Chapter Song: PILLOWTALK
The house was unusually quiet.
Mia was away for the night — her first-ever sleepover at the Weasleys' without either parent checking in. She'd left with a grin, arms full of snacks and spellwork, promising she wouldn't hex anyone unless they deserved it.
Hermione watched her daughter disappear through the Floo with a small, wistful smile.
Draco had watched Hermione.
Now, hours later, the fire burned low in their sitting room, casting soft golden light over the worn pages of a book Hermione wasn't really reading.
Draco leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching her.
"You're thinking again," he murmured.
Hermione glanced up at him. "Is that a crime now?"
He smirked, stepping closer. "Only when you're pretending to read Magical Theory and the Properties of Non-Verbal Wards at ten at night, Hermione."
She shut the book softly. "Old habits."
Draco sat beside her, his hand finding hers easily, their fingers lacing together with the kind of familiarity that came from years of love built in war, peace, and everything between.
For a long moment, they sat in comfortable silence.
Then —
"You're allowed to say it, you know," he said quietly. "That you're not fine."
Hermione closed her eyes.
There it was. The thing no curse could touch. The truth no battle had erased.
She had survived the war.
Survived torture.
Survived Lucius's hatred.
But recovery…
No one ever taught her how to recover from being hated for simply existing.
She opened her eyes slowly, turning her head toward him. "It's not something that disappears." Her voice was soft. "The names. The stares. The idea that, no matter how many lives I save, someone out there will always see me as… less."
Draco's jaw clenched. He reached up, gently brushing a stray curl from her cheek.
"And I'll spend every day proving them wrong."
Hermione gave him a tired smile. "You can't fight the whole world, Draco."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "I don't have to. Just the part that dares to touch you."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She closed her eyes again, letting herself lean into his warmth. The way his hand stroked hers gently — not in pity, not in desperation, but in steady, quiet love.
"You know," she whispered, "sometimes I wonder if I'll ever stop hearing it… that word."
Draco pulled back slightly, his eyes fierce but soft. "Let me give you one you'll hear louder."
He kissed her.
Slow, deep, reverent.
Like she was everything he'd ever wanted and everything he still didn't deserve.
Hermione melted against him, her hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. The knot inside her chest loosened just a little.
When they finally parted, his lips brushed softly against her temple.
"Wife. Mother. Brilliant witch. Best friend. Love of my bloody life."
She laughed, the sound shaky but real. "That's… quite a list."
He smiled against her skin. "And not a single 'Mudblood' on it."
Her heart ached — but not in the way it used to.
This ache was softer. Bearable. A scar that would never vanish but no longer owned her.
She pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing him in. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For loving me loud enough to drown out the rest of the world."
Draco wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her as if he could shield her from every shadow in the world.
"You don't have to recover from their hate, Hermione," he whispered. "You just have to outlive it. And we will. Together."