot him a pointed look. “Now, as I was saying…”
She began counting on her fingers, and Theo had the sudden, overwhelming urge to sink through the mattress and disappear.
“One—kissing other witches. Two—blackmailing me into your bed. And three—just being an all-around conniving, Slytherin wanker.”
“Love…” he drawled, trying to sound calm, but it came out more like a whimper.
Hermione tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “How many witches did you kiss exactly?” she asked sweetly, reaching down to the floor just out of Theo’s sight. Her fingers hovered, pausing, waiting—clearly intending to use whatever she was about to grab based on his answer.
Theo’s throat went dry. “Uhh… I didn’t count.”
He swallowed hard.
“If you had to guess, ” she said through gritted teeth.
Theo winced. “Only the ones you saw.”
“So… six witches.”
She gave him a tight, unamused smile as she reached down and retrieved what she’d been feeling for. When she held it up, Theo’s eyes narrowed. It was a ring—a sleek, black one he didn’t recognize. Definitely not his.
“I read about these in one of my books,” she said with a devilish glint in her eye. “It restricts blood flow. Makes you last longer. Keeps things… harder.”
His mouth went dry.
Then, slowly, infuriatingly confident, she reached down between her breasts and pulled out her wand.
Theo’s brain short-circuited.
Hermione climbed onto the bed, straddling him, her knees planted firmly on either side of his hips. With a flick of her wand, his clothes vanished into thin air. He was already sprung to attention, and when she noticed, she gave him a smirk.
She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered sweetly, “Might be best if you picked a safe word.”
“Hermione, my love, what do you plan on doing with that thing?”
She ignored his flailing attempt at charm and leaned in until she was hovering just above his lips. Her breath ghosted across his mouth as she whispered, “ Safe word, Nott. ”
The use of his surname hit him like a curse, dragging him back to that weekend in the Head dorms. The one he’d replayed in his mind more times than he could count.
He remembered the way she’d told him she’d never blown anyone before. It wasn’t true— not really —but she hadn’t remembered. And getting to experience that first time with her all over again had been nothing short of mind-bending. Every time he thought about it, he got hard.
Like now.
“Erm… Pancake?” he muttered, brain only half-functioning.
Hermione snorted, clearly amused, but gave a small nod of approval. His eyes dropped to her lips—so close—and when he tried to lean up for a taste, she pulled back just out of reach.
“Ah, ah,” she tsked. “Today is about what I want .”
“Isn’t it always?” he teased, smirking.
But the way her eyes narrowed, he immediately realized she didn’t find that funny.
And gods, it made him harder.
“Use your safe word if you need to,” she said sweetly, her tone at odds with the dark promise in her eyes. “But I don’t think you’re in any position to tease, Theodore. ”
The use of his full name sent a shiver down his spine.
“I have the power to make your punishment much worse.”
With a casual flick of her wand, his cock was suddenly slick with magic-enhanced lubrication, the cool sensation making him groan. Hermione held up the ring, meeting his eyes deliberately as she brought it to the tip of his cock.
Slowly—almost torturously—she began to slide it down his shaft.
Theo’s breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the sensation built. The slight pressure, the slick warmth of her hands, and the sheer control she held over him sent sparks of pleasure jolting through his body.
He was completely at her mercy. And he loved every second of it.
“Six witches…” she mused aloud, tilting her head with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I think that’s worth six edges.”
“Oh fuck ,” Theo groaned, his head dropping back onto the pillow as the full weight of her plan sank in.
She smiled, wicked and lovely. “You’d better tell me when you’re about to come, husband —or I’ll just have to make you come six times in a row, no matter how sensitive you are.”
Theo gave a shaky nod, but she stilled her hand on him.
“What was that?” she asked, voice deceptively soft.
“Yes, wife ,” Theo said quickly, the words spilling from his lips with reverent obedience.
Hermione’s grip tightened just enough to make him throb, a warning and a reward all at once. He gritted his teeth, already trembling from the blend of anticipation, arousal, and the sheer intensity of being so completely hers.
He could take this for her.
He would .
Legs spread, causing her tight skirt to ride up her thighs and give him a delicious peek of what was at the apex. Nothing. Just her bare beautiful cunt. His cunt.
She slowly glided her hand up and down, watching with glazed eyes at just how she affected him.
Her hand moved with practiced precision—tight, slow strokes that kept him on the edge but never let him tip over. His hips strained against the restraints, but she only smirked, watching him unravel as his muscles tensed, breath hitching. She stopped just in time. Even with the ring now around the base of him, he was about to come, because that was what Hermione did to him. She unraveled him in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
Theo let out a strangled breath, blinking up at the ceiling. One down.
“That’s one, Nott. Can you handle five more just like it? Or maybe I should tempt you even more.”
Before he could respond, her mouth lowered to him, her hand still working him while her tongue flicked the sensitive underside of his head. It was maddening. He bit his lip hard, barely keeping it together as the fire built again. She sucked lightly, then stopped—too soon, not soon enough. He was a whimpering mess for her.
His entire body shook. His cock throbbed. How was it possible he was so close already? How was it possible that she knew exactly what to do to make him no better than a feral animal
“Hmmm,” She hummed, her mouth around the head, and his eyes rolled.
Fuck.
“I’ll come if you keep doing that, kitten.”
Hermione pulled away with a grin, and Theo slumped, finally getting a few deep breaths he needed. Although she wasn’t touching him, his cock throbbed even harder than before. It was feeling horrifically engorged and heavy.
He stared at it with wide eyes. “What the fuck.”
“How does it feel?”
“Like if you move an inch, I’ll come.” He practically cried.
“Good,” She chirped and with the wave of her wand, the fucking ring began to vibrate. Pulsing vibrations.
Pre-come seeped from the tip, and he couldn’t speak, only felt himself get to the edge and release over and over.
Each time it vibrated should count as an edge, but he was in no position to argue or even speak.
This time, she didn’t tease. She swallowed him down, lips and tongue moving in slow, sinfully perfect sync. He wanted to grab her hair, to guide her, but the restraints held. His hands fisted in the sheets instead.
He almost didn’t tell her.
He was right there, the edge of orgasm so sharp it hurt—and then she pulled off.
He cried out, his thighs trembling violently, the ache almost unbearable now.
“Love, please.” The words left his mouth before he could process them.
“Hmm, I like you begging.” She teased and leaned forward to peck him on the lips. “You’re doing so well. Just a few more.”
The fourth and fifth edges were a blur. Painfully good. Exquisite torment. She knew exactly what she was doing. His body was a live wire, every nerve ending burning for release.
He was wrecked—gloriously ruined—mind completely empty, his body at her mercy. He didn’t care. He would die the happiest man just like that. At his wife’s mercy.
She gave him a few moments of reprieve, before she stopped the vibrations that were melting his brain and vanished the ring from his cock.
Holy Fuck.
She climbed over him, wild and radiant, her eyes locked on his as she slowly sank down onto him. He gasped, head falling back against the pillow, straining with every ounce of control he had left.
“You’ve been such a good boy,” she whispered, rocking her hips slowly. “Just one more, love. Make me come, then it’ll be your turn.”
She was a feral animal. He watched, mouth open, no longer caring if he was drooling all over the place as she ground herself on him with wild abandon. She was glorious.
Her tits bounced, her skirt was around her hips now and she leaned forward, placing her hands on his chest moaning his name as she rubbed her clit against his pelvic bone, chasing her pleasure.
She came on him with a soft cry, her walls pulsing around his cock as he held himself back with everything he had left. His body was trembling violently, his arms aching from the restraint, his heart pounding like a war drum.
She slumped down on him, her skin damp with the sweat of her effort. He wished to wrap his arms around her and tell her how good she was coming for him.
With a flick of her wand, the restraints vanished.
She pressed a kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his throat. “You were so good for me,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”
Theo barely managed a breath, but he glowed under the light of her praise.
His hands were all over her. Her thighs, her waist, and then they wrapped around her neck, just holding her there.
“Now,” Theo said sweetly, voice dripping with anticipation, “prepare yourself, kitten —because I’m about to fuck you so hard, and now that you’re all healed, I don’t have to worry about a thing.”
Her pupils dilated, and she smiled. His cock twitched in response, aching and ready.
He grinned, devilish and divine. “And after I come…” He pulled her down to lay on top of him, lips brushing her ear, “We’ll take a little break. With my mouth on you.”
His tongue flicked the shell of his ear.
“Then I’m going to fuck you again.”
She sat back, taking him in.
“Fuck, kitten,” he whispered, eyes glowing with desire, “I’ll never tire of you.”
“I love you, Theo,” she whispered back, and her eyes began to swim.
“And I love you, wife.” He smiled and pulled her toward him again, and kissed her so thoroughly, just to show her exactly how much he loved her.
“Mine,” he whispered between kisses.
“Mine,” she responded, smiling.
Epilogue - one year later - Hermione
The evening air carried the scent of roses and freshly cut grass, the soft hum of magic threading through the warm breeze. The Malfoy estate gardens had been transformed into something almost ethereal, white silk drapes billowed from enchanted arches, golden lanterns flickered in the trees, and at the far end of the manicured lawn, the Malfoy peacocks strutted, their ivory feathers shimmering under the floating fairy lights.
It was intimate yet impossibly extravagant, a perfect reflection of the two men standing at the altar. Draco’s poshness and Harry’s…. Well, he did demand it be a small wedding, and he got what he wished.
McGonagall, regal in deep emerald robes, stood before them, her expression unreadable but her voice steady as she led the ceremony. Hermione doubted she had ever expected to officiate this wedding, and yet, there she was, presiding over the union of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy as if it were the most natural thing in the world. There were voids where Sirius, Remus, Harry’s Parents, and even Severus should be.
Harry’s eyes shone, his happiness so obvious it was almost blinding. And Draco—usually so poised, so carefully controlled—looked undone by it, his lips slightly parted, his gaze never leaving Harry’s.
Hermione shifted her attention to Narcissa Malfoy, seated in the front row. Her posture remained as graceful as ever, but when Draco met her eyes, she gave the smallest, most imperceptible nod. Pride.
No one had heard from Lady Malfoy since the end of the war. After her pardon, she left abroad for a quiet life. Hermione wondered how she felt being back at the manor again.
Beside her, Theo’s fingers brushed gently against Hermione’s, a steady warmth that grounded her in the moment. She was silently reciting her best mate speech for Harry over and over in her head, each word carefully memorized, each pause rehearsed.
Theo had to give a speech too, but, unsurprisingly, he didn’t see the need to write his out in advance. That was just like him—effortlessly confident, infuriatingly calm.
Hermione took a deep breath. His touch always had a way of soothing her, even when her nerves were fraying. She glanced down, her thumb absently gliding over the delicate bracelet on her wrist. The emerald and gold charms were cool against her skin, a quiet comfort amidst the chaos.
Across the aisle, Ron leaned into Millicent, whispering something in her ear. She threw her head back, laughing silently, and Ron grinned, his arm slung lazily around her waist. Hermione smirked to herself. The same Ron Weasley who once declared he could never be with a Slytherin was now utterly content and–dare she say–smitten with one. The hypocrisy should have irritated her, but instead, she just shook her head, amused.
People change.
Her gaze drifted across the guests.
Pansy sat beside Neville, arms crossed as if unimpressed, but she hadn’t stepped away from his close proximity. Neville leaned in, whispering something, and though Pansy rolled her eyes, Hermione caught the small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
Ginny nudged Blaise, clearly trying to coax him into dancing later. He smirked, shaking his head, then said something to her that made her whole face turn the color of her Hogwarts house.
Hermione let out a breath, her thoughts drifting toward the so-called Lion and Snake curse, how Gryffindors and Slytherins seemed to find their way to each other, no matter their past, no matter the odds.
Perhaps there was some truth to it after all.
Theo leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re thinking too hard again.”
She turned, finding his gaze already on her, eyes glinting with amusement.
“Am I?”
“Mhm.” He traced slow circles on the back of her hand.
She studied him, the sharp angles of his face, the lazy smirk. She had so long believed the curse was just another bit of romanticized nonsense, that Gryffindors and Slytherins were too different to truly understand each other.
But sitting there, feeling Theo’s warmth beside her, knowing that he saw her, knew her, and still stayed—maybe she had been wrong.
She laced her fingers through his, smiling softly.
“I was just thinking,” she murmured, tilting her head, “that I’m glad it got me, too.”
Theo’s fingers tightened slightly around hers. “Glad what got you?” he asked, brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of her words.
Hermione only smiled, squeezing his hand in return. “I’ll tell you later.”
He huffed but let it go as McGonagall’s voice carried through the garden, drawing everyone’s attention to the ceremony that was about to begin.
Harry and Draco stood before her, hands clasped, eyes locked in a way that made the world shrink around them. The candles flickered, casting a warm glow over their faces, and for a brief moment, everything else faded—the guests, the murmuring peacocks, even the soft hum of magic in the air.
McGonagall cleared her throat, her lips curving ever so slightly. “You may now exchange your vows.”
Draco inhaled sharply, and for the first time since the ceremony began, he looked nervous. He hesitated, then took another breath and spoke, his voice quiet but steady.
“I spent so much of my life believing I had to walk a certain path,” he said. “That my future was already written, that I was bound by expectation, by blood, by the choices of others.” He paused, Hermione glanced toward Narcissa, and saw her look down at her hands with pursed lips. “And then,” Draco continued. “There was you.” His fingers twitched around Harry’s, his pale cheeks dusted with the faintest hint of color. “You are anything but planned. You are chaos and unexpected. You ruined everything, Potter. You were insufferable. You made me question everything I knew, everything I thought I wanted. You infuriated me.”
Hermione began to wonder who helped him with these vows, but she stopped caring when she saw the look on Harry’s face.
A quiet chuckle rippled through the crowd, and Harry grinned, his green eyes bright with challenge, or perhaps a challenge won.
Draco swallowed. “And yet… somehow, you were also the only thing that ever made sense.” His voice faltered just slightly before he pressed on. “Even when I hated you, I think… I think I knew, deep down, that I was always going to love you.”
There was a sharp intake of breath somewhere in the crowd.
Draco exhaled, eyes never leaving Harry’s. “So here I am. Choosing you. Again and again. Because there is no version of this world where I wouldn’t.”
Silence stretched over the garden, thick with something raw and unspoken.
Pansy rolled her eyes, but Hermione caught the way her lashes fluttered, the glassiness in her stare. Neville noticed, too, because without a word, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. She hesitated, then leaned into him, letting herself be held.
Harry swallowed, blinking rapidly before a lopsided grin broke across his face.
“Draco Malfoy,” he started, shaking his head slightly, “you know what they say, right? If you don’t have something nice to say, then don’t say anything at all?”
Draco huffed, muttering, “Don’t ruin it, Potter.”
But Harry’s grin softened. He took a breath, and suddenly, there was only honesty in his expression.
“I don’t have a speech prepared,” he admitted. “I tried. I really did. But every time I sat down to write something, nothing felt right. Nothing big enough to explain what you are to me.” He let out a small, shaky breath. “You were my first rival. Not my first challenge, but the only one I ever want to face for the rest of my life. The first person who made me want to prove myself in a way I didn’t even understand at the time.”
Draco’s throat bobbed.
“And then you became my second chance,” Harry murmured. “You made me see things differently. You made me fight for something more. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that love isn’t about fate. It’s about choice. And I choose you, Draco. Today, tomorrow, and every day after.”
A silence settled over the garden, thick with emotion. Even Ron, who looked mildly annoyed at the overwhelming sentiment, had his arms crossed a little too tightly, his jaw set in a way that told Hermione he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted to seem.
Slughorn, however, had no such restraint. He leaned toward the nearest guest—Dean Thomas—and whispered loudly, “I always knew they were meant for each other. These two were my star students. Bright as they come, both of them.”
Hermione barely stifled a laugh. Harry had been awful at Potions.
She turned back to the ceremony, watching as McGonagall inclined her head toward the couple.
“With these vows spoken,” she said, her voice softer than Hermione had ever heard it, “I now declare you bonded. You may…” She exhaled, as though she’d expected this next part already. “... kiss the groom.”
Draco barely had time to smirk before Harry tugged him forward, their lips meeting in a kiss that sent a wave of magic crackling through the air. The lanterns flickered. The peacocks squawked. Pansy let out a dramatic sigh, wiping at her eyes as though she were simply exhausted by the display.
The guests erupted into cheers.
Hermione clapped, feeling Theo’s gaze on her again.
She turned to him, her own emotions pressing at the edges of her chest.
“What did you mean? What got you?” he reminded her, leaning in slightly.
Hermione smiled.
She looked at Ron and Millicent, who were surprisingly perfect for each other, their Slytherin-Gryffindor energy mirroring the very vows just spoken. She thought about how they were both stubborn and competitive enough to inevitably produce a future Quidditch star.
She looked at Neville and Pansy, at Blaise and Ginny, at Minerva and Slughorn quietly toasting their tea.
Then she looked back at Theo.
“I meant,” she murmured, tracing her thumb along his knuckles, “that I don’t think I ever believed in the Lion-Snake love curse.”
His brows lifted slightly, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his lips. “And now?”
Hermione’s heart swelled.
“Now,” she whispered, watching the way his dark eyes softened as he looked at her, “I’m glad I was cursed.”
“In fact,” Theo murmured as a fingertip began to glide up her spine, he leaned closer, placing a kiss just below her ear. “I believe you were the first one to start this… curse.”
Hermione shifted slightly. “Oh yeah?”
He looked devastatingly handsome in his formal robes—charcoal black with deep emerald accents that brought out the flecks of green in his hazel eyes. His hair was perfectly tousled, like he hadn’t tried too hard, but she knew better. And those eyes… bright, warm, locked onto her like she was the only person in the room. There was love in them, unmistakable and unguarded, and it made her breath catch in her throat.
Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back before trailing his mouth along her wrist, stopping at the bracelet she wore. He nodded, smiling against her skin.
“That’s right, wife .”