Chapter Text
Hermione was sprawled on the sofa, legs stretched out, slowly sipping a glass of white wine. Across from her, Draco had made himself comfortable in a deep armchair, holding a bulbous glass with a finger of amber liquid swirling at the bottom. He didn’t take his eyes off Harry, who was pacing from one corner of the room to the other. Occasionally, Harry would stop, open his mouth, raise a hand, but only to drop it again, press his lips together, and resume stalking across the room. A noise came from behind the door, and a key turned in the lock.
Ron staggered in, carrying two massive paper bags. He spotted the guests and froze on the threshold.
“Whoa,” he said, setting the bags down on a small side table. “What’s going on? Has Voldemort come back?”
“Close enough,” Harry ground out. “Your wife has decided we need to star in a film.”
“A fi-i-i-lm,” Ron drawled as he moved further into the room. “Might I ask what kind of film we’re talking about?”
Hermione tucked her legs in, and Ron flopped down on the sofa beside her. He pulled her feet into his lap and gave her a warm smile.
“A documentary about Hogwarts graduates who took part in the Battle,” Hermione replied, draining the last of her wine. “Can you believe it? It’s not just moving photographs anymore—they can make moving films now. And at the Ministry, we all agreed that the first film should be a documentary anthology focusing on Hogwarts alumni.”
“Brilliant idea,” Ron said. “So why are we holding a meeting at our place?”
“Take a guess,” Harry muttered, perching on the arm of Draco’s chair.
“The blondie’s afraid the camera will steal his soul?” Ron suggested, and Hermione snorted.
“Everyone knows Malfoy doesn’t have a soul,” she added, high-fiving Ron.
“And this is the woman running the Ministry of Magic,” Draco lamented, running his fingers along Harry’s back. “But they’re right. Why not take the chance to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s?”
“No, they are not right,” Harry said, his voice flat and hollow. He spread his hands and looked at Draco. “Ginny and I broke up four months ago. You got divorced just over six months ago. I can’t just walk up to the press and announce that we’re together.”
“Fine,” Draco said, the corners of his mouth turning down. “I don’t mind keeping things quiet. So we just won’t tell anyone.”
Draco shrugged and frowned when he noticed Hermione and Ron exchanging shifty glances.
“What?” he snapped.
“Your hand’s on his back,” Ron said, pointing at Draco’s palm and smirking.
“Well, your lap isn’t exactly empty either.”
“Yeah, but Hermione and I aren’t exactly hiding anymore.”
Ron showed Draco his ring finger with the gold band.
“I allowed myself to relax because we’re sitting in your living room. In public, we’re usually more careful.” Hermione choked on air, and Draco immediately asked, “Are you trying to say that someone knows about Harry and me?”
Ron rolled his eyes. Hermione hiccupped and waved a hand dismissively.
“Someone?” she asked, and her voice turned to steel. “Everyone knows about you, Draco. Absolutely everyone! If you wanted to keep your relationship a secret, you shouldn’t have been screwing each other left and right while forgetting to cast a basic Muffliato. You’ve spent the last month acting like horny teenagers, and now you’re surprised people noticed? You’re lucky that the press has been pairing you together for years, so no one took the gossip seriously.”
Hermione set her glass down on the low table and massaged her temples with her fingertips. Harry turned red.
“Sorry,” he whispered, and Hermione shot him a withering glare.
“You should have thought about apologizing when two of the finest Aurors showed up looking utterly inappropriate for the occasion at a gala celebrating cooperation with our American colleagues. Disheveled, wearing wrinkled shirts, and sporting hickeys the size of Galleons. So it’s not just people here who know about you. You’ve achieved international recognition, at least among Ministry employees. And that’s just the beginning. You’re infuriating.”
“You’re just jealous of our passion,” Draco smirked, and Ron threw a pillow at him.
“Don’t start with me,” Ron warned Draco. “You stole my sister’s husband.”
“No, Quidditch stole your sister from my boyfriend.”
“Stop it. Right now. Both of you!” Hermione commanded, lowering her feet to the floor. “Harry, listen, we can trade jokes all day long, but that won’t fix the situation. We can arrange with the film crew not to ask you and Draco about your personal lives, or you can always fall back on a vague ‘it’s complicated.’ It’s just that this film is very important. Just think, the first movie ever shot with the new generation of magical cameras. And what a topic. We could set an example for so many people. After all, this film is about what we’ve achieved, not about who’s sleeping with whom. You’re in charge of the Auror Office. Draco is your deputy. And it’s under your leadership that the Auror Office has reached such heights. That’s what you’ll talk about.” Hermione paused and knitted her brows. “Talk about,” she repeated, staring at Harry’s fingers, which had buried themselves in Draco’s hair. “And keep your hands to yourselves.”
Harry yanked his hand back, and Ron shook his head.
“So they’re coming to my shop too?” he asked, and Hermione nodded.
“Of course they are. You’re public enemy number one for parents of magical children. Kids blow so much money on you and George’s merchandise that the goblins will soon be applying to work for you as shop assistants.”
“Actually, their parents leave us a fair amount of money too,” Ron grinned, and Hermione blushed. “Shutting up, shutting up.”
Ron winked at Hermione, which made her turn even redder, and Harry shifted uncomfortably on the armrest. Draco sneered at them.
“Perverts,” Draco pronounced with disdain, and Ron looked down at him.
“Right, sure. Hermione and I are the perverts, not two grown men who can’t come out and talk about their relationship.”
“Don’t compare us to you,” Harry protested, placing his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You and Hermione have been together since school. You both fought against Voldemort. You work in completely different fields. We’re different.” Harry began counting on his fingers. “We’ve both divorced our wives. People still hold Draco’s past against him. And on top of that, he’s my deputy. How many people do you think will say he got his position by sleeping with me, once we announce we’re together? How many will tell Ginny that her husband was cheating on her? And we’ve only been together for a couple of months. It’s too soon to say anything for sure. If we come out, it’ll only make things worse for everyone.”
“Those are the consequences,” Ron replied quietly. “You both knew what you were getting into when you got together. No point in whining now.”
“Ronald!” Hermione’s voice rang out sharp and warning. He turned to face her. “Don’t you dare. They’re having a hard enough time as it is.”
“They are having a hard time,” Ron agreed. “I’m not arguing with that. But this can’t go on like this.” He turned away from Hermione and faced Harry and Draco. “I don’t know how many people will say Malfoy got his position by sleeping with you. I don’t know how many will tell Ginny you cheated on her. But I do know at least two wizards who will support you no matter what. I hope their opinion matters more to you than the opinion of a bunch of idiots.”
Hermione reached out her hand to Ron, and he wrapped his fingers around her palm.
“Thank you,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes.
“Don’t mention it,” Ron said with a wave of his hand. “Are you staying for dinner? Or are you going to go off and sulk somewhere?”
“We’ll probably head out,” Draco said. He leaned over and set his glass down on the low table. “We don’t want to get in the way of you testing your new inventions.”
Ron stood up from the sofa and rolled his shoulders back. He gave Draco a long, thoughtful look, then shifted his gaze to Harry.
“I don’t understand why you’re so afraid of people gossiping about how Malfoy got his position. It seems pretty obvious to any grown adult that it certainly wasn’t through your bed. Good luck finding a bigger prude than him.”
Draco turned red and scowled. Hermione stepped between him and her husband.
“Don’t get so worked up,” she ordered Draco. “Instead, think about what exactly you’d like this film to say about you. I’ll try to make sure the directors steer clear of all the sensitive topics. After all, this is your private life, and no one has the right to intrude on it.”
Draco relaxed, pressed his hand theatrically to his heart, and declared solemnly.
“I’ll vote for you in the election for Minister of Magic of the Whole World.”
Hermione gave him a sharp smack on the back of the head and exhaled wearily.
“Oh, just get out of here, both of you. You’re exhausting. Harry, I expect to see you at the Ministry tomorrow.”
“You don’t expect to see me?” Draco asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I expect to see your completed financial reports for the Auror Office.”
Hermione gave him a bloodthirsty smile, and Draco backed toward the door.
“I’m not voting for you,” he muttered.
“Harry, take your deputy home,” Hermione ordered. She offered Harry her cheeks for kisses. “Have a good evening,” she wished him, then closed the door behind them. “And these are the people I have to work with,” she complained to Ron.
“Disgusting,” Ron commented, then opened his arms. Hermione immediately dove into them. “But Malfoy was right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I really did bring you something to experiment with.”
Ron’s eyes crinkled with warmth, and Hermione lifted her head.
“But I’m tired,” she said softly, then added, “Sorry. There’s so much work with this film that I can barely stay on my feet.”
Ron gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“It’s not for sex. It’s exactly for those times when you can barely stay on your feet. Come on.”
Ron led Hermione to the sofa, sat her down, slowly peeled off her stockings, and gently kissed her small toes.
“Wait here.” He pulled out his wand and gave it a sharp flick. “Accio Object Number 836.”
A strange device flew out of the paper bag and landed right at his feet. Ron knelt on one knee and lifted Hermione’s feet one by one into the device. Then he moved back to sit beside her on the sofa and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Now try tapping your heels together.”
Hermione followed the instructions and watched with wide eyes as her feet became coated in a pale blue viscous liquid.
“It’s cool,” she told Ron, and he nodded. “Oh!”
Hermione peered at the liquid and saw it transform into thousands of tiny, soft tentacles that began to gently massage her feet. The pressure rose and fell in alternating waves. The tiny tentacles worked their way over her heels, her toes, the arches of her feet, and the pads beneath her toes. Hermione let out a sweet, languid moan, and Ron smiled with satisfaction. He clapped his hands. The tentacles grew microscopic suckers, and Hermione’s lips parted slightly.
“You are the greatest wizard in the world, Ronald Weasley,” she said, breathing heavily.