Chapter Text
Two years had passed since the final battle, since Voldemort lost. Two years since the night, a blur of grief and firewhisky, where she and Harry had found a desperate, fleeting solace in each other's arms. A mistake, she’d thought, a moment of weakness. But mistakes, she’d learned, had consequences.
She hadn’t wanted to get pregnant. Merlin, she had had so many plans.
Athena.
The name was a whispered prayer, a fragile bloom in the wasteland of her heart. Athena, her daughter, her secret, her fierce, impossible love. A love born of a night she wished she could erase, yet a love that burned brighter than any regret.
At first, Harry had been supportive but within weeks, he had crumbled under the weight of their shared truth. Harry, who had once been her brother, her confidant, and her closest friend. His eyes, once filled with the same desperate hope she clung to, had turned cold, distant. He, the boy who had stared down Voldemort, couldn't face the reality of the life they had created. He spoke of the Weasleys, of fear, of a reputation he couldn’t tarnish. All she wanted was for Harry to take responsibility and help her raise their child, not romantically of course, but as co-parents and best friends, but he didn’t know how to handle it and grew distant from her.
Hermione had been distraught. Never in her life did she think he would abandon her, especially after everything they had been through together, everything she had sacrificed. He even went so far as to say that he would deny being the father if she told anyone and would even turn the Weasley family against her.
She knew Harry was afraid. He still had so much trauma from the war and before to get over, but she did too.
The word "mudblood," etched in the flesh of her arm, was a constant, throbbing reminder of the war they’d survived. But Harry's betrayal, the coldness in his eyes, the way he’d dismissed her, was a scar that ran deeper. A wound that whispered of a different kind of darkness.
Hermione had gone back to Grimmuald one last time to talk to Harry but found him with Ginny, fucking her against a wall. While Hermione wasn’t jealous, far from it actually, she was so disgusted that he could be with Ginny while ignoring the inevitability of their child.
Where was the boy she had considered her best friend? She had given up everything for him and he dropped her without a second thought.
Ginny had shrieked at her intrusion and Harry’s eyes widened as he saw Hermione stare at him with hurt eyes.
“Oh my Gods, Mione! I’m so sorry I didn’t know you’d be here!” Ginny said, flushed with embarrassment.
Hermione’s throat closed, her voice lost in the labyrinth of her pain. She’d looked at Harry, at the man she’d believed in, and saw only a stranger.
"You're vile, Harry Potter," she choked out, the words laced with a bitterness that tasted like ash. "I wish I had never met you."
She fled, not just from the room, but from the wreckage of her life, from the shattered remnants of their friendship. Australia became her safe haven and throughout her pregnancy, she focused on finding her parents. Once she did, with the help of the Ministry, she was able to reverse the Obliviation spell and gave birth to her daughter eight months later in Sydney.
Athena Jean Granger was an exact replica of Hermione with the exception of her brilliant green eyes, a starling echo of Harry. As she turned one, her caramel curls graced her little head and her constant curiosity for the world around her made everyone around the little girl fall in love with her.
With the help of her parents, Hermione raised Athena while completing her mastery in Healing. Once she graduated, St. Mungos offered her a healing position she couldn’t refuse and so, almost two years after she and Harry had spent the night together and their friendship fell apart, Hermione made plans to go home with Athena and her parents.
She would return to London, not as the girl who had been betrayed, but as a woman forged in the fires of resilience. Athena, her vibrant, curious daughter, was her strength, her reason and her parents were her support.
She stepped off the platform, the familiar scents of London swirling around her, a ghost of the past clinging to the present. She was ready. Ready to face the city, ready to face Harry, ready to claim her place and her daughter, Athena, would be the beacon leading the way.
****
1 Week Later
Draco's eyes snapped open, a familiar wave of irritation washing over him, the bitter aftertaste of another restless night. The betrothal announcement to Astoria Greengrass hung in the air like a suffocating shroud, a constant, gnawing reminder of his gilded cage. He despised the charade, the empty smiles, the forced pleasantries.
Astoria was a carefully constructed facade, a porcelain doll with hollow eyes fixated on his vaults. She spoke of restoring the Malfoy name to its former glory, a delusional dream spun from the tattered remnants of a bygone era. How utterly, tragically naive. The pure-blood circles she so desperately craved to rejoin were crumbling, irrelevant, ghosts of their former selves. Draco couldn't muster a sliver of care for their antiquated rituals and prejudiced pronouncements.
The marriage contract, a relic of his father's manipulative machinations, was a noose tightening around his neck. He’d scoured every clause, every arcane loophole, seeking an escape. Lucius, ever the meticulous strategist, had left him with three impossible options: a soul bond, a child with another, or infidelity.
He’d dismissed the first with a cynical snort. Soul bonds were fairy tales, whispered legends for sentimental fools. The second felt like another trap waiting to spring. He had no desire to bind himself to another woman, especially one who might exploit his desperation. The third, an affair, had initially held a perverse appeal. He felt no loyalty to Astoria, no flicker of affection. Yet, the thought curdled in his stomach. He knew the game, the predatory dance of pure-blood society. Any woman who’d willingly entangle herself with him would do so with calculated intent, seeking to bind him further, to exploit his vulnerability. He’d be trading one gilded cage for another, no better than the first.
A hollow ache settled in his chest, a desolate loneliness that stretched into the vast, empty expanse of his future. He was trapped, a pawn in a game he didn't want to play.
The first option, no matter how many times he told himself it was impossible, kept nagging at him. His mother's words echoed in his mind, "Soul bonds are exceedingly rare, Draco." But a sliver of desperate hope remained, a fragile ember in the cold, dark void. He clung to it, a drowning man grasping at a splinter of driftwood. If there was even the faintest possibility, he would pursue it with relentless determination.
He flung off the silken covers, the chill of the manor seeping into his bones. The heated tiles of the bathroom provided a fleeting comfort as he mechanically went through his morning rituals. The rhythmic motions of his workout, the scalding spray of the shower, the bland taste of his breakfast – all were performed with a detached efficiency, a way to occupy his mind, to stave off the crushing weight of his reality.
Today, he would seek answers. He was scheduled to meet with a Mind Healer at St. Mungo's, a specialist rumored to possess an advanced spell capable of detecting soul bonds. A desperate gamble, a long shot in a game rigged against him. But for Draco Malfoy, trapped in a gilded cage of his own making, it was the only play left.
St. Mungos was a sterile, cold place. After the war, his family had donated millions of galleons to refurbish the hospital but all their money did was turn the once warm halls to a reflection of the Malfoy name, reeking of money and dread. Draco stood in the lobby, talking to a receptionist about where Healer Moot’s office was located.
Little did he know that what would happen next would change everything.
A silky, tinkling voice distracted him from his conversation, “Malfoy?”
Draco spun around, his heart skipping a beat when he saw none other than Hermione Granger standing before him. She had changed since the last time he saw her, back at his trial, fiercely advocating for him. Though still petite, there was a vibrant energy about her now—a stark contrast to the exhausted figure he remembered. Her face radiated warmth, her golden eyes glowing with an undeniable spark. Her hair, once wild and untamable, now framed her face in soft, caramel curls that cascaded past her shoulders. Her healer robes were expertly tailored, accentuating her figure in a way that made Draco's breath catch. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Hermione Granger, of all people, was... striking. Salazar.
But then, his gaze shifted to the little girl cradled in her arms. The child was a perfect miniature of Hermione with her angelic face, the same soft curls, but with one distinct difference: her eyes were green.
Draco, suddenly aware that he had been staring at her like a fool, finally managed to find his voice. “Granger… and… Mini Granger?”
Hermione chuckled, her eyes softening as she looked down at the little girl in her arms. “Her name is Athena. I just moved back from Australia to work as a pediatric Healer here. My parents aren’t available today, so I’m dropping her off at the nursery.”
Draco took a step closer, unable to ignore how much more captivating she seemed the nearer he got. “You… I mean, she’s beautiful, Granger. I didn’t realize you were married.”
At the question, he saw her entire posture shift - she tensed, instinctively pulling Athena closer.
“I’m not,” she said quickly, her voice wavering slightly despite the defiance she tried to mask with. “Her father isn’t… involved.”
Draco winced. "I’m sorry… I didn’t mean.." He trailed off, cursing himself for the lack of tact his upbringing had supposedly instilled in him.
“It’s okay,” Hermione interrupted with a soft, almost reluctant smile. “Truly.” She looked down at Athena, her expression full of warmth. “I have to go, but it was nice to see you, Malfoy.”
She began to turn, but Draco's voice stopped her, a mix of hesitation and newfound courage making him speak before he could think. “Would you like to grab coffee sometime?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he immediately regretted them, his cheeks flushing. Smooth, Malfoy. Real smooth.
“Really?” Her voice was full of surprise, and Draco’s heart skipped a beat at the way her eyes lit up.
He nodded, trying to steady his nerves. “Yeah, I’d like to catch up. And I owe you an apology, Granger.”
Her expression softened, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, Malfoy…”
“Please, Granger,” he urged, his voice a little more earnest than he had intended.
She paused for a moment, then gave a small, reluctant smile. “Okay. Owl me?”
“Yes,” he replied, feeling stunned that she had actually agreed. She gave a small wave and started to walk away, but Draco couldn’t help himself. He watched her go, the lightness in his chest growing with every step she took. Leave it to Hermione Granger to make him feel something so rare.
A sharp cough broke Draco from his reverie, and he turned to find the receptionist watching him with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry,” Draco muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Ran into an old friend.”
The receptionist gave him a skeptical look, her brow arching as if to say, Really?
“Healer Moot is on the fifth floor,” she said, her voice calm and businesslike. “You can either floo to his office directly or apparate now that you know where it is.”
Draco nodded his thanks, though his mind was still racing as he made his way to the floo. Moments later, he stood in the quiet office of Healer Moot. The aging healer was already waiting for him, his sharp eyes twinkling with quiet knowledge.
“Ah, Mr. Malfoy,” Healer Moot said, his voice a low drawl as he regarded Draco closely. “Here to discover if you have a soul bond, yes?”
Draco nodded, his voice steady but cautious. “That’s correct, Healer Moot. I ask that you keep this appointment discreet.”
The healer’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained enigmatic. “I would never discuss a patient’s results with another, not even their family,” he said, a subtle knowing look flickering in his eyes.
Draco felt a quiet understanding pass between them. Healer Moot likely knew exactly what Draco was running from.
“Please, sit here,” the healer instructed, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “It will only take a moment.”
Draco took a seat, his leg bouncing nervously as the weight of the moment settled in. The air seemed to thicken with anticipation.
“Socius animae,” Healer Moot intoned, his wand flicking in the air as a golden light poured from the tip.
For a moment, Draco felt nothing—just the unsettling weight of silence—and his heart sank. But then, a strange tingling began to spread through him, a sensation like a soft electric hum that grew until a wave of euphoria rushed through his entire being. His chest tightened, and he suddenly felt... connected, in a way he couldn’t explain.
“You are fortunate, Mr. Malfoy,” Healer Moot said, his voice carrying an undertone of respect. “Not many ever experience a soul bond.”
“I have one?” Draco asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, disbelief curling in his chest. “Who is it?”
The healer’s expression softened, and he leaned back slightly, his eyes glinting. “The spell doesn’t reveal the identity of the other half, son. But I can provide you with proof that your soul bond exists. From there, you may choose to explore it as you wish.”
Draco felt a wave of relief, of freedom, wash over him. He could feel it; the possibility, the hope. He was no longer tethered to the past. He would be free.