Blaise had been insufferable all day, clinging to her at every opportunity, trailing behind her like a lovesick puppy, his hands constantly finding some part of her to hold—her waist, her hip, the small of her back, even her wrist as if he couldn't bear to let her go. He was relentless, his presence a constant, lingering weight, his touches featherlight but insistent, his dark eyes filled with an unmistakable hunger that made her stomach twist in both amusement and exasperation.
She was over it.
Ginny finally sighed, glancing up at him as she stirred the pot on the stove, rolling her eyes at the way he was practically looming over her, his breath hot against her neck. He was doing nothing helpful, just standing behind her, pressing kisses along her shoulder, hands wandering, his fingers trailing slow, idle patterns along her waist.
"Is there anything you actually want, Blaise?" she asked, feigning irritation but failing to hide the small smirk playing at her lips.
His grip on her tightened slightly, his voice low, sultry, dripping with unfiltered need. "You." His lips grazed the shell of her ear, making her shiver. "It's always you."
She rolled her eyes again, though her cheeks flushed despite herself. "After Val goes to sleep, we'll play, love."
A groan vibrated through his chest, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder dramatically. "That's ages away, amore," he grumbled. "I just want to touch you."
Ginny let out a soft laugh, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, though she didn't make an effort to escape his grasp. "You are touching me, you ridiculous man."
He huffed, as if that wasn't good enough, as if his very existence depended on having her completely, entirely, in the exact way he wanted. It was obnoxious and adorable at the same time, and she knew—Merlin, she knew—that if she didn't distract him soon, he'd spend the rest of the evening pushing every single one of her buttons until she gave in.
She turned around in his hold, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck, tilting her head slightly in contemplation. "Alright," she murmured, "if you actually help me with dinner and…" she paused for effect, letting her fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, "you let me put a face mask on you—no complaints, no wiping it off halfway through—I'll give you a performance tonight."
The shift was immediate.
Blaise's entire body tensed, his head snapping up, his dark eyes blazing with interest, intrigue, and pure, unfiltered desire. "Define 'performance,' cara mia."
She bit back a grin, tapping a playful finger against his chest. "You'll just have to find out, won't you?"
For a second, he just stared at her, weighing his options, clearly torn between keeping his pride intact and caving entirely.
Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and bolted for the kitchen.
Ginny barely had time to blink before she heard the clatter of pots and pans, the unmistakable sound of cabinets opening and closing, the quick shuffle of his feet as he moved with newfound determination.
"I'll chop the damn onions!" he called over his shoulder. "Where's the bloody cutting board?"
She grinned, watching in amusement as her once-proud, self-proclaimed 'I don't cook, I have house-elves for that' husband suddenly threw himself into meal prep like his life depended on it.
Oh, he was desperate. Good.
She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him fumble with a knife. "Oh, and Blaise?"
He glanced at her, his face set in fierce concentration as he struggled to peel garlic, his frustration evident. "Yeah?"
She smirked. "Don't forget—we're doing the green clay mask tonight. I want your pores glowing."
Blaise groaned loudly, but it was too late—he had already committed, and Ginny knew damn well there was nothing he wouldn't suffer through if it meant getting his reward later.
She was going to enjoy this far too much.
Ginny came to a very annoying realization—Blaise's carbonara was better than hers. And worse? Valerius enjoyed it more.
She sat at the table, arms crossed, glaring at her traitorous son, who was happily shoveling spoonfuls of pasta into his tiny mouth, making delighted little noises of approval as if this was the greatest meal he'd ever eaten. The betrayal was palpable.
Blaise, the smug bastard, was leaning back in his chair, watching her sulk with that insufferable smirk of his, clearly reveling in his victory.
"What's wrong, amore?" he drawled, twirling his fork lazily in the remaining pasta on his plate. "You haven't said a word. Are you in awe of my culinary genius?"
Ginny shot him a murderous look. "I am realizing something very disturbing."
He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh? And what's that?"
She stabbed at her plate with her fork, grumbling under her breath. "Your carbonara is better than mine."
Blaise grinned like the devil himself. "Ah. You finally admit it."
Ginny huffed, still deeply offended, but she was also not above using this to her advantage.
"Since you're obviously the superior chef in this household, that means you'll be cooking more often. Every night, actually." She took a dramatic sip of her wine. "Congratulations on your new full-time job, Chef Zabini."
Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. "Nice try, cara mia, but I'm not cooking every night."
Before Ginny could argue, Valerius made a happy little sound, dropping his spoon and clapping his chubby hands together. "Dada pasta!" he announced, beaming up at Blaise with the pure joy of a child who had just discovered his new favorite thing in the world.
Ginny whipped around, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"
Blaise, clearly basking in the praise, picked Val up from his high chair, pressing a kiss to his son's curly head. "That's right, piccolo, Dada's pasta is the best, isn't it?"
Valerius nodded enthusiastically. "Best! Dada pasta!"
Ginny threw her napkin down dramatically, pointing a finger at Blaise. "I hope you enjoy your new role as head chef, because I'm never cooking for this family again."
Blaise laughed outright, shaking his head as he leaned over, kissing her quickly before she could pull away. "Oh, cara," he murmured against her lips, "you were never cooking again anyway. You just didn't know it yet."
Ginny, still glaring, still offended, begrudgingly accepted her fate—but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to find a way to outdo him in the kitchen eventually.
After what could only be described as a baby rave bath time, Ginny sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, lips pursed, and utterly, completely betrayed.
It wasn't just the fact that Blaise had somehow managed to turn their previously hellish bath-time routine into a goddamn party—no, no. It was the fact that he had done it so easily, with that smug little smirk of his, while she had spent months enduring high-pitched screams, dramatic flailing, and the occasional tiny fist to the face whenever she tried to convince Valerius that water was not, in fact, a death sentence.
And yet here they were.
Blaise had waltzed into the bathroom like he owned the place, brought out some ridiculous floating lights, turned on some insane electronic music that had no business being in a child's routine, and suddenly? Valerius loved bath time. The kid had gone from clawing his way out of the tub like a feral cat to splashing around like he was hosting an underwater festival. He had giggled. He had clapped. He had danced in the goddamn water.
Ginny, standing there with a washcloth in one hand and a bucket of previous trauma, could only stare in utter disbelief.
The real kicker? Blaise had simply winked at her. WINKED. Like he hadn't just undermined her entire existence as a mother.
And now, back in their bedroom, she was fuming.
Blaise walked in, grinning, towel slung over his shoulder, looking far too pleased with himself. "Something wrong, amore?" he asked, as if he didn't already know.
Ginny glared. "How dare you."
His grin widened. "How dare I…?"
She threw her arms up, exasperated. "How dare you take something I have been fighting for MONTHS and fix it in ONE NIGHT? With some weird-ass music and floating lights? I have been suffering through bath time HELL, and you—YOU—waltz in like some magical water whisperer and suddenly, our son is hosting a bloody foam party in the tub!"
Blaise, clearly enjoying himself far too much, shrugged casually. "What can I say? The kid has taste."
She let out a frustrated groan, dropping back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. "I hate you."
Blaise laughed, climbing onto the bed beside her, dragging her into his arms despite her protests. "No, you don't."
"I DO." She tried to wiggle free, but his grip was firm, his lips pressing into her temple in a way that made her hate him even more.
"I simply solved a problem, cara mia." He tilted her chin up, meeting her gaze with a smugness that should be illegal. "Isn't that what good husbands do?"
Ginny narrowed her eyes. "No. Good husbands suffer alongside their wives. You, sir, have made me look incompetent in front of our child."
Blaise chuckled, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him. "Oh, please. Val loves you more."
She huffed, grumbling against his chest. "He better. Otherwise, I'm going to start playing favorites too."
Blaise, completely unbothered, ran his fingers through her hair, his voice dropping to a smooth murmur. "You're cute when you're jealous of my superior parenting skills."
Ginny smacked his chest without any real force, but Blaise caught her wrist easily, kissing the inside of it like the bastard he was.
"Say what you want," he whispered, voice full of warmth, "but I know you love me anyway."
She sighed dramatically, dragging out the moment, but even she couldn't fight the smile creeping onto her lips. Damn him. He was insufferable, impossible, and always winning, and that smug look on his face was making it even worse. She turned on her side, propping herself up on her elbow, narrowing her eyes at him as if she were debating whether to hex him or kiss him—honestly, the line was always blurred with Blaise.
"Come to the kitchen," she said, flicking his forehead lightly before standing up. "The light's better there. Clay time."
Blaise groaned, rolling onto his stomach dramatically as if she had just sentenced him to death. "Womaaaan."
Ginny smirked, already halfway to the door. "You still stole my son's love from me!"
Blaise, still sprawled out in protest, turned his head just enough to send her a shit-eating grin. "Correction, amore. I simply showed him who the superior parent is."
Ginny gasped, hand flying to her chest in mock betrayal. "You absolute bastard."
He chuckled, finally pushing himself up and stretching like some smug, lazy cat. "He just has good taste, baby. Don't be mad at him for it."
She rolled her eyes, tossing him the small jar of her favorite clay mask as soon as he stood. He caught it effortlessly, inspecting it like it was something foreign.
"So, let me get this straight," he said slowly. "If I let you spread this weird green sludge all over my face, you'll reward me?"
Ginny smirked, stepping close enough to grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him down just slightly. "If you behave, yes."
His brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his sharp features. "Now, define behave."
Ginny rolled her eyes but didn't let go. "It means you shut up, sit still, and let me work my magic. No whining, no complaints. Just submission, darling."
He hummed, tilting his head slightly like he was truly considering it. "Interesting choice of words, Mrs. Zabini."
Ginny smacked his chest. "Oh my God, stop. We have a child in the house."
"And he is sleeping," Blaise reminded her. "Which means I'm free to interpret your request however I please."
Ginny rolled her eyes but tugged him toward the kitchen anyway. "Just sit down and let me put this on your face before I change my mind and actually let you fend for yourself."
Blaise let out a long, exaggerated sigh, dragging his feet dramatically as if he were being led to the gallows rather than just the kitchen for a face mask.
"This is abuse, Ginevra," he grumbled under his breath, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his true feelings. He wasn't actually complaining, not when it was her, not when she was the one bossing him around with that mischievous glint in her eyes. He was a complete and utter fool for his wife, and he knew it.
Ginny shook her head, smirking as she guided him to sit on one of the kitchen stools, a smug little thing because she knew exactly what kind of hold she had over him. She dipped her fingers into the cool clay mask, rubbing it between her hands before smearing it across his cheekbones with a sickening level of concentration. Blaise tried to keep a straight face, tried to pretend like he wasn't enjoying the feeling of her fingers massaging his skin, but when she scrunched her nose in that adorable way as she worked, he felt his heart squeeze painfully tight.
Her voice softened, so sudden that it made him blink. "You are an amazing father, you know that?"
Blaise stilled beneath her touch, his usual playfulness fading into something quieter, something more vulnerable. His dark eyes searched hers, finding nothing but warmth and sincerity, and Merlin help him, because he wasn't used to it. Not like this. Not from anyone but her.
His voice was softer than he intended when he finally spoke. "Yeah?"
Ginny hummed, smoothing the clay over his forehead, her touch soothing, familiar, his favorite thing in the world. "Yeah," she whispered, her lips twitching. "Even if you did steal Val's love from me."
Blaise chuckled, shaking his head slightly before grabbing her wrist, pulling her into him, between his legs, ignoring the mask on his face. His hands settled on her waist, his grip firm yet adoring. He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers—messy, ridiculous, clay smudging onto her nose and chin, but neither of them cared.
The words "And I love you too…" had barely left Ginny's lips before the three chaotic demons masquerading as witches tumbled through the Zabini residence fireplace like they had been hurled through the very gates of hell.
A fine, suffocating cloud of soot exploded into the air, settling over the expensive Persian rug like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption. The scent of burnt magic lingered, and standing in the middle of the mess, looking entirely unimpressed, was Hermione, Luna, and Pansy—covered in ash, looking like deranged pyromaniacs.
Hermione coughed dramatically, brushing a layer of soot off her pristine navy cloak, her curls frizzing with betrayal. "Why does this always happen when I Floo?" she muttered, stomping her boot against the floor in frustration. "It's a magically regulated system. Why the fuck does it still hate me?"
Pansy, who had been too busy dramatically fanning herself like some scandalized duchess, was the first to pause mid-motion. Her dark eyes widened to the size of Galleons, her painted lips parting into a gasp of unfiltered glee as she took in the sight before her.
Because what a sight it was.
Blaise Zabini. Shirtless. Wearing a violently neon-green face mask. Glowing.
His hands were firmly gripping Ginny's hips, his mouth still attached to hers, and judging by the sheer ferocity of the kiss, they had just interrupted something entirely too intense for their delicate sensibilities.
Ginny, blissfully unbothered, wiped her lips with all the grace of a queen who had just conquered a nation. "Oh! Hello, girlies! Lovely of you to drop in!"
Blaise, however, looked like he had just been violently betrayed by the gods themselves.
He practically threw himself off Ginny, spinning around with all the grace of a man caught mid-orgasm in the middle of war. His face shifted through about seven different stages of mortification in the span of two seconds.
"WHAT. THE. FUCK." he hissed, arms flailing like a man possessed. The drying face mask cracked as his mouth fell open in absolute horror. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
Pansy, thrilled beyond belief, clutched her chest like a society matron about to faint from scandal. "This," she breathed, voice filled with unholy amusement, "is going to be my core memory of you, Zabini."
Hermione, who had just begun recovering from her initial Floo-induced trauma, took one look at Blaise's neon-green, half-dried face and completely fucking lost it.
Her entire body collapsed into uncontrollable laughter. "It's… it's the neon green for me," she wheezed, gripping her stomach.
Pansy joined in instantly, doubling over, wiping a completely fake tear from her eye. "You are stunning, darling. Like a very expensive Slytherin goblin."
Blaise looked five seconds away from committing murder.
Ginny, as if she wasn't the reason he was currently experiencing a complete mental breakdown, patted his arm soothingly. "Don't worry, tesoro. I'll make sure they never mention this again."
Blaise eyed her suspiciously. "Somehow, I doubt that."
Ginny only smiled sweetly. "Now, why don't you go check on the baby?"
Blaise, still visibly rattled, wiped his hands on his sweatpants and groaned in pure defeat. "Fine. But next time, WARN ME before your friends come bursting into my home like uninvited demons."
He turned to leave, but Luna, as composed as ever, smirked. "Oh, Blaise, do not talk to me about vulnerability. You personally witnessed me completely naked, mid-shag, with my husband. So spare me the dramatics."
Blaise recoiled. "Luna, WHY would you bring that up?!"
Hermione, who had just barely recovered from her laughing fit, had the unfortunate luck of hearing Ginny, completely nonchalant, add: "Well, Ferret saw me getting railed right on this dining table."
Silence.
Dead. Fucking. Silence.
Pansy's jaw hit the floor. "WHAT?!" she screeched, her voice an octave higher than usual.
Hermione sputtered, looking personally victimized. "On this dining table?!" she whispered, looking at the elegant, very expensive, very polished mahogany like it had personally betrayed her.
Luna, unphased, merely nodded. "Oh, that's… quite normal in my household."
Blaise, who had been mid-step toward the nursery, froze, turned right the fuck around, hands in the air. "GOODBYE, BITCHES. I'M DONE."
As he stormed off, muttering about zero privacy, uninvited house invasions, and needing a fucking drink, Ginny collapsed into absolute laughter, delighted by the chaos she had just unleashed upon the world.
Pansy, still looking deeply offended on a personal level, slowly turned back to Ginny, her nose wrinkled as if she had just been forced to endure some unspeakable trauma. "Honestly, Ginevra, there are BOUNDARIES. Some of us prefer to eat our meals at furniture that hasn't been defiled."
Ginny, still wiping away a tear of laughter, grinned without a single ounce of remorse. "Oh, come on—what's life without a little excitement?"
Luna, ever the ethereal optimist, clapped her hands together as if she had just witnessed a truly enlightening religious experience. "Well, I personally think this was a lovely visit. Very… illuminating."
Hermione, who looked several shades too pale, dragged a tired hand down her face, still processing the unholy violation of the dining table. "I am never sitting there again. Ever."
Ginny smirked. "Suit yourself." She took a leisurely sip from her wine glass before adding, "More room for me and Blaise."
Hermione whimpered.
Ginny, finally simmering down from her reign of terror, turned back to them, her smile softening just a bit. "But seriously," she said, her voice warm now, her teasing edge melting away. "What's up? What brings you all here?"
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling a bit foolish for the way she had dramatically stormed in like she was on an Auror raid. She shot a silent glance at Pansy and Luna, clearly begging for backup, before clearing her throat. "We… we were thinking about you," she admitted, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, looking oddly vulnerable. "And we came to talk."
Pansy, already beelining for Blaise's bar cart like a woman on a mission, muttered under her breath, "I'm just here for the alcohol. Where's the good stuff?"
Ginny chuckled and wordlessly flicked her fingers toward the top shelf of the liquor cabinet. "Knock yourself out."
Luna, the only one remotely behaving like an actual adult, stepped forward with a gentle smile, her presence as calming as ever. "What Mimi's trying to say is… we miss you. And we wanted to see Valerius." She clasped her hands together, her voice kind but firm. "You've been on our minds. And we're here to make amends."
Hermione nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly. "And I… I want to make things right between us."
Ginny blinked, clearly taken aback. The room stretched into a heavy silence, just long enough for Hermione to start visibly squirming under her gaze. Then, finally, Ginny exhaled, and to everyone's relief and minor shock, she broke into a warm, genuine smile.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice tinged with something real, something unguarded. "That means a lot, coming from you."
Pansy, who was already pouring herself an obnoxiously large glass of firewhisky, sighed dramatically. "Alright, now that we've gotten the mushy part out of the way—where's the baby? I came to drink and judge Zabini's parenting skills."
Ginny rolled her eyes, grabbed a throw pillow from the couch, and hurled it directly at Pansy's head. "Vali is sleeping! You are not traumatizing him."
Luna giggled, ever the voice of reason. "He's not even two, Pansy. Give him a chance."
Pansy, unimpressed, swirled her drink with a bored flick of her wrist. "Fine. But for the record, I do miss you, Red." She paused, making a face like she'd rather eat nails than be sentimental again. "I'd just rather hex myself than say it out loud again."
Ginny grinned, stepping forward to pull Hermione and Luna into a tight hug. "You lot are ridiculous," she murmured, her throat tightening slightly despite herself. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."
Pansy, watching from the sidelines with her drink, lifted it lazily into the air. "To the unlikeliest and most dramatic friendships in wizarding history."
Ginny smirked. "And to never discussing Blaise's face mask again."
Luna sighed dreamily. "Oh, but it was such a lovely shade of green."
As the laughter finally settled into something comfortable, Ginny eventually cast a glance toward the dimly lit hallway, where the nursery was tucked away. Her expression softened, her fingers idly twirling her wine glass, lost in thought.
"You know," she murmured, her voice a touch quieter now, more contemplative, "Blaise has been telling me for months that I should just invite you all over. Said I'd regret it if I didn't."
Pansy, never one to let an opportunity for mischief pass her by, arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her lips curling in amused disbelief. "Wait, wait, wait—hold on. Are you telling me that Zabini—Mr. 'I Have No Emotional Investment in Anything'—was actually advocating for reconciliation?" She leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with scandal, her voice taking on a tone of pure mockery. "The same man who once said, and I quote, 'If it's not my problem, it's not my concern'? That Zabini?"
Ginny snorted, shaking her head, her smirk betraying just how ridiculous she found it, too. "Yeah, well, he's full of surprises, isn't he?" Then, turning to Luna with mock-seriousness, she added, "Speaking of surprises—you, my dear, are next in line for babysitting duty."
Luna, as if she had been waiting for this very moment, clasped her hands together in delight, her face lighting up like she had just been offered the greatest honor known to wizardkind. "Oh, I would love to! Babies are tiny vessels of curiosity and wonder." She sighed happily, her faraway gaze softening as she continued, "And I have been wanting to introduce Valerius to my collection of enchanted gemstones. He should be acquainted with the natural energies of the earth as soon as possible."
Pansy groaned, flopping back onto the couch like she was the tragic heroine in a dramatic stage play, one hand thrown dramatically over her forehead. "This is exactly why I don't babysit. I refuse to compete for attention with a teething child. Do you know how humiliating it is to be upstaged by a baby?"
Luna, completely unfazed, merely took a calm sip of her drink, her smile knowing, serene. "Pansy, please. You practically live at my house, babysitting Lysander and Seline." She tilted her head, watching Pansy over the rim of her glass. "You're obsessed. So, kindly, fuck off with your dramatic monologues."
Ginny cackled, crossing her arms, eyes dancing with mischief. "Parkinson, riddle me this, why are you in my house, drinking my firewhisky—which, by the way, I suspect you've corrupted into non-alcoholic swill?"
Pansy rolled her eyes, the deep, exhausted roll of someone forced to explain something painfully obvious to mere peasants. Swirling her drink for emphasis, she let the words drop like a bomb.
"Ugh, fine. I'm pregnant."
Silence.
The kind of silence that stretches too long, that settles too thickly, where every second is more unbearable than the last.
Pansy sighed dramatically, waving a lazy hand in the air like this was old news. "And since this is going to be my entire personality for the next eight months, I suggest you all get used to it." She took a measured sip of her wine-that-was-no-longer-wine, and muttered, "And for the record, I happen to like the little tingle non-alcoholic wine gives me." Then, narrowing her eyes at Ginny, she added, "Say something nice, Weasley."
Ginny blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before her face split into a wide grin. "Well, congratulations, Pansy! That's amazing news!"
Hermione, who had been sitting unusually still, suddenly cleared her throat, the action far too forced, her entire demeanor shifting. Her cheeks flushed as she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt, fidgeting like she was about to confess something monumental.
"And, um…" she hesitated, voice just a bit too high-pitched, fingers twisting in her lap. "Draco and I… we're… well, we're planning to start a family soon, too."
Her words tumbled out all at once, like she had been holding them in too long, like she wasn't entirely sure what kind of reaction she was expecting.
The room froze. Again.
Ginny's grin faltered, just slightly, her gaze flickering over Hermione with something almost unreadable—nostalgia, warmth, maybe even something deeper. Then, with genuine sincerity, she murmured, "Oh, well—congratulations to you too, Hermione." A pause, a breath, a moment that stretched between them. Then, with quiet conviction, she added, "You and Draco… you're going to be amazing parents."
Hermione exhaled, her entire body relaxing, like she hadn't realized how much she needed to hear that until now.
Luna, ever the sensitive one, sensing the shift in the air, suddenly grabbed Pansy by the arm and started dragging her toward another room. "Come on, Sassy. We have much more interesting things to gossip about."
Pansy dug in her heels, like a stubborn hippogriff, glaring at Luna with outright betrayal. "But I want to stay and be part of the shouting! This is my evening too, Lovegood!"
"No. Absolutely not," Luna said, eerily calm, yanking Pansy along with mystical, otherworldly strength. "You're coming with me. Be a good girl now."
Pansy sighed like a woman carrying the weight of the world, casting one last, longing glance toward Hermione and Ginny, as if she were leaving behind a great battle. "Fine," she muttered, allowing herself to be dragged, "but I better get some actual gossip out of this, or I'm hexing you both in your sleep."
Luna merely patted her arm, her voice light, knowing. "Yes, yes. We'll find you some scandal."
And just like that, they disappeared into the next room, leaving Hermione and Ginny alone—at last—with only the quiet hum of the fire between them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Once they were out of earshot, Ginny turned back to Hermione, her playful demeanor slipping like a mask she no longer had the energy to hold. The room felt quieter now, heavier, as if the air itself had thickened with the weight of their past, their choices, their unspoken pain. She took a slow, measured breath, her lips pressing together as her expression wavered between warmth and hesitation, between the love she had once held for Hermione and the anger that had settled in its place.
Leaning back against the sofa, she crossed her arms, the soft glow of the chandelier casting a flickering light over her fiery hair. In the dim room, she looked almost ethereal, but there was nothing soft about her now. Her eyes were raw, edged with something sharp, something vulnerable beneath the carefully controlled exterior. "So," she said finally, her voice quieter now, more careful, like she wasn't sure if she wanted the answer. "Are we going to talk about why you really came here? Or are we just going to pretend this is about catching up over firewhisky and pregnancy announcements?"
Hermione's fingers twisted together in her lap, her nails pressing into her skin. Her heart pounded against her ribs, too fast, too loud. "So you're not happy for me?" she blurted out before she could stop herself, the words falling into the space between them like a fragile thing she immediately wished she could take back.
Ginny's eyes widened slightly, as if Hermione had managed to surprise her for the first time in a long time. Then, just as quickly, the fire in them dimmed, her shoulders dropping with a quiet, exhausted sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hermione," she said, her voice gentler now, though no less firm. "Of course, I'm happy for you. You'll be an incredible mother. That's never been a question." There was a pause, a beat of silence that made Hermione hold her breath. Then, Ginny's voice hardened, cutting through the air like a blade. "But not with him. Not with a psychopath."
The words hit her like a slap. Hermione's jaw clenched, her entire body tensing, heat rushing to her face as something bitter curled in her stomach. "I could say the same about your husband," she shot back, her voice sharp, shaking with restrained fury.
Ginny's temper flared instantly. She took a step forward, dropping her arms to her sides, her fists clenching like she was ready for a fight. Her eyes burned—not just with anger, but with something deeper, something wounded.
"He killed my brother."
The words were ice. Final. A cold, undeniable truth that filled the space between them like an unforgiving storm.
Hermione's breath caught, her throat tightening at the sheer weight of it. The silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on her until it felt impossible to breathe. She opened her mouth, lips parting in shock, but the words wouldn't come. What was there to say? What could possibly be enough? But then—she had to try.
"And I'm here to mend our friendship, Ginny!" she burst out, her voice thick, desperate, trembling under the force of her emotions. "You were my best friend. My sister."
Ginny's mouth opened like she was about to spit something cruel, something unforgivable, but the ache in Hermione's voice stopped her cold. The rawness of it, the way it cracked, the way it settled between them like an old wound torn open. For a moment, she just stared, and Hermione pushed forward before she could lose her nerve.
"I don't care how angry you are at me," Hermione continued, her voice unrelenting, fierce with the kind of desperation that only came from losing something that had once meant everything. "Or at Draco. You throw the fact that you changed my bloody diaper in my face like it's some badge of loyalty you can revoke whenever you feel like it. But when Draco was kidnapped—" Her voice broke, and she sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath before forcing herself to steady. "When he was taken, you were there for me. In a heartbeat. You dropped everything. You didn't hesitate. You didn't stop to think about your anger or your pain or your resentment. You came for me."
Ginny looked down, her gaze darkening, her fiery exterior dimming with something far more complicated than anger. Something like guilt. A flicker of hesitation passed over her face, just for a second, before she whispered, almost too quietly to hear, "Of course, I was." Her voice was softer now, stripped of all its usual fire. "How could I not be?"
But Hermione wasn't done. She refused to let Ginny shrink away from this.
"I'm not finished," she snapped, her voice regaining its strength. She leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees like she needed to anchor herself, to keep herself from falling apart completely. "I want to say I'm sorry for what Draco did. For what happened to Ron. He didn't deserve to die the way he did."
Ginny stiffened. Her entire body went rigid, her face hardening into something cold, something distant.
"No," she said, her voice flat, final, merciless. "He didn't deserve it." A humorless, bitter laugh escaped her lips, sharp and cutting. "What he did deserve was a beating. From me, first and foremost. And that's where I failed him." She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as if the thought itself made her sick. Her voice dropped lower, quieter, tired. "I should've seen the signs. I should've known he was hurting you. That he was—" She stopped, biting her lip like she physically couldn't say it. Like saying it would make it too real. "I should've done something."
The words hung between them, heavy and suffocating, wrapping around their chests like chains neither of them could break.
The room fell silent.
The weight of everything unsaid hung between them, pressing down like a storm that had yet to break. The past still clung to the air, thick and suffocating, a reminder of everything that had been lost, everything that had fractured between them. Hermione swallowed hard, her throat tight as she whispered, "You couldn't have known."
Ginny's jaw tensed, her nails digging into her arms where they were crossed over her chest. "Intent doesn't erase the outcome," she muttered, voice low, nearly a whisper. "Ron is still gone. And it doesn't matter how angry I was at him, how much he deserved to be called out for his actions… I can't forgive Ferret for taking that choice away from me." Her voice cracked, but she quickly swallowed it down, blinking rapidly against the tears that threatened to spill.
Hermione nodded slowly, pressing her fingers against her lap as if she could steady herself through the sheer force of will. "I don't expect you to forgive him. I don't even expect you to forgive me." She inhaled sharply, her ribs tightening with the effort to stay calm, to push through the tension clawing at her chest. "But I couldn't go another day without trying to fix this. Without trying to fix us. Ginny, I miss you. I miss the late-night talks, the laughing until we couldn't breathe, the feeling that I could tell you anything." Her voice wavered as she reached out, hesitant, her fingers just barely brushing Ginny's wrist. "You're the closest thing I've ever had to a sister."
For a moment, Ginny didn't move. Didn't breathe. And then—her face crumpled, a shaky breath escaping her lips, tears slipping down her cheeks despite the way she clenched her fists as if trying to physically stop them. "I miss you too," she admitted, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she'd been holding in for so long. "But it's so hard, Hermione. Every time I look at you, I think about Ron. I think about how everything went so wrong. And I hate that I let my anger take away my best friend."
Hermione leaned in, voice soft but unwavering, fingers tightening slightly around Ginny's hand. "Gin, you know how much I love Draco. I never would have agreed to this marriage if I had even the slightest inkling it would cost Ron his life. I would've fought harder. I would have found another way."
Ginny nodded, though her expression was still twisted with pain. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she said, "I know. Deep down, I do. But grief does… strange things to people. It warps your perspective. It blinds you to reason." She exhaled shakily, her fingers tightening around her glass. "I've spent so long blaming you because it was easier than facing how much it hurt."
Hermione squeezed her hand, her grip firm, grounding. "I understand. Truly, I do. But you need to understand this too: no matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, I will always choose my family. My future child, my husband—" she took a deep, steadying breath, "—they are my world now." She held Ginny's gaze, fierce and unyielding. "And you? You're still part of that world. You'll always be family to me."
Ginny sniffled, her lips trembling as she absorbed Hermione's words, emotions flickering across her face in a chaotic whirlwind of longing, resentment, grief, and something softer—something she had been too afraid to let herself feel for so long. "I know," she murmured, voice small. "And I've been so unfair to you. You're right. Family comes first. I've always known that… but I let my anger cloud everything."
Hermione gave her a small, encouraging smile, the corners of her eyes still damp. "Then prove it to yourself. Choose your family, Gin. Be there for Val, for Blaise. Let yourself heal."
Ginny let out a slow, shuddering breath, her eyes flickering to the doorway as if searching for an escape, a way to avoid the emotions suffocating her. "I do," she whispered. "I choose them every day. But Gods, Hermione, I missed you so much. It's been unbearable without you."
Hermione swallowed hard, nodding, barely trusting herself to speak. "I missed you too." Her fingers curled slightly, her nails pressing into her palm as she hesitated before adding, "And I've wanted to meet Valerius for so long. Two years, Gin. Two years without holding him, without being part of his life. It's been too long."
Ginny hesitated, conflict rippling across her features—longing, uncertainty, something deeper than words. Then, with a slow, careful breath, she lifted her chin and met Hermione's gaze with unwavering resolve. "He can't be near that psychopath, though," she said firmly, her arms crossing over her chest as if bracing herself for an argument. "Not yet. Not with all the history."
Hermione reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. "I promise you, Draco will respect that boundary. This isn't about him. This is about me meeting your son. Please, Ginny. Let me see him."
The words stretched between them, hovering in the air like a test, like a challenge, like something fragile and desperate that could shatter at any moment.
Ginny sighed, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides, her chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. And then, finally—a small, hesitant nod.
"Would you like to see him now?"
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "If I'm allowed."
Ginny didn't reply. She just turned and led Hermione down the dimly lit hallway, their footsteps muffled against the rich wooden floors, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions pressing between them like ghosts of the past.
The walls were painted in soft, warm tones, the flickering glow of enchanted sconces casting long shadows that danced with every step. The familiar ache in Hermione's chest swelled—this was Ginny's home now. Blaise's. Valerius's. A life she had never been part of, a family she had been shut out of for too long.
The weight of everything unsaid pressed down on Hermione as she followed Ginny through the dimly lit hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last. The house was warm, quiet in a way that spoke of a life built carefully, of love woven into the very walls. This was Ginny's home, her sanctuary, a world Hermione had been shut out of for too long. As they reached the nursery door, Ginny hesitated, fingers tightening around the handle, her posture tense. A flicker of something passed across her face—uncertainty, reluctance—before she finally exhaled and pushed the door open.
The room was bathed in soft silver light, the moon spilling through the sheer curtains in gentle waves. Shadows stretched long across the walls, giving the space an almost ethereal glow. The scent of lavender hung in the air, warm and familiar, wrapping around Hermione like a whisper of a memory she had no right to claim. It was peaceful, untouched by the chaos that had fractured so much of their lives.
And at the very center of it all—Valerius.
Her breath hitched the moment she saw him.
Two years. Two years of silence. Two years of missed milestones. Two years without knowing the sound of his laugh or the weight of him in her arms. She had seen him once before, fresh into the world, tiny and fragile, his fingers curling around Ginny's like he already knew she was his anchor. But that moment had been fleeting, tainted by everything that followed. And since then… nothing.
Now, here he was. No longer a delicate newborn but a beautiful little boy, his chest rising and falling in steady, deep sleep. His tiny hands rested against the soft fabric of his blanket, his face peaceful in a way that made Hermione's chest tighten. A head full of dark curls framed his features, familiar yet entirely his own.
Something inside her cracked.
He should have known her voice by now. Should have recognized her, should have reached for her the way he did for the others. Should have—
She swallowed hard, fighting the lump forming in her throat. "He's beautiful, Gin," she whispered, voice barely audible.
Ginny let out a quiet, breathy laugh, one that was equal parts pride and something softer, something almost fragile. "Yeah," she murmured, gaze locked onto her son. "He is, isn't he?"
A sudden noise interrupted the moment, a muffled snore breaking through the stillness.
Hermione turned, startled, only to find— Blaise.
Sprawled in an oversized armchair in the corner, long legs awkwardly stretched out, mouth slightly open, one arm draped dramatically over his face, a plush dragon nestled against his shoulder as though someone had placed it there mid-sleep.
The sight was so absurdly domestic, so perfectly Blaise, that Hermione had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh bubbling up in her throat.
Ginny rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "That idiot fell asleep again," she muttered, exasperation laced with undeniable affection. "He swears he's the baby-whisperer, but somehow, he's always the first to pass out."
Hermione turned back to Valerius, warmth blooming in her chest. This was Ginny's life now—soft moments, whispered lullabies, a sleepy husband too in love with his family to stay awake. This was the world Hermione had missed.
She looked at Ginny, eyes shimmering with emotion. "I should have been here."
Ginny's expression faltered, the easy warmth in her face slipping into something more vulnerable. "Yeah," she admitted softly, a quiet ache in her voice. "You should have."
The truth of it settled between them, heavy but not crushing. It wasn't an accusation. It was just fact.
Hermione's fingers brushed the edge of the crib, reverent, hesitant, wishing. "It won't happen again," she said, voice thick with emotion.
Ginny inhaled sharply, her gaze lingering on Hermione for a long moment before she nodded.
"Good."
Silence stretched between them again, but this time, it was different. Not suffocating, not drowning. Just quiet. A moment suspended between what had been and what could be.
Then Ginny spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I choose them first. Always."
Hermione nodded, understanding. "That's what you should do."
Ginny's lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something else, and then, after a pause— "But I also choose you."
Hermione's breath caught.
There it was. The bridge between them, fragile and trembling, but there.
"I want my best friend back," Ginny admitted, voice breaking at the edges. "I don't know how to fix everything. I don't know if I can. But I miss you, Hermione. I miss you so much."
That was all it took.
Hermione surged forward, wrapping Ginny in a fierce, desperate embrace. Ginny clung to her just as tightly, breath shuddering against Hermione's shoulder, like she was afraid to let go.
"I'm here," Hermione whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I never left. Not really."
A loud creak shattered the moment.
They both turned as Blaise stirred, rubbing his eyes groggily. He blinked at them, still half-asleep, then stared at their embrace like they had just performed a resurrection spell in front of him.
A slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, stretching lazily. "Took you long enough."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Blaise."
He smirked, rubbing a hand over his face, voice still hoarse from sleep. "No, no, I refuse. Do you have any idea how long I've had to endure Gin's dramatic rants about you? I deserve an award for my patience."
Ginny, clearly done with his nonsense, grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at his head.
Blaise caught it one-handed. Barely flinching. "See? Violent." He stood, cracking his neck before giving Ginny a lazy kiss on the temple. "Now, if you're done crying all over my wife, can we get some sleep? I'd like one peaceful night before she makes me rearrange the bloody nursery again."
Ginny groaned. "I asked once if the bassinet should be closer to the window."
"You also asked if the entire wall should be moved."
Hermione watched their easy banter, warmth spreading through her chest. This—this— was what she had missed.
Ginny turned back to her, eyes red but lighter now. "I still need time, you know."
Hermione nodded. "I know."
Ginny exhaled slowly before reaching for Hermione's hand, squeezing it once. "But I want you to meet him properly. Tomorrow. When he's awake."
Hermione's throat tightened, but her smile was steady. "I'd love that."
Ginny smiled back. Not a hesitant, forced one. A real one.
They turned toward the crib, where Valerius slept on, blissfully unaware of the wounds being stitched back together around him.
For the first time in years, the air between them felt lighter. They weren't fixed, not yet.
But maybe…
Maybe they were finally on their way.
~~~~~~
Ginny stepped further into the penthouse, her gaze sweeping over the ostentatious display of wealth with thinly veiled disdain. Everything about the space screamed Malfoy—marble floors polished to an almost blinding shine, towering bookshelves filled with first-edition tomes that probably hadn't been touched in years, and an air of meticulously curated opulence that somehow still felt cold. It was elegant, breathtaking even, but utterly devoid of warmth. Just like the man who owned it.
She wrinkled her nose, barely suppressing the urge to scoff. "Still overcompensating, I see."
Draco, lounging lazily in a sleek leather chair, barely spared her a glance before exhaling a slow, amused sigh. His smirk was faint but unmistakable, the ever-present arrogance dancing in his silver eyes. He crossed one leg over the other, exuding the kind of effortless superiority that had always made her want to hex him on sight.
"It's called luxury, Weasley," he drawled, his voice smooth as silk. "Though I suppose I can understand why someone who spent their childhood surrounded by threadbare jumpers and hand-me-down furniture might confuse it for excess."
Her spine stiffened. There it was. The ever-so-predictable jab at her upbringing, because Merlin forbid a conversation with Draco Malfoy pass without a reminder of the Weasley family's less-than-affluent status.
She lifted her chin, feigning boredom, though her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to throw something sharp at his stupid, aristocratic face. "Funny. I didn't realize 'luxury' was synonymous with 'decorating like a mausoleum.'"
His chuckle was low, infuriatingly calm, like she had just mildly entertained him rather than landed an actual insult. "And yet, here you are, willingly stepping into my mausoleum." He leaned forward, elbows resting lazily on his knees, his smirk widening. "Careful, Ginevra. You might find yourself impressed, and I wouldn't want to send you into an identity crisis."
Her glare could have melted through steel. "I'm here for Hermione, not to endure your smug face."
At the mention of his wife, something in his expression shifted—subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. The amusement dulled at the edges, though his voice retained its edge. "She's not home yet, but she will be soon. Feel free to sit down and wait—though I can't guarantee the furniture will appreciate your presence."
She ignored the jab, crossing her arms over her chest, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "I don't need your permission to wait for my best friend."
Draco's smirk thinned, his posture straightening ever so slightly. "Best friend, is it?" he mused, his tone deceptively casual. "Interesting choice of words, considering how quick you were to turn your back on her when she needed you most."
Her breath hitched, but she recovered quickly, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "Don't you dare lecture me about loyalty, Malfoy. Not after everything you've done."
He exhaled slowly, a measured breath, before meeting her gaze with something eerily steady. "I've made my mistakes," he admitted, voice void of denial. "More than I can count. But everything I do now is for her. She's my entire world, and if you think for even a second that I'd let anyone—anyone—hurt her again, you're more delusional than I gave you credit for."
Ginny scoffed, shaking her head. "Spare me the noble act. You're still the same selfish, manipulative prat you've always been."
Draco moved then, standing in a slow, deliberate motion, towering over her with all the poise of a predator sizing up its prey. "I may be many things, Weasley," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "But when it comes to her, I am nothing but devoted. She is the best part of me, and I will never apologize for protecting her—especially not to you."
She clenched her jaw so hard she thought her teeth might crack. Because she saw it. The truth in his words. The sheer, undeniable reverence he carried for Hermione, the way her name alone altered the very air around him. It infuriated her, because for all his many, many sins, Ginny couldn't deny that Draco Malfoy loved Hermione Granger with a depth that made even the darkest parts of his soul bend for her.
And that complicated things.
Her hand hovered near the edge of the pristine sofa as if debating whether to commit to the space, whether staying was worth enduring another moment of this tension, this raw, unrelenting mess between them. Finally, with great reluctance, she perched on the very edge of the seat, spine ramrod straight, arms still crossed like a shield.
The silence that followed was oppressive, thick like smoke clinging to every inch of the grand room. The grandiose decor did nothing to ease the discomfort. If anything, its cold elegance only magnified the emotional void that had grown between them over the years.
Draco remained standing, his gaze sharp, watchful, calculating, as if waiting for her to strike first. Ginny, however, simply stared at the door, willing Hermione to appear and spare them both from this unbearable tension.
She wasn't sure how much longer she could hold her tongue.
Draco Malfoy rarely did what anyone expected.
"I feel bad about what happened," he said suddenly, his voice measured but carrying an unmistakable weight.
Ginny's head snapped toward him so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. "What?" Her tone was sharp, disbelieving, as if the very idea was too absurd to entertain. She stared at him like he'd just declared his undying love for Muggle fashion or announced he was running for Minister of Magic.
He leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed by her reaction, his expression betraying nothing. His hands steepled in front of him, fingertips tapping against each other as if calculating his next move. "I said, I feel bad about what happened. About… everything."
Her laugh was sharp and humorless, cutting through the tension like a well-aimed curse. "You? You feel bad?" Her brow arched, lips twisting into a cruel smirk. "So, what? You're apologizing now? Trying to make yourself feel better?"
He inclined his head, the movement controlled, deliberate. "Yes," he said simply. "I'm sorry."
She let out another laugh, this one even colder than the last. "Well, I don't forgive you."
His jaw tensed, just for a fraction of a second, but his expression didn't waver. "Ginny, I said I'm sorry."
"And I said I don't forgive you," she snapped, the words slicing through the air. Her nails dug into the upholstery of the sofa, the only outward sign of how tightly she was holding onto her fury. "You don't get to walk away from this clean, Malfoy. You don't get absolution just because you suddenly grew a conscience."
His eyes flickered—frustration, maybe, or guilt. Maybe something else. "I'm genuinely sorry," he repeated, and this time, his voice had softened, almost hesitant. It was a rare thing, hearing vulnerability from Draco Malfoy.
But Ginny wasn't interested in vulnerability.
She leaned forward, her gaze fiery and unrelenting. "No. I'm not giving you closure," she hissed, her tone dripping with venom. "You don't get that. You have to live with the horrible thing you did for the rest of your life. You have to know that's never, ever going to be forgiven."
And for the first time, his composure cracked.
His fingers curled into fists against his thighs, his stormy eyes darkening as her words landed with precision. There was something almost haunted in the way he looked at her, something raw and exposed, but he refused to let her see the full weight of it. Instead, he exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly before delivering his next blow with surgical precision.
"I hope you said the same thing to your husband."
The room froze.
Ginny's breath caught, her entire body locking up as though he had physically struck her. Bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly where to drive the knife, and he had done so without hesitation.
Her lips parted, a retort balanced on the tip of her tongue, but no sound came out. She had been prepared for this fight, ready for his usual arrogance, his thinly veiled insults, but she hadn't expected that.
He watched her carefully, his expression eerily calm. "Don't you dare," she finally breathed, her voice shaking with a mix of rage and something else—something more fragile, something closer to shame. "Don't you dare bring Blaise into this."
His eyes were steady, unwavering. "Why not?" he asked, tilting his head in mock curiosity. "It's all connected, isn't it? The choices we made. The things we did. The people we hurt." He leaned forward slightly, his tone sharpening. "You think I don't know what I've done? You think I don't live with it every single day?" He let out a short, mirthless laugh. "But don't stand there and act like your husband's hands are clean."
Her pulse roared in her ears, white-hot anger surging through her veins. She shot up from her seat so suddenly that the chair scraped loudly against the floor. "You have no right to judge him," she spat, her finger jabbing toward him, trembling from the sheer force of emotion coiling inside her. "You don't get to sit there in your fucking palace and pretend you're better than the rest of us."
Draco stood, too, towering over her, his broad frame casting a long shadow. "I'm not pretending to be better." His voice was quiet, lethal. "I'm worse. So much worse. But at least I'm not lying to myself about it. Can you say the same?"
Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, her hands curling into fists so tight that her nails bit into her palms. "You're insufferable," she muttered through gritted teeth, turning on her heel and stalking toward the door.
But his voice stopped her cold.
"You came here for Hermione," he said, his tone softer now, but no less firm. "So don't let your hatred for me get in the way of that. She misses you. You miss her. Fix it—for her, if not for yourself."
Her hand hovered over the doorknob, fingers tightening around the cool metal. She didn't turn around, didn't look at him. The air between them was still thick with tension, with everything they had said and everything they hadn't.
Finally, after a long, heavy pause, she exhaled sharply, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't deserve her."
She didn't wait for his response.
The door clicked shut behind her, the finality of it ringing through the room like a judge's gavel. Draco remained motionless, staring at the empty space where she had stood, his entire body rigid with something he couldn't quite define.
His hands tightened into fists at his sides, his breath uneven, his mind a hurricane of thoughts he couldn't silence.
And then, almost too softly to hear, he murmured to no one but himself—
"She's worth all of it."
~~~~~~
Hermione returned just minutes later, the sound of her measured footsteps slicing through the tension that still lingered in the air like a storm refusing to break. The moment she stepped into the penthouse, arms full of groceries, her bemused expression shifted almost instantly into irritation as she took in the sight before her. The rigid way Ginny sat on the sofa, arms crossed tightly over her chest, and the way Draco remained standing, his entire posture wound tight like a coil ready to snap, told her everything she needed to know before a single word was spoken.
She exhaled slowly, as if already bracing herself. "Mon cœur," she said, her tone dangerously even as she set the bags down on the counter. "Did you apologize?"
The sharp edge in her voice suggested she already knew the answer.
Draco hesitated just a fraction too long before finally nodding. "I did…" he began, but the pause was damning. His gaze flickered toward Ginny, who was still glaring daggers at him from across the room, her scowl etched into her features like a permanent fixture.
Ginny scoffed, shaking her head. "You should train your psychopath better," she muttered under her breath, voice dripping in venom.
The smirk that had been ghosting across Draco's face disappeared instantly. His entire demeanor shifted, his spine straightening, his gray eyes darkening with something dangerous. "Watch your mouth, Weaslette," he warned, his voice lowering to something that sent chills down spines.
Ginny barely blinked. "Fuck you," she spat, her words sharp enough to draw blood.
The tension in the room became unbearable, thick and suffocating like the build-up before a thunderclap. Hermione had had enough. She slammed the last grocery bag onto the counter with an unnecessary amount of force, the sound startling them both into silence.
"Enough," she snapped, her voice slicing through the room like a blade. Her eyes burned with frustration as she glared at them both like a mother scolding two misbehaving children. "Both of you. Sit down. Now."
Draco opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, but one look at his wife's expression had him swallowing his words. With an indignant huff, he dropped back into his chair, his jaw clenching as he muttered something about being bossed around in his own home.
Ginny hesitated, defiance written all over her face, but even she knew better than to go toe-to-toe with this version of Hermione. Rolling her eyes, she begrudgingly slumped back against the sofa, her lips pressing into a tight line.
Hermione exhaled through her nose, rubbing at her temples as though physically warding off an impending migraine. "That is quite enough for now," she declared, her voice firm, final. "Exposure therapy is over. Darling, you are dismissed."
Draco arched a brow, amusement flickering through his otherwise irritated expression. "Dismissed?" he repeated, unable to resist pushing.
"Dismissed," she said again, this time with enough authority to make even him rethink his next move.
A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips, but he pushed himself up from his chair, brushing nonexistent dust from his trousers as though regaining his dignity. "Yes, ma'am," he said smoothly, offering an exaggerated bow.
But because Malfoy was Malfoy, he couldn't resist getting the last word. As he turned toward the doorway, he threw a glance over his shoulder at Ginny, his expression one of pure, insufferable mischief.
"Good chat, ginger cunt. Let's do this never."
Ginny didn't even blink before flipping him off, her smirk razor-sharp, her energy practically daring him to say something else.
Draco looked like he might, but then Hermione cleared her throat—pointedly. He shot her a look, but, wisely, chose life.
With one last glare at Ginny, he turned on his heel and strode toward his study, his footsteps echoing through the hall. A moment later, the door clicked shut behind him, sealing him away.
Hermione sighed, long and slow, as if draining the patience left in her soul. She pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she finally muttered, turning to face Ginny. "I thought he'd be with Blaise or Theo. I didn't expect him to still be here."
Ginny waved a hand dismissively, her shoulders loosening slightly now that the blond menace was gone. "It's fine," she muttered, though her tone still carried a bite. "He did apologize."
Hermione's brows lifted, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. "He did?"
Ginny shrugged, suddenly very interested in a stray thread on her sleeve. "Sort of," she admitted begrudgingly. "As much as a self-absorbed Malfoy can apologize."
Hermione pursed her lips, clearly debating whether she wanted to poke the bear further. After a pause, she sighed. "I won't ask how it went."
"Ginny exhaled sharply, sinking further into the plush cushions as her gaze flicked toward the abandoned teacup on the table. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, as if even the sight of something so innocuous offended her on a fundamental level. She let out a short, humorless laugh. "You've got your work cut out for you, though," she muttered, shaking her head. "Living with that man must be… exhausting."
Hermione tilted her head slightly, a soft, knowing smile creeping onto her lips. But it wasn't mocking or smug—it was something else entirely. Something warm. Something steady. "Actually," she murmured, voice gentle but firm, "it's the opposite."
Ginny blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the tenderness in her tone. "The opposite?" she echoed, arching an incredulous brow. "Malfoy—the arrogant, self-absorbed, insufferable Ferret—is everything you've ever wanted?" She let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "Please. Don't romanticize him."
Hermione didn't flinch at the jab. Instead, she simply sat back, folding her hands neatly in her lap as if she had all the time in the world. "I'm not romanticizing him, Ginny," she said, her voice even. "I know exactly who he is. The good, the bad, and every terrible thing in between." Then, before Ginny could interrupt, she held up a hand, her expression firm. "And before you start, let's not pretend that either of us has had the luxury of a fairytale."
Ginny's expression darkened, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. "Meaning?"
Hermione sighed, leaning forward slightly, her fingers threading together in her lap. "Meaning," she said carefully, "both of our husbands have done unspeakable things. They've killed. They've lied. They've made choices that would horrify anyone who doesn't live in this world we've been dragged into." She met Ginny's stare without flinching. "They're part of the mafia, Gin. Neither of them is a saint."
Ginny's jaw clenched, her fingernails digging into her arms where they were crossed. "You think I don't know that?" she shot back, her voice tight with something dangerously close to anger. "I'm reminded every damn day."
"I know you know," Hermione said softly. "But the truth is, we both stayed. And it wasn't just because of survival, or loyalty, or because we were afraid of what would happen if we left. We had our reasons—real reasons—ones that went beyond the violence and the chaos."
Ginny's fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. "And what was yours?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
Hermione didn't hesitate. She held Ginny's gaze, unwavering, unafraid. "Love."
The single word hit the air like a spell, charged and heavy, final and undeniable.
Ginny's breath hitched. Her throat tightened, her body stiffening as if her very bones rejected the weight of the truth pressing down on her. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her gaze darting toward the window, as if she could find the answer in the night sky, in the city beyond, in something outside herself.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, she whispered, "Love."
The admission seemed to drain some of the tension from her body, but it left behind something else—something hollow and aching and fragile.
Hermione studied her carefully, her chest tightening. She understood that weight, that turmoil, the way love could be both a sanctuary and a prison. She had seen it in the mirror. Had lived it. Had fought it. And, ultimately, had chosen to surrender to it.
The silence between them stretched, thick with things neither of them were quite ready to say. Then, finally, Ginny let out a slow, uneven breath. "You know what pisses me off the most?" she muttered, voice quieter now, less venomous. "That you understand me better than anyone, even when I don't want you to."
Hermione's lips twitched. "That's what best friends are for."
Ginny exhaled again, rubbing her temples. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just don't expect me to start liking your husband."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Ginny side-eyed her. "Liar."
Hermione smirked, but she didn't deny it.
The silence between them stretched long and heavy, filled with the weight of too many truths left unsaid. It was Hermione who finally broke it, her voice quiet but unwavering. "It's not easy, is it?" she murmured, her gaze distant, as if she were speaking more to herself than to Ginny. "Loving someone who's done so much wrong."
Ginny let out a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking her head. "No. It's not," she admitted, exhaling slowly, like the confession itself was something she had been holding in for too long. "Some days, I wonder if it's worth it. If I'm strong enough to keep loving him, knowing everything he's done. Everything he's capable of." Her fingers curled into fists against her lap, frustration and exhaustion threading through every word. "And the worst part? I know I am strong enough. But is that really something to be proud of? Loving a man like Blaise, knowing exactly what he is, what he's done?" She scoffed, her lips twisting into something bitter. "I think about it every fucking day."
Hermione swallowed, understanding curling around her ribs like a vice. "I think about that too," she admitted, her own voice barely above a whisper. "But then I look at Draco, and I see the man he's trying to be. The man he's become—for me, for our family. And I realize that love isn't about ignoring the bad. It's about choosing to see the good, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
Ginny's head tilted slightly, her eyes flicking toward Hermione with something raw and unguarded. "You really believe that?" she asked, and there was something almost vulnerable in the way she said it, like she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer.
Hermione nodded, no hesitation in her response. "I do. And I think you believe it too," she said simply. "Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here. You wouldn't still be fighting for Blaise and Valerius."
Ginny's defenses faltered, a crack forming in the carefully constructed walls she had built around herself. Her shoulders sagged slightly as she let out a slow, uneven breath. "It's just…" She hesitated, her fingers toying with the edge of her sleeve, as if trying to anchor herself. "Sometimes I feel like I'm losing myself in all of this. Like I don't recognize the person I've become. I used to be… me. Now, I'm someone's wife. Someone's mother. And don't get me wrong—I love them. More than anything. But… I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I've disappeared."
Hermione reached out without thinking, her fingers closing over Ginny's in a reassuring grip. "You haven't disappeared," she said softly. "You've changed. You've grown. That's not the same as losing yourself. We don't stay the same people forever. We can't. Not with everything we've been through." Her thumb brushed gently against the back of Ginny's hand, grounding. "But that doesn't mean you've lost who you were. It just means you've adapted. And you're still you, Gin. Fiery, stubborn, completely impossible—but you."
Ginny let out a breathy, reluctant chuckle, shaking her head. "You always know what to say, don't you?"
Hermione smiled, her grip on Ginny's hand tightening just slightly. "Not always. But I know what it's like to feel lost. And I know what it's like to find your way back."
The tension between them softened, the sharp edges of the conversation smoothing into something warmer, something lighter. A quiet understanding settled between them, fragile but real. They weren't the same girls they had been years ago, but maybe—just maybe—that wasn't a bad thing.
Ginny sighed, glancing down at the teacup Draco had left behind, and for the first time that evening, she looked at it without the same simmering disdain. She toyed with the rim of it absentmindedly before glancing back up at Hermione, her expression shifting into something teasing. "So Malfoy really is everything you've ever wanted?" she asked, her voice lighter now, laced with a familiar mischief.
Hermione's smile widened, her brown eyes glittering with something unmistakably fond. "He is," she admitted without hesitation. "As impossible as that sounds, he is." She paused, studying Ginny for a moment before adding, "And you know what? I think Blaise is the same for you. You wouldn't have fought so hard for him otherwise."
Ginny didn't answer immediately. She simply sat there, turning Hermione's words over in her head, letting them settle into all the cracks she hadn't even realized were there. And then, after a long, thoughtful pause, she gave a small nod, the flicker of warmth in her gaze betraying what she wasn't ready to say out loud just yet.
"Maybe you're right," she murmured.