Author Note: So this is the last chapter. Please let me know how you liked it. DDD
In a large, puffy, pristinely white bed in an airy loft of a Normandy beach house, Hermione Granger Malfoy slept. She slept even though the windows were open to the crisp May breezes blowing in from the sea, sending the light linen curtains billowing about the room.
She slept as Draco slipped her beaded bag from around her neck and slid off her shoes and socks. He took off her jacket, jumper, and jeans, rolling her limp body gently from side to side, tugging lightly, swallowing hard against the pulse racing in his throat as more and more of her came into view. It wasn't that long since he'd said goodbye to her wrapped in a sheet in the back bedroom of Andromeda's cottage, but it felt like ages to him.
No, it wasn't the time to be thinking like that – not yet. He had to focus on how they started being in love, with him caring for her like he did the first time he brought her something to eat during those lean days of the horcrux hunt late last fall. His desire for her had never been passion alone. It was also compassion.
That didn't change how beautiful she was to him as he eased her burned and dirty clothing away from the smooth, tawny skin of her arms and legs. He cupped a hand over the curve of her shoulder, smoothed her hair away from her forehead, and pressed a light kiss into the corner of her mouth as she lay sleeping deeply between the covers in her knickers and a vest. She hardly stirred as he wiped a warm, soft cloth into the spaces between her fingers, working up her arms. With a fresh cloth, he dabbed away the soot and dirt on her face and neck. She sighed, shivered a little, murmured something that might have been his name, and kept sleeping.
When she was still asleep as he washed her feet, Draco started to worry. He sent for a healer to make sure she hadn't been hit with a sleeping hex unnoticed.
None was detected.
"Simple exhaustion," the healer said in clear, careful French. "I've treated a few burns and abrasions on her skin, but otherwise she is fine. Don't worry yourself. There is a magical residue about her that is exceptionally strong, however. It is as if she has recently been in the presence of great and unusual force."
"You mean, like an extremely powerful evil wizard?" Draco said, his worry cresting again.
The healer shook his head. "No, not human. Something more like a dragon, as if she'd had skin to skin contact with one. It's not possible but – ah, well. It will pass in a few days."
The Daily Prophet must still be in complete disarray, not yet reporting Hermione's escape from Gringotts, keeping the French papers out of the loop.
The healer was speaking again. "Yes, your little friend is young and healthy, not pregnant, very well cared for by an anxious lover, but completely depleted of energy." His tone became coy, "Dragon or no, she must have been very busy lately, yes?"
Draco gave a small laugh. "One could say that," he answered.
The healer sniffed. "You are English, are you not? I think maybe that you were entangled in the bad affairs in that country, maybe fighting for that Harry Potter. No?"
Draco bowed his head. "We were in fact."
The healer stood back, his posture straightening, his chest puffed. "Of course. So now you are very lucky to be safe here with us," he said. "This little friend, your English war has taken all of her strength. In the fighting, she must have been very delicate, or very brave."
Draco raised his head. "She was both."
The healer nodded. "If there are still matters of urgency, I could revive her with a spell – "
"No, I'll wait for her," Draco said. "I won't take her rest from her too soon."
The healer chuckled and dropped a hand on Draco's shoulder. "You are near exhaustion yourself, Monsieur Malfoi. Have you eaten anything since you arrived here from the English war?"
"Yes, the kitchen here is well-stocked."
"Formidable. Then lie down and rest with her there," the healer said, waving at the bed before snapping his bag shut. "All will be well."
The beach house fell back into quiet as the door downstairs clicked shut behind the healer. It was strange for Draco to be near Hermione without hearing her speak. He was lonely for her, and the rush of nervous energy that came with caring for her was starting to wane now he knew she was safe.
For the first time in their short marriage, they were alone together in a real, unruined house. They weren't hiding or hunted. They were just themselves. This was their life together. And here they were too tired to enjoy it in any way but by sleeping through it.
Draco blew out a quiet laugh and fluffed his hair, still damp from his shower. Was that gossip he'd heard at Hogwarts in sixth year true? Pansy and the girls had said that Hermione had sat in the Hospital Wing all day fawning over Weasley after he'd been poisoned. They mocked it as desperate and pathetic. Maybe they were right about that, seeing as how that idiot Weasley seemed completely unmoved by it by the time he was back in classes. Knowing her ridiculous pride when it came to Weasley, Hermione might not have ever told him she'd been the one tending him.
Really, it was a wonder he had survived the poisoned mead, more of Potter's incredible luck and good timing. The bottle had been sent from the Manor and was meant as an attack on Dumbledore, who would have easily counter-cursed his way out of the poisoning. It was less of an assassination attempt and more of a cry for help from Draco's mother while her husband was in prison, her son's life was threatened, and her home was overrun with devils. Standing over Hermione as she slept, Draco was more relieved than ever that the poisoning had nothing much to do with him.
But the thought of Weasley sleeping through the day of his life when Hermione had been very most like his girlfriend bothered Draco. She had been wronged in love and deserved justice for it. And that made him uneasy about how she might see everything they'd been through when she woke up.
No, the ties between him and Hermione were real, formalized and solemnized. Avenging herself for Ron Weasley's romantic missteps had never been part of what brought her and Draco together.
Beneath the bed linens, he found her hand and raised it slowly to his lips. It was her left hand, the one he had promised to find a ring for. It was still bare. He had to make it right – so many things left for him and his family to try to make right. He lowered her hand to the bed and tucked it under the covers again.
It had to stop – his second-guessing of whether her side of this relationship was real enough to last outside the insanity of the war. It had to stop because, since they re-met as Cupid and Psyche, they had always been outside the war. They had rediscovered each other all alone, just the two of them, nowhere, both of them roaming and lost. He had been first to take her hand, but it was her who was first to lie beside him in a marsh on the night before Christmas Eve and kiss him, warm and intoxicating, knowing exactly who he was.
She had called for him as she lay dying from Bellatrix's cursed blade. She was the one who had rushed a proposal between them. And then she had teased him from room to room in 12 Grimmauld Place until he'd followed her out of the daft idea of a half-marriage and into a proper marriage bed. Every time they had reached a point where she could have chosen anything else but him, she didn't. He never deserved it, but she chose him, always, without any trickery, and before he could even ask.
Their marriage would hold beyond the war. It would. This was what he told himself as he undressed on the first afternoon of the honeymoon his wife still didn't know she was on. In just his boxer shorts, he got into bed beside her. It was the largest, most luxurious bed they'd ever shared and he slid along the sheets until he was close enough that he'd sense the moment she awoke. With a lock on her hair held delicately between his fingers, he fell asleep.
The light was bright but slanted when he woke again. And the bed was empty. Draco sprung out of it as if it was an electrified grate. "Granger! Granger, where are you?"
Still in just pants he ran to the window, not sure what he was looking for but wild-eyed and frantic. From the promenade along the beach, below the high, wide windows, an old French witch looked up at him and grinned.
He jumped back.
Hermione – her dirty clothes were still draped across the chair where he'd left them, but her beaded bag was gone. "Granger!"
"Stop calling me that. I told you, it's Malfoy now," came her voice, echo-y and small. "And I'm in the bath."
He tumbled through the partially closed door. "Thank the stars," he said, falling to his knees on the bathmat.
The water in the massive tub sloshed around her as she whirled to face him. "Thank the stars for what? For me finally finding a proper hair conditioner?" she said, laughing as she let him fish her hand from beneath what was left of the bubbles and press it to the line of his jaw. She could see he was fighting to get his feelings in order and she kept her chatter light to help him through it. "I found this amazing hair serum in the cabinet. Feel my curls. They've never been nicer."
Too relieved to do anything but exactly what she asked, Draco twined his fingers in her silky hair. He recognized the citrus scent. "That's my father's brand," he said. "This is their house – our house, in France."
"France," she said. "I suspected as much from the nice spread of pastries in the kitchen."
"You ate?" he said, taking her face in both of his hands and poring over it as if he was a healer himself.
"A little," she said. "Draco – what's wrong? Is it the hair serum? Are you afraid you won't want me if I smell like your dad? Because – "
Holding her face, he leaned over the cold edge of the bathtub, ending her chatter by kissing her. She closed her wet hands over his wrists and met his kiss, sweet and open as ever. His force was greater than usual though, sending waves through the bathtub, water slapping at its walls. She heard him sigh and felt the tension in his arms lose some of its tight, high pain.
The kiss broke, his breath heavy. "How could I not want you?" he said. "How did that go? What you said to me that first night in Shell Cottage when I asked if you still wanted me to kiss you? To stop me wanting you, I'd have to be cursed into being – "
"A different person," she finished.
"Yes," he said. "But I'm still me. And I'm so glad you stayed."
She brushed the end of his nose with hers. "Stayed," she scoffed, nipping at his mouth again. "You are ridiculous. And also stuck with me, for life, not just for the war." Letting go of his wrists, she wound her arms around his neck, streams of water coursing down his back and shoulders. "Now are you coming in here, or am I getting out? I don't like this big porcelain wall between us."
He was finally smiling, dragging a hand just below the surface of the water. As a schoolgirl she'd had too much pride to properly love Weasley, and now she had no pride at all when she set about loving him. Maybe he owed Weasley thanks for getting her to outgrow that.
"But the water is almost lukewarm," he teased. "You must have been in here for an hour already."
"That's because it's so nice, especially after a year of nothing but sponge baths and Scourgify spells," she said, letting go of him and sinking back into the water. "I haven't had such a nice bath since I was a prefect at school? Do you remember?"
Draco's eyebrows jumped. "Do I remember you in the prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts?"
She shrugged and bobbed away from him, everything from her chin down disappearing beneath the milky water. "I'm going to pretend you do," she said, eyes on the ceiling. "I'm going to pretend you came in accidentally, and saw me in the water, from the back, with my hair slicked down. And you didn't recognize me but you thought I was beautiful. And your cheeks flushed and your clothes fit funny for a moment and out of immense respect for me, you left without making a sound."
She swished back to the edge of the bathtub, perching her chin on its rim. "Let's rewrite it, Malfoy. Like we loved each other longer, and a little better."
Draco sank his fingers into her curls and accioed a wand. He cast a warming spell over the water, and then a second one she didn't recognize. It changed the scent of the serum in her hair from citrus to pomegranate. "I'm going to love you better into the future instead," he said. "Our future, the one we weren't sure we'd get. Here it is."
She tilted her head to see him, slow and coy. "Let me see that wand."
His smile was brilliant now, confident. "What? This one?"
She snatched at it. "It's my original vine wood. From Ollivander's, when I was eleven, with my parents."
He was laughing, delighted with himself as she passed the wand between her wet hands, nearly dropping it. "Yes, and it's no worse for wear. Aunt Bella was saving it for revenge and then Mother took good care of it. Not that I want to be thinking of either of them right now," he said, craning his neck to ogle his wife through the water.
"Wait," she said, remembering. She called a summoning spell at her bag on the counter. Something small and dark whipped through the bathroom and into her hand. "From Harry," she said. "Take it from me. Disarm me so its allegiance goes back to you."
Draco slid the hawthorn wand out of her hand, felt it resonate with the magic inside himself as the wand returned to him. "Flaming Potter," he said.
"Isn't he the best?" she said. "Harry's finished with all this wand shuffling. You were off with your parents after the battle when he used the Elder wand to repair his old Phoenix feather wand. Then in true Harry form, he snapped it in pieces."
Draco startled. "It? He snapped it? The Wand of Destiny?"
She answered with a single nod.
Draco shouted a laugh. "What's next? Is he going to shred his Invisibility Cloak?"
"I highly doubt that," she said.
"But then what's the – ?"
"Never mind Harry," she said. "Dumbledore used to say following his heart was Harry's strong suit, so let's leave it at that. But know that he wanted you to have this back. I think it's his way of saying thanks."
Draco scoffed. "For what?"
She took a deep breath, "I imagine for helping us escape Bellatrix and Greyback at the Manor. Or for getting the battle wand to work for us so we could blast our way out of Gringotts instead of being mashed to death against the ceiling by a mad, trapped dragon. Or for helping to save his godson's parents. And then there's what happened in the forest..." She was the first one to tell Draco what his mother had done to win the final battle, how Lucius's courage to stand up to the Dark Lord was a reflection of the courage Narcissa had already shown in the forest when she lied about Harry being alive, and changed everything for everyone.
Draco shook his head. "If he'd known she was lying to him..."
"That didn't matter to her," Hermione said. "All that mattered was you."
Head bowed, he nodded, his feelings inflamed again.
She tousled his hair. "Now, my precious darling, are you coming in here with me? This water has me slippery all over and buoyant in a few choice places and I think it is high time you experienced all of that for yourself."
Water and suds splashed as Draco tumbled into the bath, Hermione squealing and sliding out of his way before he caught her and enfolded her in his arms.
He hummed, greedy and nuzzling the base of her neck. She tipped her head to bring him closer, her high sweet sound in her voice.
"Slippery and buoyant indeed," he growled against her skin. "This is all far too hot for the school prefects' bath."
She giggled and shifted beneath him, accentuating the smoothness of their movements in the water, her wet cheeks and lips on his slick chest. But then she clucked her tongue remembering. "So now we have three wands in the family – "
Draco glanced down, between them.
"That is not what I mean," she said.
"Right. Sorry."
"The Black Sororal Battle wand," she began again, kneading his neck with both hands as he dropped his forehead toward her shoulder. "What do we do with it? We can't give it back to Rodolphus – "
"No, of course not," Draco agreed, lifting his head. "It's for the Black family heirs and he won't have any. So it's for ours."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Our what?"
"The heirs we'll have in the future, I mean – the far distant future," he rushed to say. "After you've had all the time you want to recover and..." His voice trailed off, the thought unfinished.
Under the water, she nudged her shoulder up into him. "And what? What are you thinking?"
He swallowed, a tell that he was fighting to hold something back.
She nudged him harder, waving the water. "What?"
"Nothing. It's just that the healer who was here while you were asleep," Draco said, his hands moving, tracing her under the water, "he told me that the effects of your skin-to-skin contact with the dragon are still palpable – that its magic is powerful and unusual and it's active in your body, right now."
Something sparked in her eyes, and she fixed them on his, moving against him in the water.
He returned a look of wide-eyed alarm, the motion of his hands coming to an abrupt stop. "Granger?"
"It's Malfoy."
"Hermione – Psyche – what are you thinking?"
"I'm wondering how I could pass up a chance to make a super-magical dragon-influenced baby with my Draco, of course," she said, batting her lashes.
"You are mad," he said, even as he held her closer. "You've had precisely one decent sleep in an entire year. You need to rest not to – "
The last of his protest was muffled in her mouth as she kissed him, warm, pomegranate scented water sloshing out of the tub and onto the floor, their honeymoon was properly underway.
—--------------------
A week passed for Draco and Hermione Malfoy with no contact with anyone but the shopkeepers who sold them fresh food for the beach house kitchen. They knew that eventually someone would arrive clamouring for their attention. What they never guessed was that it would be Percy Weasley and Pansy Parkinson.
"As you know," Percy began after he'd succeeded in assuring them he hadn't come with terrible news, "Pansy and I have been – well – working to redeem ourselves after some – some truly unfortunate turns we took during the – the unpleasantness of the past few years."
"Pansy's already restored the Black Family Tapestry," Hermione said, setting a pot of tea on the table between the sofas where they sat. "It's all fine now."
"It's not," Pansy insisted, filling the cup set in front of Percy. "Hear him out."
Percy cleared his throat, watching her stir a lump of sugar into the tea rather than looking Hermione in the face. "So we asked Harry what we could do to make it up."
"And of course he wanted nothing," Hermione finished.
"Right. So we went to Ron," Percy continued, waving away the biscuit Pansy offered him as sweetly as he could.
"And he's in la-la-land with Lovegood and can't be bothered with much else," Draco finished for him.
Pansy laughed a scoff. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it Draco?"
"Ron did have a suggestion, actually," Percy said, patting Pansy's hand where it rested on her knee beside him.
Hermione poked Draco in the side at the sight of the tenderness between their guests.
"Ron told us to go to Australia and find Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Percy blurted.
"Doctors, Perc," Pansy corrected him.
"Yes, the Doctors Granger," Percy agreed. "They're those – those teeth doctors. So what do you say, Hermione? Will you let us go track them down? We won't try to reverse your spell, but we'll bring them back to where you can do it."
This was not at all what Hermione was expecting. She rose from the sofa, her hair falling forward to hide her face, and walked to the window. Across the expanse of green-grey seawater outside was England, and the deserted house in London where she had been raised. She knew she would eventually have to face it and the tremendous loss it implied.
Dramatic as ever, Pansy blew out her breath. "I knew it. It's a good idea, but she's not ready, Perc. I told you it was too soon."
Percy stood but didn't approach Hermione. "Or," he said, his own methodical, logical mind working much like hers. "If you need more time before they come back, Pansy and I can head up the restoration of the house they left. It's been thoroughly ransacked and strewn with traps and alarms. We've seen It and it won't do. Especially not for Muggles."
Draco had joined Hermione at the windows, and draped an arm around her, watching her carefully as she responded to Percy's proposal about the house. This Weasley was coping by taking control of his environment, like Hermione usually did. She must see that. There was a long moment of quiet as everyone waited for her answer.
Percy finally stepped closer to her. "Look, if Ron had told any of the adults in the family how desperate you were to keep your parents out of the war, they could have helped. Ron messed up, knowing what you were planning and not getting you any advice or aid. He knows that now. It didn't need to come to a memory spell. So let me help you recover them not just for me or Pansy or even for Ron. Let me help on behalf of our entire family – the one that let you down in so many ways."
He hung his head, eyes on the floor, Pansy's hand slipping into the crook of his arm.
Hermione's voice was low and soft. "I am nothing but grateful to your family for all their care and protection over the years," she said. "There is no debt to repay, Percy. But if it will make you feel better, then yes. Please restore my parents' house. We'll evaluate the next step when we get there."
Percy let out a breath so deep he folded in half. "Thank you, Hermione. We'll get to it as soon as we're back in the country." He turned and took Pansy's hands, beaming at her.
"What's this 'we' the pair of you keep talking about?" Draco asked now that the mood was a little lighter.
Pansy tossed her head, her glossy freshened bob attracting Percy's attentive stare as it bounced around her face. "I've found my Weasley," she said. "And he's not the one like you after all, Draco. My one true Weasley is steady and sensible."
Draco huffed. "I'm steady and sensible."
Hermione took his face in her hands, kissing both of his cheeks as she told him. "No, darling, you are not."
"Yes, Granger is the Percy in your marriage. And you, Draco, are the me," Pansy said. "Reactive and as devoted as you are demanding."
Draco was sputtering, about to protest.
"Which means," Pansy continued, "that we are all perfect for each other and should be very happy together for a very long time."
—--------------------------------
Harry Potter's first ever visit to France was in winter. Ginny Weasley came with him, trudging through wet slush along what in better weather was a beautiful seaside walk along the Normandy coast.
"Should have asked for clearance for their Floo," he said, his mittened hand clasped around hers. "Didn't want to intrude. It being such a – a delicate time and all."
"Nervous?" she said.
Harry squinted into the sharp, wet snow. "Yeah. Yeah I am."
It was Ginny's first time in France too. She was just barely old enough to tell her mother she appreciated the concern but, yes, she WOULD be making a quick international trip with her famous, heroic Auror-in-training boyfriend. Molly had been pacified with the promise that they'd take some photographs while they were away. It meant a large, clunky camera in a hard leather box was hung around Harry's neck.
They arrived at a house, its doorway covered by a small awning, giving them a little cover from the weather, and the chance to catch their breath.
"You alright?" Ginny asked, raising her wand to clear the condensation from Harry's glasses. "Not like you to forget to charm your specs."
He gave a nod. "The only way I'll be alright is to get this over with. Go ahead and ring the bell."
But the door opened itself just as Ginny lifted her hand. It would have seemed to be operating by magic if it weren't for a little hand curving over the side of the door. Harry heard a distinct giggle and the furious running of little feet.
His pale complexion was suddenly brighter, smiling. "I know that giggle," he said, darting inside. "Teddy! Where is our Teddy?"
Instead of running into Teddy, Harry ploughed into Tonks who was calling to her blue-haired toddler over her shoulder. "Edward Remus Lupin, what do you mean by opening the door in this weather? Oof! It's Harry!"
"Hey," Harry said as Tonks steadied herself. "How is she? How did it go?"
Tonks pulled a face, not shape-shifting, merely frowning. "Was a bit rough, actually."
"That's to be expected with the delivery of a baby suspected of having dragon magic, I should think," said Remus, appearing in the kitchen with Teddy held captive on his shoulders.
"There's our Draco and Hermione. Always after a challenge, never ones for doing things the easy way," Tonks said. "But he's a lovely little boy. Bald as an egg though."
Harry was ruffling Teddy's hair and catching him as Remus let him dive off of his shoulders.
Andromeda was coming down the stairs. "He has plenty of hair. It's just very light and very fine. Like Cissie herself as a baby. Exactly as I remember her."
"Can we see him?" Ginny said, even as Harry cringed at the idea of intruding on Hermione and Draco and their new son in the bedroom just above. "I need a picture of him or Mum is going to think I've followed Harry on some dirty continental weekend under false pretenses."
Tonks laughed too loudly for a house where a newborn baby might be sleeping and slapped Harry on the back. "Ah, Molly. Stars love her."
They wouldn't have to intrude upstairs. Draco had heard Tonks announce Harry's name and he was coming down himself now, following his mother, walking almost as if he was on a tightrope. In his arms was a tiny bundle of silvery looking muslin.
"Here he comes!" Tonks said. "Lookit, Teddy. It's baby cousin Pollox Draco Malfoy."
Teddy was not yet impressed and managed to wriggle out of Harry's hold and away from the boring, sleeping baby.
Harry himself was more struck by the sight of Draco carrying a son – Hermione's son. At the bottom of the staircase, Draco was engulfed in a ring of well-wishers. Ginny took far more pictures than anyone would need, cooing over the small, sweet but still rosy looking baby, just a few hours old.
"How will you be able to tell if any of the dragon magic rubbed off on him?" she asked.
Draco gave a low whistle. "Oh, I trust him to find a way to let us know."
"How's Hermione?" Harry asked again.
"Astonishing, as usual," Draco said. He glanced at the ceiling, as if reliving the past few hours. "It was harder for her than I expected. As if she had to fight this little monster to get him born."
Harry huffed. "She's fought worse."
Draco laughed in quiet agreement.
But Narcissa wouldn't have it. "Monster – no. He's an angel of a boy. And Hermione did beautifully," she said, easing the sleeping baby out of Draco's arms and touching her nose to the top of his tiny head, breathing his smell. "Childbirth is just like that. Even when it goes well, it's rather terrible."
"Well, she's gone to sleep now," Draco said, yawning himself. "Wouldn't disturb her for the world."
"Not until young Malfoy gets hungry again, that is," Tonks said.
"And then we'll wake her up just long enough to feed him. Nana Narcissa will have him right back," Narcissa said.
"You're staying are you?" Andromeda said.
"Until Granny Granger gets here tomorrow, yes," she said. "I've never had anything better to do with my time."
—---------------------------
Though she didn't wake up to see Harry and Ginny, or Tonks, Teddy, and Remus, Hermione did open her eyes after they'd all gone. Something about the house growing quiet alerted her. She opened her eyes to find Draco coming back up the stairs to their room, their little dragon-boy in his arms. The light was winter white, setting Draco and the boy shining through the sleepy, slightly potioned haze over her senses.
Whatever they were named, the man and his son did not look like dragons – not today. They were more like angels.
Draco froze when he saw her move. "Sorry. We didn't mean to wake you yet."
She pushed herself up to sitting on the soft, clean bed anyway. "It's alright, loves," she said,one hand reaching for them, the left one, wearing a platinum band, shiny as a mirror. "Come be with me, just the three of us."
Draco was moving toward her, their fingertips lacing together, palms meeting, holding tight to each other's hands.
She blinked past her fatigue, and Draco looked less like an angel and more like a man, a beautiful young man who wasn't walking like he was on a tightrope anymore.
On the bed, he sat beside her, close enough for her to fold down the hem of the blanket and see little Pollox's face again. He didn't breath fire or fly but he felt like a vast and marvelous destiny.
She looked from his face to Draco's. "You're not afraid, are you?"
With the baby cradled in one arm, Draco palmed the back of his wife's head and brought her lips to his. "Afraid? With you?" he said, almost kissing her. "Never."