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Hermione sighed softly and closed her eyes for a brief moment, quiet contentment washing over her as she basked in the memories of the day, forever sealed in her mind and heart alike. It had been a beautiful ceremony, filled with love and devotion and sheer joy that had moved her profoundly in ways she hadn’t expected, nor did she fully understand even now.
Standing there with Narcissa, in the beautifully decorated garden of her home—officially their home now—in front of the small crowd of their nearest and dearest, who might have not completely understood but nevertheless tried their hardest and supported her decisions unequivocally, vowing herself to the woman she loved above all else, binding their lives and their hearts and their magic together had felt so inherently right in a way that nothing else could compare. It had felt magical. Warm and soft. Like a glowing ball of happiness permanently lodged in her chest, radiating calm and joy throughout.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear her wife—she didn’t think she’d ever get used to calling her that without the little flutter it caused inside her chest—come up behind her until she wrapped her arms around her middle and gently laid her chin on her shoulder. Hermione smiled and opened her eyes.
“I was wondering where you got to,” Narcissa murmured softly, nuzzling her neck and inhaling her scent.
“I just needed a moment to take it all in, I suppose” Hermione replied, relaxing against her. She swept her gaze around the grounds with their soft twinkling lights and the last of the guests mingling about. The edge of the terrace where they were currently leaning against the banister allowed for a spectacular view. “It really was perfect, wasn’t it?”
“I couldn’t have asked for a better one, darling.” Hermione could feel her smile against her neck. “Or a better person to share it with.”
She grasped Hermione’s hand and gently tugged her towards the French windows. “Come on, I think we can safely retire now. We’ve fulfilled our good hosts’ duty.”
They crossed the threshold and Hermione suddenly felt the light, tingling sensation of magic dancing all over her skin, like stepping through a curtain of barely-there mist. She gasped.
“What just happened? Why was I able to feel the magic this time?” She had stopped and was inspecting the doorway with interest.
“That would be the wards, love. The house is laced with layers upon layers of ancient magic and since we are now bonded, it recognized you as a proper master in your own right. It adjusted to your magical core and signature.” Narcissa smiled fondly at the awestruck look on Hermione’s face. She looked like Christmas had come early.
“Fascinating,” she murmured under her breath. “That is incredibly complex spellwork, and I don’t think it’s ever been fully examined or documented before. Just the magical theory alone could fuel a complete study, not to mention combined with the ancient runic protection involved.” Her eyes were glowing and she was barely containing herself from bouncing up and down. “Could you tell me more about the inner workings of the different spells involved? Oh, there’s bound to be some blood magic mixed in there, too. Brilliant. I wonder how the different layers interact with each other and if it affects or alters the way it manifests at all…”
“Your mind is truly fascinating, Hermione,” Narcissa laughed. “Yes, I can tell you what I know about it and I’m fairly certain there are a few tomes in the library that expand on it enough to satisfy even your thirst for knowledge.” She steered her new wife back inside gently. "But for now, I believe we have more pressing matters to attend to, Mrs Granger-Black.” She smirked and dipped her head to claim Hermione’s lips.
A loud throat-clearing interrupted their moment and the two women turned to face a sour-looking Draco.
“Must I be subjected to that, mother?” He stood rigidly near the bottom of the stairs. “And in my own house!”
“Now, Draco, dear, we’ve talked about this. Be nice.” Narcissa warned gently.
“I am being nice! This is me being nice despite all the Granger-induced horrors beyond my wildest dreams that I’ve had to endure today!”
“Really, Draco. No need to be so dramatic.”
“I am not being dramatic!” He shrieked, waving his arms wildly around. Hermione could’ve sworn he stomped his foot under his formal robes. “I’m being completely reasonable and this is a nightmare and I hate it!”
"Tsk, tsk. That's no way to talk to your new step-mum now, is it?” Hermione couldn’t suppress her smirk at his outraged face.
“Step—Granger, you’re not my bloody step-mum! You’re not my step-anything, you’re barely a few months older than me and this is preposterous!” He was reaching a register rather more suited to bats than people.
“Play nice or I will have to ground you, you know.”
“Ground me? Ground me?! Ex-fucking-cuse me, just who do you think you are? I will NOT stand for this, Granger, I’m warning you—”
“It’s Granger-Black now, actually, and that’s it, young man, you’re grounded! Go to your room!” She was grinning madly then, wondering whether Draco’s face could get any redder than it currently was. It had reached an impressive shade, considering what he had to work with.
“YOU CAN’T FUCKING GROUND—” He didn’t get to finish that sentence as his feet seemed to get a mind of their own all of a sudden and were currently carrying their unwilling owner steadily up the stairs.
Their eyes met briefly, shock and disbelief mirrored in each pair.
“No. No! This can’t be happening. Mother! Do something!”
Shellshocked, Hermione turned to Narcissa, who looked like she was on the verge of speaking when understanding suddenly flashed behind her clear blue eyes and she clasped a hand to her mouth, desperately trying to keep a giggle from escaping.
Draco was still being begrudgingly carried upstairs. “STOP THIS AT ONCE!” He seemed to have reached peak outrage by that point. “This is an indignity! I am TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS old for Merlin’s sake—”
They didn’t get to hear the last part of that statement as it was cut off when he disappeared from view and a moment later they heard a door slam closed.
The stunned silence stretched out for a few long moments.
“Wow. I didn’t expect that to actually work,” Hermione muttered dazedly.
Narcissa was then bent almost in half over the armrest of a nearby chair, surrendering to such unrestrained mirth that she would’ve deemed unbecoming at any other point in time. She couldn’t seem to stop herself, however, and continued laughing until tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Hermione watched her, bemused.
“Why did it work, though? Judging by your reaction, you might have some idea.” She raised an expectant brow at her wife, patiently waiting as Narcissa straightened up and dabbed at her eyes. She looked as if she was still struggling to contain herself.
“Well, I did tell you the magic recognizes you now. So when you grounded—” she gave a delicate little snort “—him just now, the house decided to intervene. It’s all part of the ancient spellwork, intended to help manage unruly offspring. It might have taken it a smidgen too literally. The fact that you are incredibly powerful magically probably didn’t help matters, either.”
“Oh Merlin, he’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” Hermione shook her head, still in shock. “And he can’t leave his room?” She added.
Another giggle escaped Narcissa before she composed herself. “I’m afraid you’d have to un-ground him first.”
“I am a dead woman,” she sighed. “I should probably go and deal with it, shouldn’t I?”
“Hmm, I think he could use some time to rest and reflect. You could do it tomorrow morning.” Narcissa stepped closer and wound her arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “Besides, we have other things on the agenda tonight—ones that I’m very much looking forward to.” She lightly pecked her lips and smiled.
“Do you think he’ll be alright in there?” Hermione asked, chewing on her bottom lip pensively.
"You mean with the en suite, his private library and the house-elves at his disposal?" she scoffed amusedly. “I think he’ll survive the night, love. It’s still touching that you care about his comfort.” Her gaze softened and a fond smile tugged at her lips.
“Well, he is a prat, but he’s also family, so it comes with the package. I can’t not care about him.” Hermione raised her gaze to meet Narcissa’s and a moment later her expression turned teasing. “Besides—and if you repeat that to anyone, I shall deny it until my dying breath—I think I’ve grown a little fond of his dramatics.”
“He did always have a flair for theatrics, that child of mine. You should’ve heard him go on and on and on about Harry during your Hogwarts time. I’d get at least a couple owls every week bemoaning his very existence for years,” Narcissa’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “But enough about Draco now. I formally request the pleasure of my beautiful wife’s company upstairs.”
Hermione laughed happily and took the outstretched hand. “The pleasure is all mine, my love.”
Hermione took another sip from her glass and blinked slowly. The manor’s richly decorated study was swaying lightly before her eyes and she didn’t know when the blond head next to her had turned distinctly into two heads. Merlin, she was sloshed. She shook her head a bit to clear it and tried to focus on the words coming out of the aforementioned heads. Head. Focus, Hermione! Words. Yes. Good.
“—and then the fucking door just slams in my face and won’t bloody open! I hadn’t seen that bloody house-magic-bullshite happen since I was four! Four, Granger! I am twenty-seven! Do you know how many years that is? It’s been—” He scrunched up his face, obviously struggling with the math in his head and after a moment waved it off. “—a lot of bloody years, is my point! How the everloving fuck did you do that?!” Draco shot her a stern glare. Or at least he tried to. The overall effect was somewhat ruined by his unfocused gaze and the way he was holding himself up against the antique desk at his side.
“I swear I had no idea it would happen! C’mon, how could I have possibly known? How many bloody places d’you know that do that?!”
Draco grumbled under his breath but seemed placated enough for the time being. “I s’ppose you didn’t, really.”
“Trust me, I was just as shocked as you were.” At his glare, she relented with a grin. “All right, maybe not exactly as much as you were, but pretty surprised all the same.”
They both took another few sips before Hermione casually continued, “Still funny as all hell, though.”
“It was absolutely not funny, you menace!” Draco screeched, waving his arm wildly to make his point and splashing Firewhisky all over the lush Persian rug.
Hermione met and held his gaze steadily for a few long moments before they both broke into fits of laughter. Several minutes passed before, clutching their sides and wiping at the corner of their eyes, they attempted to sit back up.
“You know, for a self-righteous, nagging harpy you’re really not such terrible company.” Draco sniffed, the corners of his mouth tugging up.
“Be still my beating heart, that almost sounded like a compliment. Careful there, Malfoy, I might get the idea that you liked me.” Hermione smirked at him.
“Please. I still ardently detest you.”
“Likewise,” she laughed. “And for a whiny, spoiled brat you make a surprisingly good drinking buddy.”
They clinked their glasses together, the crystal ding! echoing around the room.
“You know, I still can’t believe you got mother to hyphenate her name. The most ancient and noble House of Black, besmirched with a muggle attachment to it—bloody unheard of.” He suddenly grinned. “Please, please go and tell dear old great-aunt Walburga all about it next time you’re at Potter’s. I’ll pay you to hear what the old bat thinks of that.” he was snickering into his Firewhisky.
Hermione shot him a speculative glance. “You could see for yourself at Harry’s birthday party in a couple of weeks. He did ask me to invite you.”
“He—I—what—” Draco spluttered and coughed, glass paused halfway up to his mouth and eyes as round as saucers.
Hermione barely managed to catch the amused snort before it left her lips. Subtle the man was not. She did her best to school her features into a casual nonchalance before answering.
“Yes, it’s on the 4th at Grimmauld Place, and you’re invited.”
“But his birthday is on the 31st,” he blurted out before quickly snapping his mouth shut with a distinctly guilty look.
"Yes, but the party will be on Saturday, so everyone doesn't need to worry about work the next day," Hermione said slowly, as if explaining things to a small child.
Draco sat up with a jolt. “Do you realize what that means?!”
“Um—"
“It means I have less than two weeks to figure out what I am going to wear!” With a mighty screech, he was up and halfway through to the door before Hermione could process what had just happened. Neither the way he was swaying in his inebriated state nor the bang to his shin by a nearby table could deter him from his mission.
Hermione watched his hasty exit bemusedly. “Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse, all things considered.”