Solarium de Caritate

Epilogue

September 19, 2004, Malfoy-Potter Residence

"Harry, darling? Have you seen my tie? The cornflower blue one?"

"It's in the dry cleaning bag in my closet! Sorry, forgot it was still in there."

I rub a towel over my wet hair as I exit the bathroom, another towel wrapped around my hips.

Draco is pulling on a white button-down shirt, his previously-missing tie now draped over his neck. My eyes fall on the love bites below the collar, marking his pale skin. My handiwork, of course. He's only healed the ones that are visible above his shirt, and that makes me smile. Merlin, he's beautiful.

He finishes buttoning the last button at the collar and begins tying his tie, slender fingers making quick, precise movements as he watches himself in the mirror.

"Draco?"

He glances up at my expression and laughs. "Absolutely not. We'll be late."

"But—"

He walks over and trails a hand down my bare chest, eyes soft and amused. "After, darling."

I pull him into a kiss, hands shamelessly groping at his arse over his favorite pair of grey trousers. "No one will care if we're late. The Weasleys don't really stand on ceremony, you know that."

"I care."

"We're newlyweds. People expect us to be late to everything."

"That is completely uncouth, Mr. Malfoy-Potter." Draco arches a brow and fixes me with a stern look, holding up a finger between us. "After."

He extricates himself from my loose hold, kissing my cheek. I catch his left hand, pressing the shiny gold ring on his finger to my lips and giving him my very best puppy dog eyes.

"Remember, we have dinner with my parents tomorrow."

Well that's a mood killer if I've ever heard one.

"Right."

He grins. "Come on, it won't be so bad."

"It will, but I'll go. For you."

"That's the spirit. Get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs," he orders, softening the harsh tone and the retrieval of his hand with a fond smile.

When I make my way downstairs, he's waiting by the fireplace, tapping a foot impatiently.

When I reach him he gives me a long, sweet kiss, holding me by the lapels. He pulls back, straightens my tie, and gives me one last kiss before declaring me fit to leave the house.

And then we're off to meet our friends.

***

September 19, 2004, Celebratory Birthday Dinner, The Red Sphinx Restaurant

"To Hermione, twenty-five years old and the youngest Department Head in a century!" Ron crows.

"To Hermione! Happy Birthday!" Our small crowd of friends call out, raising their glasses.

I glance over at Draco, and find him already looking at me, his eyes shining.

I lean over and catch his free hand, squeezing it tightly as we drink to Hermione.

"I love you," I mouth over my glass.

"I love you, too," he whispers back, squeezing my hand again, but not letting go, as we turn our attention back to the many conversations happening around us at the table.

And I marvel once again at how perfectly content I am with my life.

It's been four years since our first kiss, followed by a sweet Christmas Eve first date. Four incredible, messy, perfect years together.

We're surrounded by friends.

I have my dream job teaching five-year-olds to read and write and add sums and fly practice brooms, sometimes all at the same time.

Five-year-olds who are far more interested in snack time than anything I've ever done, who roll their eyes at their starstruck parents, because, "it's just Mr. Potter, Mum. He wears glasses and he forgot the words to our alphabet song last week, he's a complete dork, stop looking at him like that."

Honestly? I've never felt more properly seen in my entire life.

And, best of all, I'm married to this gorgeous, snarky, stylish, sarcastic, absolutely perfect man.

I truly can't imagine anything better.