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Daily Prophet Exclusive
"Malfoy Heir Engaged to Mysterious Fiancée!"
The wizarding world is positively buzzing with whispers, gasps, and raised eyebrows as one of Britain's most infamous bachelors has finally been caught. Draco Malfoy, heir to the vast Malfoy estate and fortune, has become engaged. Yes, you read that correctly — the elusive, silver-tongued Malfoy is officially off the market.
While rumors of his courtship have been swirling for months, confirmation of the engagement has now come directly from a source within Malfoy Manor itself. But as is always the case with this most secretive of families, the details are wrapped in shadow. The name of the bride-to-be remains concealed, fueling speculation across every fashionable tea shop in Diagon Alley.
What is known is this: the mysterious fiancée does not hail from one of the old wizarding families. For some, this is a shocking departure from the long and carefully preserved lineage of pure-blood tradition that the Malfoys once guarded so fiercely. For others, it signals a possible rebirth for a family long tarnished by its association with the Dark Lord during the war. Could this union mark a new chapter for the Malfoy name, a step away from the heavy shadows of the past?
Eyewitnesses have offered tantalizing glimpses. The couple was spotted sharing an intimate dinner at a private table in Diagon Alley's most exclusive bistro. "The chemistry between them was undeniable," whispered one witch, who claims she nearly spilled her wine from the sheer tension in the air. "He looked at her like she was the only person in the room."
Still, questions linger. Is this a love match born of passion, or is it a calculated alliance, orchestrated to restore Malfoy prestige in the circles where it once reigned supreme? Rumors abound of heated negotiations, discreet family meetings, and a hush-hush Ministry blessing.
Some have even speculated that the mystery woman might be a war heroine, others that she could be entirely unknown, a witch plucked from obscurity and suddenly thrust into the blinding glare of high society. One particularly bold whisper claims she might not be a witch at all, but a Muggle-born — a claim which, if true, would send shockwaves through traditionalist circles.
What does this mean for the future of the Malfoy dynasty? Can this engagement heal old wounds and smooth over the family's scandal-stained reputation? Or will it tear open new divides, reigniting old resentments among those who still clutch to notions of blood purity?
One thing is certain: the wedding, when it comes, will be the event of the decade. The Prophet will be following every secret, every stolen glance, and every whispered promise.
Who is this woman who has ensnared Draco Malfoy's heart, and perhaps, reshaped the destiny of his family? For exclusive quotes from those closest to the couple, predictions from society experts, and a full speculative family tree, turn to page 28.
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Daily Prophet Exclusive
"Malfoy Wedding: The Event of the Century!"
It was the social event of the decade, perhaps even the century, and true to form, the Malfoys delivered nothing short of a spectacle. In a ceremony dripping with opulence and secrecy, Draco Lucius Malfoy has wed in a celebration that has left the wizarding world spellbound.
Sources whisper that the Malfoy estate was transformed into a glittering palace of enchantments. Roses bloomed in midair before dissolving into showers of silver dust, while golden phoenixes circled overhead, their wings leaving trails of sparkling light across the star-drenched sky. Guests dined on a twelve-course feast rumored to have been prepared by no fewer than thirty house-elves and overseen by a French culinary sorceress famed for feeding royalty.
But of course, readers, the true mystery lies not in the expense but in the bride. Who is the new Mrs. Malfoy?
No name has been officially released, no confirmed lineage charted. What sort of woman could secure the hand of one of wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors? The Malfoys, historically obsessive about bloodline purity, have been uncharacteristically silent, fueling rumors that the bride is not of pure-blood heritage at all. Could the House of Malfoy, infamous for their old alliances and stricter-than-strict standards, have bent tradition in the name of love?
Eyewitnesses claim the bride arrived shrouded in enchanted lace, her features obscured by glamour charms that shimmered like heat on the air. She was seen only at Draco Malfoy's side, her hand clutched tightly in his, her every move guarded by a circle of wards strong enough to repel even the boldest paparazzi spell. Not a single photograph of her unmasked face has surfaced, and those who were invited have been bound by oaths of secrecy that could fell a dragon.
So why the secrecy? Is she hiding a past best left buried? Or is this all a deliberate ploy to keep wizarding society hungry for the reveal? As one well-placed insider told this reporter, "Draco looked utterly besotted, as if he would duel the entire Ministry itself just to keep her hidden. I've never seen him like this."
And indeed, by all accounts, the groom was transformed. Gone was the cool, aloof figure of gossip columns past. Witnesses describe Draco Malfoy's gaze fixed on his bride throughout the evening, his expression raw with devotion — though some whisper it bordered on obsession.
Whoever she is, one thing is certain: the new Mrs. Malfoy has captured not just Draco's heart but the attention of every witch and wizard in Britain. And until the veil is lifted, speculation will only grow.
Is she a foreign dignitary, an heiress in her own right, a former classmate long overlooked, or something else entirely? One thing is undeniable: she has changed the story of the Malfoys forever.
Turn to page 28 for this reporter's exclusive theories, a timeline of Draco Malfoy's mysterious courtship, and a closer look at the spells, scandals, and secrets behind the wedding of the century.
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Daily Prophet Exclusive
"Hermione Granger Welcomes Her First Child with Draco Malfoy!"
By Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter
Wands down, witches and wizards — the secret is out!
The wizarding world awoke today to the revelation that the mysterious Mrs. Malfoy is none other than Hermione Granger herself, the so-called brightest witch of her age, war heroine, and former Gryffindor know-it-all. And if that isn't shocking enough, the couple has already welcomed their first child. Yes, you read that correctly — the Malfoys and Grangers are now one family.
Whispers of Draco Malfoy's marriage had dominated drawing room chatter for months, but no one could have predicted this . Could a story be more delicious? The Muggle-born who once bested Death Eaters in battle is now the mother of the next Malfoy heir. Two worlds colliding: the gilded, centuries-old dynasty of Slytherin aristocracy, and the fiercely independent, trail-blazing Gryffindor who once stood at the heart of Harry Potter's golden trio.
Those fortunate enough to glimpse the happy family describe the baby as breathtaking — Granger's clever eyes paired with Malfoy's unmistakable silver-blond hair. Already, speculation abounds as to whether this child will be a paragon of intellect, a future heart-breaker, or perhaps both.
Still, not everyone is celebrating. Traditionalists in the pure-blood elite are said to be clutching their pearls at this most unorthodox match. One unnamed socialite wailed to this reporter that "Lucius must be spinning in his grave." Yet others point out that no one has seen Narcissa Malfoy smiling so broadly in years, her apparent delight signaling a full embrace of her new daughter-in-law.
Of course, questions remain. When did sparks fly between two people who once spat insults across the Hogwarts corridors? Was this a romance born in secret, or a marriage of convenience that blossomed into something more? Skeptics insist there must be more to the story, while romantics are already calling it the greatest enemies-to-lovers tale of our age.
One fact is beyond dispute: Hermione Granger has done what few thought possible. She has rewritten the Malfoy legacy. Whether this will usher in a new era of unity or simply stir fresh controversy, only time will tell.
For now, all eyes remain on the couple and their newborn child. What will this union mean for the future of wizarding Britain? Will the next generation of Malfoys grow up with Granger's love of books and justice, or with Draco's silver tongue and taste for grandeur? Perhaps both — and wouldn't that be something.
Turn to page 28 for this reporter's exclusive inside look at the Malfoy nursery, the enchanted gifts flooding in from admirers worldwide, and a closer examination of how Hermione Granger may very well be redefining what it means to be a modern witch in a traditional family.
•••
Scorpius's cries carried through the vast, quiet halls of the penthouse, a small sound that seemed impossibly large in the silence. The whimpers grew into restless fussing, his little fists waving in the air as if he could summon comfort through sheer will. It was impatience, it was innocence, and it pulled at the heart in a way Draco had never thought possible.
In the adjoining study, Draco let the parchment on his desk slip from his hands. He had been glaring at the same pointless letter for nearly an hour, another tiresome request about business, another tedious obligation that felt meaningless. None of it mattered when he heard his son's voice.
"I'm coming, my boy," he murmured, rising from his chair. The moment those cries reached him, everything else—every memory, every shadow of the past, every burden—simply ceased to exist. The weight he carried had shifted long ago. Scorpius had become the axis his entire world now spun upon.
He crossed the hall and pushed open the nursery door. The faint creak of the hinges accompanied the soft, insistent fussing from the crib. Scorpius lay there, his small arms flailing, his pale cheeks flushed, his wide grey eyes brimming with distress. They were Draco's own eyes reflected back at him, only untouched by the cruelties of the world.
"There you are," Draco whispered, his voice tender as he bent to lift the baby. The moment Scorpius was against his chest, his cries began to ease. Draco cradled him close, swaying instinctively, feeling the warmth of his son's body pressed against him. The rest of the room blurred into nothing. All he could hear was the soft sound of his son's breathing, all he could feel was the fragile trust resting in his arms.
Every time he held him, Draco marveled at the way love could undo him so completely. This was not the guarded, conditional love he had known before. This was raw, unshakable, almost terrifying in its purity. Scorpius was his heart walking outside his body, and every day the bond grew stronger.
He exhaled slowly, rocking him in a gentle rhythm, the small weight of his son pressed firmly to his chest. In that moment, there was no Malfoy name, no expectations, no ghosts of darker days. There was only a father and his child, a fragile peace carved out of the silence, and the quiet knowledge that he would give everything he had to keep this little boy safe.
Down the hall, Hermione sat curled on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her as if she were savoring the quiet at the end of a long day. One hand absentmindedly combed through her hair, the soft, repetitive motion soothing in its simplicity. There was a glow about her that no words could quite capture, a light that seemed to shine from within. Motherhood suited her in a way Draco had never been able to imagine before. She was radiant, not in the fragile, fleeting way of surface beauty, but with a strength and grace that came from deep inside her.
When he stepped into the living room, Scorpius nestled close against his chest, she looked up. Her gaze softened instantly, her eyes resting on the two of them as though the sight alone was enough to fill her with peace. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispered, her voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around him like a blanket.
Draco met her eyes with a small, tender smile. He did not speak at first, simply let the quiet between them stretch in a way that felt intimate rather than empty. She broke it with a low laugh, one that carried both wonder and disbelief. "We did it, didn't we? Broke the wizarding world with our baby announcement. They were waiting for scandal, all of them. But no one, not a single person, expected this."
The laugh pulled at something inside his chest, and he shook his head, amused but firm. "They can fuck off," he said without venom, the words softened by the affection in his tone. He had no patience for the whispers anymore. "The only people who matter are you and him. That is all." His voice was fierce, his words unpolished, and it was the sincerity behind them that made her smile widen.
Hermione let her hand rest against her stomach, her fingers brushing lightly over the place that still carried the memory of Scorpius's beginnings. "I have never been happier," she admitted quietly, her voice full of something raw and content all at once. "This is everything I ever wanted, though I didn't even know I wanted it until it was here."
His chest tightened at her words. The sight of her sitting there, softened by the firelight, the faintest sheen of tiredness across her features but shining with joy nonetheless, left him with an ache that was almost too much to bear. He reached for her, his fingers brushing her cheek, the gesture gentle but full of reverence. "You're beautiful," he murmured. "Your pregnancy glow never left you. You are radiant, Hermione."
She leaned into his hand as though she had been waiting for that touch all evening, her smile quiet and trusting. "Thank you, love," she whispered, her voice carrying the ease of someone who no longer doubted the ground she stood on.
Draco's gaze fell once more to the bundle in his arms. Scorpius had settled fully now, his breaths soft and even, his tiny hands curled against his father's chest in perfect trust. Draco pressed a kiss to the crown of his son's head, breathing in the faint, sweet scent of him. Love surged through him with such force he thought it might undo him entirely. He wanted to give this child everything—every scrap of joy, every ounce of protection, every promise of safety he himself had never known. For the first time in his life, he did not care about names or expectations. What mattered was this: the family he held in his arms and the woman smiling at him from across the room.
"Can we… you know, have a sibling for Scorpius?" Draco's voice was softer than usual, touched with something that sounded like both hope and longing. The words seemed to hover in the space between them, fragile yet insistent, like a thought that had been waiting too long to be spoken aloud. He had carried it quietly for weeks, perhaps longer, the idea of building something even greater than what they already had. Scorpius was perfection in their arms, but the thought of giving him a brother or sister, of filling their home with even more life and laughter, had taken root in Draco's heart.
Hermione raised one brow, her expression warm rather than critical, her lips curving with amusement. "It has been only five months," she reminded him gently, though the playful lilt in her tone betrayed her disbelief. "And you're already asking for another baby?"
Draco leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear, his voice dropping into something low and persuasive. "I want all the babies in the world with you," he whispered, each word weighted with truth. "I want to fill this house with laughter, with chaos, with love. I want Scorpius to grow up surrounded by brothers and sisters. I want a family with you, one that carries the strength of us, one that no one can break."
The sound of his voice, raw and unguarded, sent a shiver racing down her spine. She had always known he could be intense, sometimes unbearably so, but there was something different about the way he spoke now. It was not the urgency of desire alone, but the steady pull of something deeper, something that bound itself to her heart and refused to let go.
Hermione glanced at Scorpius, who had drifted into a soft, contented doze against his father's chest. His tiny features were relaxed, his small hands curled into fists against Draco's shirt. The sight of him, so secure and so loved, made her chest ache with affection.
"You're impossible," she murmured, her hand sliding gently along Draco's arm, her thumb stroking lightly over his sleeve. The words were teasing, but her smile softened, betraying the truth in her heart. "But… I'll think about it."
His laugh rumbled low in his chest, full of mischief and tenderness. His hand moved to Scorpius's hair, brushing the soft strands with infinite care. "That's all I ask," he said, his tone rich with quiet promise. "But remember this. There is no one else I would ever want this with. It will only ever be you. You, forever."
Her throat tightened at the conviction in his words, and she met his gaze, letting him see the truth reflected back. "And there is no one else I would want either," she replied softly, her voice almost breaking under the weight of her emotion.
They stayed like that, bound together in the quiet of their home, the baby between them a living symbol of everything they had endured and everything they had built. It felt like the beginning of something larger than themselves, a future that would grow and twist and shift with time, but always return to this: the three of them, united, unshakable, and overflowing with love.
•••
Who would have ever believed it possible that Draco Malfoy, once the untouchable heir to one of the most feared pure-blood families in Britain, would one day be the father of a little girl who owned him so completely? Yet here he was, utterly undone by the smallest of smiles, wrapped around the tiny fingers of his daughter, Aurora. She had inherited Hermione's clever eyes and Draco's pale hair, a combination that seemed to make her glow with a light that was all her own. When she laughed, the sound had a way of softening the edges of everything around her, even her father's once-impenetrable heart.
For so long Draco had been the calculating, distant man who measured every move as though the world were a chessboard and he its master. Now he was almost unrecognizable, transformed into a father who crouched down on the nursery floor to braid clumsy plaits into his daughter's hair, who lifted her high onto his shoulders as though she belonged to the heavens, who would burn down the world without hesitation if it meant she would never know pain. The cold, proud heir had become a man of fierce tenderness, a man whose every action was dictated by devotion.
To Hermione, watching him with their children never felt strange. It felt like watching something inevitable unfold, like seeing a truth that had always been waiting to reveal itself. She had known there was goodness in him, even when he had doubted it himself, and now she saw it laid bare in every kiss he pressed to Aurora's forehead, in every late night he spent pacing the halls with Scorpius when their son had been a baby, in every promise he whispered when he thought no one else was listening.
Draco had grown into everything she had ever dreamed of in a partner, and so much more. His love for her had deepened with every year, steady and consuming, but it was his devotion to their children that humbled her most. He adored Aurora with a tenderness that made Hermione's chest ache, the way he scooped her up with infinite patience, the way he always seemed to know when she needed comfort, the way he never let her believe she was anything less than extraordinary.
Hermione often caught herself staring at them together, her husband and their daughter, and she felt something swell inside her that words could never quite contain. She had witnessed his transformation with her own eyes, step by step, from the cautious man who had once built walls around his heart to the father who would tear down every barrier in existence if it meant his children would live in safety and love. It was a metamorphosis that the world would never have expected, but to her, it was the truest thing she had ever known about him.
Hermione herself was beyond joyful, though there were mornings when she woke up with a baby on one arm, a toddler sprawled across her legs, and two older children clamoring for attention at the foot of the bed, and she wondered how her life had become so gloriously chaotic. She had found her soulmate in Draco, and together they had built something she once thought impossible. It was not the quiet, neat little family she might have pictured for herself when she was a girl, but it was theirs, and it was perfect in its own unruly way. There were days when she could hardly believe how far they had come, from enemies who once could not look at each other without venom, to lovers who had torn down walls that seemed unbreakable, and now to parents whose days were measured not by battles or politics, but by feedings, tantrums, and the steady, unshakable rhythm of love.
Even in the chaos of diapers, midnight feedings, and the endless demands of children who always seemed to need something new, there was an undeniable peace that threaded through their home. It was not silence, but harmony, the kind of peace that comes from knowing you are exactly where you are meant to be. Hermione would sit in the rocking chair with a baby at her breast, listening to Scorpius and Aurora chasing each other down the corridor, and she would feel her heart expand with a fullness she had never thought possible.
And then came Leo and Cassiopeia, the twins who arrived like a storm breaking across a summer sky, unexpected and dazzling. They were loud and demanding from the moment they entered the world, a pair of tiny forces who shifted the balance of their family forever. His wish had come true. He had once confessed, half teasing, that he wanted a large family, that he wanted his house to echo with the sounds of children. Now, with their four little ones filling every room, Draco often told her that he had everything he had ever longed for and more. It was as though the universe had answered the deepest corners of his heart, layering their lives with laughter and cries, with sticky fingers tugging at his robes, with voices that filled the once-empty halls of the Malfoy estate.
Hermione, of course, was exhausted. There were nights when she fell asleep still dressed, a book slipping from her hand, too tired to even crawl beneath the covers. There were days when the noise made her head ache and she longed for a quiet hour to herself. Yet even in her weariness, she knew she would not trade this for anything. Her life had become a whirlwind, but it was a whirlwind that belonged to her, one she had chosen with all her heart.
Through it all, Draco remained constant. He was not only the father she had always hoped her children would have but the partner who carried her when she felt like she could not take another step. He was the one who rose in the middle of the night when two babies cried at once, the one who took Scorpius outside to teach him to fly so Hermione could have a rare hour of peace, the one who sat quietly beside her on the couch, brushing her hair back from her face, when exhaustion made her want to cry. His love had never faltered, not once, not in the midst of the sleepless nights or the long days filled with chores and tantrums.
And still, he wooed her. Even after years of marriage and four children, Draco Malfoy managed to make her feel like the most cherished woman alive. There were flowers delivered when she least expected them, enchanted lilies that opened in her favorite colors. There were whispered endearments pressed against the curve of her neck when she was least prepared for them, moments that reminded her she was not only a mother but a woman adored. Sometimes it was almost exhausting how persistently romantic he could be, as if his heart could not contain the need to show her, again and again, how much she meant to him. Hermione often laughed at the sheer relentlessness of his affection, shaking her head at his dramatic flourishes, but she treasured every single one.
It was not a fairytale, not really, because fairytales ended too soon. This was something better. This was real. And in the midst of chaos, exhaustion, and overwhelming love, Hermione knew that she had found everything she had ever wanted.
•••
Draco's favorite part of the day was always this. The quiet after everything else, the hush of the house when the children were finally asleep, when all that remained was her. He stood at the doorway of the bathroom, drinking her in as though she were the only thing worth seeing. The golden light painted her skin in warm, liquid shades, catching on the curve of her cheek and the delicate movement of her hand as she pressed a towel against her face. With her eyes closed, she looked almost ethereal, as though she belonged to a world far more exquisite than his.
"Merlin, you're stunning," he murmured, his voice low, roughened by the hunger he had been carrying in silence all day.
She startled faintly at the sound of him but recovered quickly, her lips curling into a smile that made his chest tighten. "You scared me," she whispered, though her tone was playful, her eyes glinting with both affection and that familiar spark of heat that always rose between them when the day slipped into night.
He crossed the room in measured strides, his gaze fixed on her like a predator closing in. He tucked a damp curl behind her ear, letting his fingers trail slowly along the line of her jaw before his thumb brushed across the corner of her mouth. She shivered, her lips parting in silent invitation, and his breath caught.
"You clean up nicely too," she teased, her gaze dropping to his bare chest, lingering on the flex of muscle as if she were already imagining the weight of him pressing her down. Her voice was soft, breathless, but threaded with a challenge he knew well.
He didn't bother with words. His mouth found hers, slow at first, savoring her taste as though he meant to memorize it. She melted against him, but the kiss quickly sharpened, growing fierce and demanding until he was lifting her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist without thought. The towel she had been holding slipped to the floor, forgotten, as he carried her out of the bathroom.
They didn't make it to the bed immediately. He pressed her against the cool wall of the hallway, the chill of stone a sharp contrast to the fire blazing beneath her skin. Hermione gasped against his mouth as his hands roamed, slipping beneath her robe to grip the soft flesh of her thighs, pulling her tighter against him.
"Draco," she whispered, the sound breaking from her lips like a prayer she could no longer hold back.
He pulled back just enough to let her feel the torment of his restraint, his lips hovering above hers, his breath hot against her skin. "Say it, love," he urged, his voice ragged, eyes dark with need. "Tell me you want me."
Her answer came without hesitation, her nails digging into the hard lines of his back as she pressed closer. "I need you," she confessed, her voice raw, her body trembling against him.
A smirk curved his mouth, feral and pleased. "That's my girl." His lips crushed against hers once more before he carried her swiftly into the bedroom.
He set her down on the bed with a reverence that did not match the hunger in his eyes. His hands moved to the silk tie of her robe, loosening the knot with deliberate care, as though he enjoyed drawing out her anticipation. When the robe slid open, falling away to reveal the warm glow of bare skin, he stilled for a moment. Firelight flickered across her body, every shadow and highlight making her look like a vision conjured solely for him.
"You undo me," he murmured, his voice hoarse as he drank her in. His fingers traced over her collarbone, down the curve of her breast, pausing at her hip as though he needed to remind himself she was real.
Hermione's lips parted, a soft breath escaping as her hands tugged him closer, her own patience unraveling. "Then stop looking," she whispered, her voice trembling with both tenderness and urgency. "And touch me."
And he did.
"Perfect," he muttered, the word almost swallowed by the quiet rasp of his breath as his hands slid along her thighs. He urged them open wider, his touch reverent yet possessive, as though every inch of her belonged to him alone. Hermione's breath caught in her throat when his mouth began its descent, each kiss lower than the last, a worshipful trail that left her trembling in anticipation. He lingered deliberately on every curve and hollow, unwilling to rush the unveiling of her body.
By the time his lips reached her core, she was already quivering with need, her body aching for him. The first flick of his tongue against her sent a sharp cry spilling from her lips, her hips jerking forward as though pulled by instinct. He held her steady, his grip firm on her thighs as his tongue worked her with unrelenting focus, circling her clit with maddening precision before closing his mouth around it and sucking gently.
"Draco," she gasped, her voice breaking on the plea. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as waves of heat surged through her. Her body arched, helpless against the intensity of his mouth, the pressure coiling tighter inside her with every stroke.
Her desperation only spurred him further. He groaned into her, the vibration sending sparks across her nerves, and slipped two fingers deep inside her, curling them upward until he found the spot that made her see white. Hermione cried out, her back arching clear off the mattress as the pleasure tore through her. He did not let go until her body shook with release, until her cries dissolved into breathless whimpers and the tension in her thighs slackened against his grip.
Only then did he lift his head, his lips glistening, his expression smug and hungry. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You taste like heaven," he rasped, his voice gravelly with lust as he shifted back over her.
Hermione's hands, still trembling, reached for the waistband of his pajama bottoms. She tugged them down with urgent impatience, freeing him from the last barrier between them. His cock sprang hard and heavy into her palm, and she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly, deliberately teasing him in retaliation for the torment he had just given her.
A guttural sound escaped his throat, his body jerking into her touch. "Enough," he growled, grabbing her wrists and pressing them firmly above her head against the sheets. His eyes burned into hers, dark and molten. "I want you too much to let you play right now."
The intensity in his voice made her shiver. He lowered himself over her, the weight of him both grounding and overwhelming. She felt the head of his cock press against her entrance, his hips aligning carefully with hers. He paused, his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes locking onto hers with raw vulnerability beneath the hunger. "Tell me if it is too much," he whispered, his voice tender in a way that contradicted the ferocity of his desire.
Her answer was immediate, her body straining toward him with need. "Draco, just move. Please." The plea tore from her lips, broken and hoarse with want.
With a groan that came from the very pit of him, he pushed inside her. The slow stretch made her gasp, her body opening around him inch by inch until he was buried deep within her. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his jaw tight, as if the sensation of her around him was almost unbearable. Hermione's nails dug into his shoulders as he began to move, deep and slow at first, each thrust designed to make her feel the weight of his possession.
Every drag of his cock brushed against her so perfectly it stole the breath from her lungs. The steady pace grew faster, rougher, until the sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with their gasps and broken cries. His lips found hers again, hungry and desperate, swallowing every moan as their rhythm grew frantic.
Her legs tightened around his waist, urging him deeper, closer. His hand slid down her side, gripping her hip hard as if anchoring himself to her. He broke their kiss just long enough to breathe her name against her mouth, his voice ragged. "Hermione."
The sound of it, the way he said her name like a vow, sent her spiraling again.
When she clenched around him, her body tight with the build of another climax, he slipped his hand between them, his fingers finding her clit with practiced precision. He rubbed her in perfect rhythm with the thrusts of his hips, each movement drawing a louder cry from her throat. She broke against him, shuddering as the release tore through her, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.
The sight of her unraveling beneath him was too much to bear. Her cries, her trembling body, the way she clutched at him as though he was the only thing anchoring her to the world, dragged him into his own undoing. With a final, desperate thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, the force of his release ripping a groan from his chest as he spilled into her. His body trembled with the intensity of it, every muscle straining as the waves of ecstasy tore through him.
They stayed like that for a long moment, still joined, their hearts racing in tandem, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing. Slowly, as the tremors faded, he eased onto his side, careful to keep her close. He cradled her against him, her head tucked beneath his chin, her skin damp with sweat but glowing in the dim light.
He pressed a tender kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there as if he could pour every wordless emotion into that single touch. "I will never get enough of you," he whispered, his voice hoarse, heavy with truth and something softer that lived beneath the hunger.
Hermione smiled against his chest, her lashes fluttering shut as she burrowed deeper into his embrace. "Good," she murmured, her voice warm with exhaustion and affection, "because you are stuck with me for life."
His chest tightened with a fierce, unshakable joy, and he stroked her hair in slow, soothing motions. "That is exactly what I wanted," he replied softly, his words a vow as much as they were reassurance.
The night folded in around them, quiet and tender, wrapping them in the stillness that comes only after the storm. Sleep crept over them, and together they drifted off, wrapped in one another, the weight of their love the only thing left in the world that mattered.
•••
As the days blurred into a whirlwind of parenting, of bottles and bedtime stories and little feet pattering across the halls, the rarest treasure of all was silence. Tonight, at last, the house was quiet. Every child was finally asleep, and the air carried a stillness that felt almost sacred. Hermione stepped into their bedroom, her body aching with fatigue but her heart impossibly full. The dim glow of the lamps cast long shadows along the walls, painting the room in soft golden light.
Draco was already perched on the edge of the bed, his posture loose, his expression unusually calm. There was something tender in the way his gaze lifted to meet hers, as if the chaos of their lives had melted away in this single moment of reprieve.
She crossed the room and lowered herself beside him, the familiar warmth of his presence immediately settling her. For a long moment, she said nothing, simply breathed in the quiet. Then, with a small smile tugging at her lips, she turned toward him.
"There's something important I would like to tell you," she murmured, her voice soft but steady, carrying just enough weight to catch his attention.
His grey eyes gleamed with mischief, and his mouth curved into the kind of smirk that still made her stomach flip. "Are we pregnant again?" he asked, hope glinting in his voice. It was not a joke so much as an eager possibility, and the sheer brightness in his tone made her laugh despite herself.
"No, darling," she said, shaking her head as she reached for his hand. "I think four children is more than enough."
The disappointment that flickered across his face was fleeting, chased away by stubborn optimism. "For now," he corrected smoothly, as though the dream of more was simply postponed, not abandoned.
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her lips curved with affection. "You truly would fill this house with babies if you could."
"I would," he said without hesitation, his thumb brushing lazy circles into the back of her hand. His grin softened as he leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But if it is not that, then tell me what is so important, love. Other than giving me your perfect children, what could it possibly be?"
She studied him for a moment, her heart swelling with a familiar ache. There were so many ways she could have answered. She could have teased him, could have deflected, could have put the moment aside as she had so many times before. Instead, she drew in a slow breath and let the truth spill from her.
"I love you," she said simply, though the words carried the weight of their entire history. It was the truth of their years together—the chaos, the quiet, the laughter, the ache, the impossible road that had led them here. It was every bedtime kiss, every morning of exhaustion, every stolen glance that had built the home they had made.
His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, and he tilted his head with mock severity. "So it has taken you six years and four children to finally say it out loud?" His tone was playful, but his eyes betrayed him. There was no mockery in them, only the softness that belonged solely to her, the unspoken truth that she had always been his entire world.
Hermione's cheeks warmed, though she met his gaze with a spark of mischief. She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug and let her grin bloom. "Yes," she said, as if confessing a great secret. "I was waiting for the perfect moment, and this will have to do."
His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, tender and amused all at once. He reached up, cupping her face in his hand, and pressed his lips to hers with quiet reverence. When he pulled back, his voice softened, low enough to sound like a vow. "And you imagine I did not already know?"
Her laugh came light and easy, brushing against the air between them. "Of course you knew," she whispered, her fingers curling over his wrist. "But now I am saying it, and that makes it different."
He studied her as though she were the only light in the room, then laughed again, the sound rich with affection. "Then I will have to make you say it every single day," he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. His eyes lingered on her, burning with an intensity that left her breathless.
She shifted closer until her head rested against his chest, her voice hushed and steady as she spoke into the rhythm of his heartbeat. "I will love you until the end of time," she whispered. "Until the last star falls into darkness."
His arms tightened around her, his lips ghosting against her hair. "And I will love you through every star that burns and every night that comes," he whispered back. His words trembled with sincerity. "Always you, Hermione. Only you."
The quiet wrapped around them like a second skin, a silence that spoke louder than words. They sat together, holding one another, the weight of their years pressed into the warmth of the present. Their love had been tested, shaken, and tried in ways that would have broken lesser hearts, yet here they were, still standing, still choosing one another every single day.
There would be new battles, new joys, new chaos when children grew louder and life pressed harder, but none of that could shake the certainty of this moment. It was Draco and Hermione, together, and that truth would stretch across every path and every universe. Forever was theirs, and they carried it in each other's arms.