Not Quite Dark Magic

Epilogues

Four years post-war

Hermione had never thought she was too indulgent. She liked the simple things in life. Old books. The spot in the library where the sun hit just right after lunch.

A peaceful world where she could quench her thirst for knowledge.

She was never much into makeup, or fixing her hair to appease those who couldn't understand that it's wildness represented something soul deep within her.

She knew that the person that was right for her would accept these things about her, even if they didn't love them. Hermione was patient.

She could wait.

She would never settle.

Hermione never thought she aimed for anything that was out of reach. Sure, she dreamt of being Minister for Magic, but honestly? It didn't seem that far fetched that one day— after she settled down and had several red haired babies with a simple, lovable man— that she'd pursue politics and change the shape of the wizarding world completely.

And she had changed the wizarding world. But no one could have predicted the turn out.

These thoughts raced through her head as she applied her red lipstick meticulously— because, yes, she wanted someone that could see her natural self and love every bit of it— but experimenting with makeup was almost as rewarding as finding the perfect potion ingredients.

Besides, Draco had loved her through a bloody war. There wasn't much that could tear them apart at this point.

"Are you ready yet?" Draco's head popped in and Hermione felt their bind pull tight and thrum contentedly. She leaned closer to the mirror, fingers playing at the edges of her lips as she perfected the lines around her mouth.

"We've got plenty of time before we need to make it to the field." She pressed her lips together and turned toward him, brow furrowed. "Why are you so eager to get there early?"

He shrugged, raising his gaze to the ceiling and Hermione's eyes narrowed. Under her searching gaze, she felt his nerves seep in through their bind.

There were so many things that went away after war that Hermione never thought she'd get back. She didn't flinch when a door slammed a bit too hard. The last time she'd knocked someone out that had accidentally snuck up on her was nearly a year ago.

But she could still interpret body language as if it was second nature.

Hands in his pockets, feigning casualty, tensed shoulders that he attempted to hide by leaning against the doors.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm not going."

Draco's jaw popped open. "Why would you say that? We go every year!"

It wasn't a mourning or celebration, but something in between.

Draco had been granted the land Malfoy Manor had once sat on. For a few months, they had considered rebuilding. Something modest— nothing near the monstrosity the manor had been.

But they'd gone back only twice before they realized it wasn't right. Not the timing, not the placement and certainly not the feeling they got when they visited.

She wasn't sure how it happened. It was almost exactly a year after the war had ended, and they hadn't visited the properties in weeks.

Anniversaries were hard, even when the proper healing had— and was— taking place. They found themselves at Grimmauld Place with the others. Harry was already three shots in and Theo was twitchy because it was the night before a full moon. Everyone was on edge and the environment felt more like war than anything they'd experienced in a long time.