Chapter Text
Hermione tapped her quill on the stack of parchment before her, staring blankly at the neat columns of notes she’d written earlier. She couldn’t seem to concentrate tonight; her mind kept drifting back to home. To him.
But she forced herself to refocus on her work. Dobby’s Law. Named in honor of the brave house-elf who had given his life for freedom, the bill was her dream and her mission: a piece of legislation that would grant house-elves the basic rights they deserved, things like fair treatment, safe working conditions, and the right to refuse dangerous orders. And, surprisingly, it had become Draco Malfoy’s mission too.
Hermione glanced at the clock—well past seven. Ron had expected her home by now, she knew. He’d be upset that she was still at the Ministry so late, though she couldn’t help but feel relieved to have an excuse to stay a little longer.
A soft knock on her door interrupted her thoughts, and the familiar figure of Draco Malfoy stepped inside, giving her a bemused look as he took in the stacks of parchment and half-empty tea mugs littering her desk.
“Still here, Granger?” he asked, crossing his arms. “It’s getting late, even for you. Surely you’re not planning on spending the night here over Dobby’s Law?”
She forced a small smile. “It’s important. We’ll need to be absolutely thorough if we want a chance at pushing it through. The Wizenmagot isn’t exactly known for progressive views on magical creatures.”
Draco nodded, understanding. “True. Which is why I found something in the archives that might help.” He held up a thick, dusty volume titled The Forgotten Magics: Rights and Regulations for Magical Creatures and set it on her desk.
Hermione’s eyes lit up. “How did you get your hands on this? I thought it was restricted to only the highest-clearance cases.”
Draco gave a small shrug, looking away with feigned nonchalance. “Let’s just say my family name opens some doors. I’m not exactly proud of it, but I’ll use whatever I can to get this law passed.”
Hermione studied his face for a moment, seeing only genuine determination there. She still marveled sometimes at how much Draco Malfoy had changed. The man he’d become was a far cry from the arrogant boy she’d known at Hogwarts; he was sharp, resourceful, and dedicated to justice in a way she’d come to admire.
“Thank you, Draco,” she said quietly, running a hand over the cover of the book. “This will help us a lot.”
He gave her a small smile. “Don’t mention it. You’re the one who dragged me into this crusade, remember?”
She laughed softly. “And you still haven’t run away. That’s progress, I suppose.”
Draco smirked, but his expression softened as he noticed the tension in her posture. “How’s… everything at home?” he asked gently.
Hermione looked down, her fingers tracing the worn edges of a piece of parchment. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but a flicker of doubt crept in.
The memory of last night flashed suddenly before her eyes. The way Ron’s face had twisted with anger when she’d told him she’d be working late again. His hand gripping her arm too hard, pulling her back when she’d tried to walk away.
FLASHBACK
It had started as an argument—something small, something that could have been brushed off. He’d accused her of caring more about work than their family. She’d told him that her work mattered, that Dobby’s Law could make a real difference in the world. And then… then he’d lashed out. First, it had been words, vicious words that tore into her, but when she’d tried to walk away, his hand had clamped down on her arm.
“Stop running away from me, Hermione,” he’d snarled, his face inches from hers.
“Ron, please,” she’d whispered, feeling the bruising pressure on her arm.
But he hadn’t let go. “Maybe if you spent half as much time on us as you do on that bloody case, you’d be worth coming home to.”
When he’d finally released her, she’d stumbled back, clutching her arm. She’d watched in stunned silence as he stormed out of the room, leaving her alone with nothing but the stinging ache of his grip on her skin.
Hermione shook herself from the memory, forcing herself to meet Draco’s gaze. His gray eyes were searching hers, as if he could sense something amiss. But she couldn’t let him see—no one could know.
“It’s nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just… Ron doesn’t understand why I’m still working. Especially now that I’m… well…” She glanced down at her small but visible baby bump.
Draco’s face softened. “He expects you to give it all up? Because of the baby?”
She nodded. “He thinks I should be at home. Like his mum, I suppose.” She tried to make it sound lighthearted, but her voice wavered.
Draco’s jaw tightened. “That’s not you, Hermione. You’ve never been one to sit back and let others dictate your life. And if he can’t see that…” He stopped himself, his face softening. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
She gave him a faint smile, grateful for his support even though he didn’t know the whole truth. “Thank you, Draco. Really.”
He nodded, gathering his things. “Eight sharp tomorrow?”
“Of course.” She glanced at the clock, feeling a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. If she got home too late, she knew Ron’s temper would only be worse.
**
The room spun slightly as Hermione stepped through the Floo into her living room, brushing soot from her robes. She felt the familiar weight of anxiety settle on her shoulders as she straightened, her eyes immediately drawn to the couch where Ron was sitting, eyes narrowed and locked on her. He was awake, alert, and angry—his face flushed, and the sharp scent of Firewhisky clung to the air around him.
“So, you’ve finally decided to come home?” he sneered, rising from the couch with a sway.
Hermione instinctively took a step back, one hand protectively resting over her small baby bump. She forced herself to breathe evenly, hoping to calm the pounding in her chest.
“Ron, I… I’m sorry, I had to stay late. We’re preparing for the final review of Dobby’s Law, and it’s—”
“Dobby’s Law,” he scoffed, slurring slightly. “Always something more important than your own bloody family, isn’t there? Did you think about me while you were out saving the world with Malfoy?”
Hermione shook her head, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize it was this late. I thought you’d have already had dinner—”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault, is it?” His voice was louder now, venomous. He took a step closer, and Hermione felt herself backing away instinctively. “I come home from work to an empty house and nothing on the table, and you’re off with him, again, aren’t you?”
“Ron, please,” she said, her voice trembling as she edged toward the doorway. “Let’s not do this tonight.”
But Ron’s face twisted, and his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes blazing. She knew the look on his face; it was a warning she’d seen before. She backed up, her hands covering her belly instinctively.
Just then, the flames in the fireplace roared to life, and Harry’s face appeared in the green flames, oblivious to the scene he’d interrupted.
“Ron! Hermione!” Harry greeted, his voice light. “I thought I’d give you a call—Pansy and I have just finished preparing dinner. Draco came over and said he just left the office, so we thought you two might not have had a chance to eat yet either.”
Ron’s eyes flicked back to Hermione, his glare icy, a silent promise that this wasn’t over. He forced his mouth into a rigid smile as he turned back to Harry.
“No thanks, Harry,” he said with forced politeness. “We were just heading out to get some takeout.”
Harry’s eyes flicked over to Hermione, his expression becoming wary, as if he sensed something was off. “Are you sure? Hermione, are you all right?”
Hermione’s voice caught, but she nodded quickly. “Yes. Thank you, Harry. We’ll… we’ll see you soon.”
Harry’s gaze lingered on her, but after a moment he nodded. “All right. Take care.”
The flames died down, and the moment Harry’s face disappeared, the mask dropped from Ron’s face. His hand shot out, shoving Hermione toward the door.
“Go,” he hissed, his voice low and full of contempt. “Get us something decent, and don’t come back until you do.”
Hermione stumbled, catching herself just before she fell, and hurried out the front door. But just as she stepped outside, he gave her one last shove from behind. She cried out as she landed hard on her knees, pain jolting up her legs. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving her alone in the cool night.
She pulled herself up slowly, brushing the dirt from her scraped knees, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. The stinging pain in her legs was a dull ache compared to the turmoil inside her chest, but she forced herself to stand tall, take a deep breath, and begin walking down the cobblestone streets.
Her mind raced as she made her way to the Leaky Cauldron, deciding it was safer to buy some food there than linger too long anywhere else. She kept her head down, her thoughts swirling, until she heard a familiar voice call out her name.
“Hermione!”
She looked up, her heart sinking when she saw Theo Nott and Luna Lovegood sitting at a table near the window. Luna was waving enthusiastically, and Theo was looking at her with mild surprise.
“Hermione, come join us!” Luna said, her smile as warm as ever.
Hermione hesitated, then forced a smile, walking over to their table. “I… I’m just here to pick up some takeout.”
Theo’s sharp eyes scanned her, lingering on her knees. “What happened there?” he asked, brow furrowing. “Did you fall?”
She glanced down at the smudges of dirt and faint red scrapes on her knees, her mind scrambling for an excuse. “Oh, I just… slipped on the steps.”
Theo’s expression didn’t change, and he looked like he wanted to press further, but Luna placed a gentle hand on his arm. Her blue eyes, calm and understanding, turned to Hermione with a look of quiet compassion.
“You’ll tell us what’s wrong when you’re ready,” Luna said, her voice soft but steady.
Hermione’s throat tightened, and for a moment, the weight of her secret felt too heavy to bear. She blinked back tears, managing a small nod.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Luna smiled kindly, reaching out and giving Hermione’s hand a brief, reassuring squeeze. “Just remember, Hermione, you’re not alone.”
The simple words settled into Hermione’s chest like a balm, and she swallowed, gathering the strength to keep going.
After a few more minutes of quiet conversation, Hermione ordered the takeout she’d come for and said her goodbyes, clutching the bags tightly as she made her way back toward the house.
When she returned, she could see the lights on inside, shadows moving across the windows. Hermione pushed open the door, clutching the takeaway bags as she stepped into the silent house. She immediately noticed Ron by the front door, pulling on his jacket and looking irritated.
Hermione’s fingers tightened around the takeaway bags as she looked up at Ron, her voice barely a whisper. “So, you’re just… heading out, then? Going to meet one of your ‘better offers’?”
Ron’s eyes narrowed, his face darkening as he processed her words. “What did you just say?”
She took a shaky breath, regretting the comment instantly but feeling the bitter frustration bubble up. “You think I don’t know, Ron? You’re hardly subtle.”
In an instant, his hand shot out, and before she could react, he slapped her hard across the face. The force of the blow sent her stumbling back, and she gasped, clutching her cheek as the sting settled into a deep, throbbing ache. She could already feel the skin swelling, and knew a bruise would be there by morning.
Ron took a step toward her, his face twisted in anger and disgust. “Watch your mouth,” he hissed. “Or I’ll give you something worse than a bruise to worry about.”
Hermione bit down hard on her lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. Her heart pounded as she forced herself to stand still, even as every instinct in her body screamed at her to get away, to protect herself and the child growing inside her.
“You’d better be here when I get back,” he spat, his voice a low, venomous growl. “Or you know what’ll happen.”
Her throat tightened, and she felt a surge of protectiveness as her hand instinctively moved to her stomach. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a threat like this. Since the beginning of her pregnancy, he’d used every opportunity to weaponize her fears for their unborn child and for her parents’ safety.
Hermione swallowed, forcing herself to keep her gaze lowered as she nodded. “I’ll be here,” she whispered, feeling her voice go flat, hollow.
“Good.” His voice was a low, menacing hiss as he straightened up. He cast one last sneer in her direction before stepping outside, slamming the door behind him without another word.
Hermione stood frozen, listening as he disapparated away. Only when she was certain he was gone did she let out a shaky breath, sinking onto the couch as the weight of the silence pressed down on her. Her hand stayed protectively over her stomach as she tried to steady herself, her mind racing.
She glanced over at the bags of food on the table, suddenly nauseous at the thought of eating. But she reminded herself that she wasn’t just eating for herself anymore, and she forced herself to take a few bites, doing her best to ignore the empty, gnawing ache that seemed to have settled in her chest.
Her mind drifted to the comforting faces of Luna and Theo, and even to Draco’s unwavering friendship. She wished she could tell them, confide in them, let them know what was happening. But she felt trapped, caged in by Ron’s threats and the fear of what he might do if he knew she’d told anyone.
She took a deep breath, her hand still resting protectively over her belly.
**
Hermione finished the last few bites of her food, trying to ignore the heavy silence that filled the house. She’d almost forgotten about the bruise throbbing on her cheek until the sound of the Floo startled her. She whipped her head around just as George stepped out, dusting soot from his robes with a casual smile—until he looked up and saw her face.
His eyes widened, the smile dropping immediately. “Hermione, what the hell happened to you?”
She flinched at his reaction, her hand instinctively moving to cover her cheek, but it was too late. She’d been so focused on the ache in her heart that she hadn’t thought to conceal the bruise. She turned her head, avoiding his gaze. “I… I’m fine, George.”
“Fine?” he echoed, his voice shaking. He stepped toward her, reaching out, but she flinched away, instinctively backing up against the wall. She wrapped her arms around herself, sinking to the floor in a defensive curl as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
George stopped in his tracks, holding up his hands gently. “Hey, hey… it’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you, Hermione. I promise.”
She looked up at him, her face streaked with a few escaped tears. She opened her mouth to dismiss him, to tell him she was fine and that he should go home, but her voice caught in her throat. She looked down, pressing a hand to her mouth.
George stayed where he was, crouched down to her level, refusing to budge. His voice softened as he asked, “Hermione, please. Just tell me what happened.”
Her hands shook as she lowered them from her face. She took a shaky breath, and the words finally tumbled out. “Ron… he… he hit me. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have… I said something I shouldn’t have, and he… he slapped me.”
The floodgates opened then, and the words came spilling out, uncontainable. She told him about the threats, the bruises she’d learned to hide, and the countless times she’d plastered on a smile so no one would suspect what was really happening behind closed doors.
“Merlin, Hermione…” George’s voice cracked, and he looked both stricken and furious. His fists clenched, and for a moment, he looked ready to storm out the door. “I’m going to kill him,” he muttered, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “He’s my brother, but I swear to you, Hermione, I will—”
“No!” Hermione sat up, wiping her tears away with trembling hands. “George, please. You can’t. I… I’ll handle this myself. You have to promise me you won’t say a word to anyone.”
“Hermione, you can’t ask me to—”
“Please, George.” Her voice was firm, though her eyes were still red-rimmed. “I don’t want anyone else knowing. And… I need to be the one to deal with this. Promise me.”
George let out a frustrated breath, his face torn with anger and helplessness. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone,” he said, though his voice was laced with pain. “But if he… if he does anything else—if you need anything—tell me. I’ll be here.”
Hermione nodded, her shoulders sagging with relief. She was grateful for his silence, for his willingness to believe her, but her heart ached knowing how hard it was for him.
As he watched her try to compose herself, his mind drifted to a conversation he’d had with Draco not long before Ron and Hermione got married. Despite how strange their friendship might seem, he and Draco had found common ground, and they’d been meeting regularly for drinks since then. Draco had confessed to him one night, after a few too many drinks, that he was in love with Hermione, admitting it almost shamefully. George had stared at him, stunned, as Draco quickly tried to backtrack.
“She’s with Ron, I know that,” Draco had muttered, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “But… I can’t help it. She’s just… she deserves better, you know?”
Looking back, George remembered how Draco had also hinted he felt something was off. “She seems… different,” he’d said quietly. “Like she’s hiding something. She’s not as happy as she used to be.”
George had brushed it off at the time, chalking it up to wedding jitters, but now he wondered if Draco had sensed the truth. And as he looked at Hermione, so vulnerable and brave, he felt a new wave of anger, mingled with guilt that he hadn’t seen it sooner.
Snapping out of his thoughts, George got to his feet. “Stay here,” he said gently, “I’ll be back.”
He Apparated to his flat, rummaging through the cabinet until he found a jar of bruise paste. When he returned, Hermione was getting ready for bed, slipping into a worn dressing gown. She turned, giving him a small, tired smile as he held out the jar.
“Thank you, George,” she whispered, taking it from him with gratitude in her eyes. “And… thank you for listening. For believing me.”
George nodded, his voice low and full of sincerity. “You’re not alone, Hermione. And you don’t have to be. I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
Her eyes softened, and she gave him a faint smile, one that held a trace of the person she’d once been. George forced himself to leave, though it took every bit of his willpower to walk away, and as he stepped back into the night, he swore to himself that he would be ready if she ever needed him again.
Hermione closed the Floo behind him, the weight of exhaustion settling over her. She brushed the bruise paste gently on her cheek, feeling the cool, soothing relief seep in, and slipped into bed. As she lay in the dark, she took comfort in the knowledge that, at least for tonight, she wasn’t entirely alone. And with that thought, she allowed herself to drift into a restless sleep, clinging to the hope that someday, she’d find a way out of the shadows.