Chapter Text
It was a particularly disastrous day. An outbreak of Spattergroit at a local wizarding primary school had the pediatric ward at St. Mungo's in absolute chaos. Between the worried parents, the crying children and the dwindling number of available beds, it was an absolute nightmare.
The outbreak belonged to the Magical Bugs Ward, not Spell Damage, but that distinction mattered very little once the hospital began running out of space. Staff were being reassigned by the hour, wards were juggling overflow patients, and every department was expected to give up beds, Healers, or both.
Hermione shuffled through the front door, both arms full of files and rolls of parchment, the handle of her briefcase dangling from her pinky finger, and her hair finally escaping the sensible twist she'd forced it into that morning. She nearly caught her heel on the edge of the doormat, catching her shoulder on the hallway wall with a heavy sigh.
“Move the Lovelace review to Friday. Reassign Trainees Fowler and Wynn to Magical Bugs through the end of the week,” she told the floating self-writing quill and notepad that followed closely behind her. It scribbled furiously as she moved through the living room, barely noticing she’d dropped a scroll on the way. She’d turn back in a moment to get it.
“Transfer all non-emergency admissions to outpatient review… Double the staffing on Spell Damage —no, one and a half. I can't spare any more than that,” she added. “Oh —Senior Healer Graves stays in Spell Damage. Magical Bugs cannot have her right now. Cancel tomorrow's teaching rounds unless the outbreak is contained.”
Her head had not stopped pounding since noon. Hermione reached the kitchen table, letting her briefcase fall to the floor —ignoring the lingering pain in her pinky from carrying the weight of it. The files and scrolls were deposited on the table, while she turned and headed straight for the pantry. Her quill followed close behind.
“Find out who's covering Night Shift after Pemberton was pulled. If the Ministry asks whether we're at capacity, tell them I'll answer after someone finds me six more beds. Remind Katharine to contact Gunther about that thing for Davis —and remind Katherine to tell Gunther that no, it’s not optional and yes, it is urgent. Where the bloody hell is my chamomile?”
The quill paused beside her while she rifled through the pantry, as if asking whether she wanted that written down too.
"Obviously not that," she sighed, finally spotting the box. She snatched it up and shut the pantry door a little harder than intended.
When she turned, she screeched, the box of chamomile slipping from her hand and clattering to the kitchen floor. Theo —her lovely husband— stood there holding the roll of parchment she'd dropped on her way in.
Hermione's heart lurched. She pressed a hand to her chest, drawing in a long breath. "Don't sneak up on me like that," she tutted, stooping to retrieve the tea.
The quill bobbed expectantly between them until she waved it off, watching it sail to the kitchen table and collapse on top of her files.
He huffed a laugh. "Sweetheart, I was sitting on the sofa the entire time."
Heat crept into her cheeks as he took the box from her hands before she could straighten, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek. "I didn't see you there," she admitted.
"I gathered." He’d already shed his suit jacket and tie, the sleeves of his Oxford rolled to his elbows, exposing the ink etched across his strong forearms. He was honestly far too attractive. "Long day?"
“A Spattergroit outbreak,” she sighed, “Don't worry. I fully decontaminated three times before I even left the grounds. Then again outside before I came in.”
Theo frowned, reaching for the kettle, setting out to make her tea for her —the absolute gem of a man he was. “Isn’t that more of a Magical Bugs problem, than yours?”
Hermione nodded, “Yes, but it's an outbreak. Once the hospital starts overflowing, it becomes every department head's problem. So not only do I have my usual workload—”
“Which is absolute nutters on a good day,” Theo mumbled while he set the kettle on the stove.
“Yes,” she breathed a weak laugh. “But now I have to figure out which beds I can spare, which Healers I can lend out, and how to keep my own ward running.”
“And the Lovelace review,” Theo murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “Poor Lovelace,” he brushed a kiss against her lips, and she nearly melted on the spot.
“Lovelace has nothing to worry about,” Hermione whispered.
She gasped when he picked her up and set her on the counter. His hands found one foot, slipping off her high heel before setting it neatly beside her. He rubbed his thumb absentmindedly over the arch of her stockinged foot before reaching for the other.
“How was your day?” she asked, humming softly when he gave both of her feet a soft squeeze, letting herself lean back against the cabinets.
He shrugged, picking the kettle off the stove before it whistled for too long. “Well there were no outbreaks, so I’ll call it a win.”
Hermione gave him a soft smile, watching as he made her tea. “Not even a little one?”
“Afraid not,” Theo murmured, trading a steaming mug for a kiss. “But I did reject three autobiographies, accepted a fascinating dissertation on Scandinavian rune magic that you’re going to love—”
“Oh please save a copy for me—”
“Already told Margot to, sweetheart. And I had the pleasure of convincing one very passionate elderly Wizard that no one actually wants a twelve-volume history of enchanted tableware.”
“Oh,” Hermione stuck her bottom lip out. Theo hated when he had to do that. “Was he crushed?”
“Absolutely shattered,” Theo sighed, stepping between her thighs to brush another kiss to her pouting lips. “Margot had to summon him a handkerchief."
She bit back a sympathetic laugh, cradling her tea between them. “I’m sorry, love.”
He looked at her with those soft blue eyes of his that melted her every time. “At least I’m not poor poor Lovelace.”
“Lovelace is fine,” Hermione laughed.
“I love when your nose does that when you laugh,” Theo grinned.
“What?”
"Scrunches," he replied, scrunching his nose until she laughed again.
Hermione set her tea to the side, winding her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a proper kiss. Her head was still pounding, but the way he held her distracted her from it for a moment. Soft and sweet, he always smelled of ink and paper and leather. It was an absolute comfort for her. She hummed, tasting caramel on his tongue —his usual post-work sweet he rewarded himself with after a day of too many rejections.
“You have a headache,” Theo murmured against her lips. “Too many thoughts. Too many worries.”
She didn’t ask how he knew —he always knew somehow. Hermione nodded, kissing him again. “And a stack of paperwork I need to sort through before the weekend. Oh, damn —quill!”
“Hermione,” Theo’s voice dropped in a gentle warning.
The quill rose quickly and darted over to them, hovering as it waited for instruction. “I know, I’m sorry —I’m so sorry, love. Just…” She looked apologetically at the faithful little quill. “Just one last thing then you’re done —send a gift basket to the Magical Bugs ward Friday. Sweets, mostly. And tea.”
The quill gave an obedient bob before zipping back to the table. It scribbled furiously for a moment before sagging in midair as though even it had reached the end of a very long day.
Hermione smiled sheepishly, “That's it. I promise. No more reminders.”
Theo just looked at her. “My poor sweetheart,” he murmured, drawing her closer. “Whatever shall we do about that?”
Heat flooded inside her, her toes tingling as her husband’s mouth dropped to her throat. Her eyes fluttered closed, feeling his tongue drag across her skin, followed by a gentle nip of his teeth that made her shiver. He pressed closer, pulling her to the edge of the counter, his fingers pulling at her collar to give him more access. It made her smile through a soft moan, her fingers sinking into his hair.
When she opened her eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Draco was there, leaning in the kitchen doorway, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. His suit looked especially good on him today —she always loved when he wore deep blue, it made his silver eyes look even more intense than they already were.
“Hey you,” she grinned at him.
“Long day?” he nodded towards the pile of work she’d left on the kitchen table.
“Very,” Hermione breathed, a shiver rolling through her as Theo moved to the other side of her neck.
Draco pushed off the doorway as he watched, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. “Daphne saw you at the hospital cafeteria on your lunch-break,” he said, coming up to stand behind Theo, his hands curling around her husband’s shoulders as he did. “Or what was supposed to be your lunch break. Seems you only had an apple and a cup of coffee. She was worried —said you looked near distraught.”
Theo stilled, his hands that were inching up her skirt halting entirely. Hermione’s eyes widened as she swallowed thickly, her stomach fluttering.
“That was your lunch?” Theo quietly asked.
Uh oh.
“Is Daphne ill —is Genevive ill?” Hermione breathed her question instead of answering the one Theo asked. “Blaise?”
“Preventative measures, since there was an outbreak at Genevive’s school,” Draco said evenly.
Theo stood to his full height between her and Draco, his face stoic as he looked at her. His head tilted to the side as Draco’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. They said nothing. But they didn’t need to.
“I… didn’t finish the apple,” she whispered, drawing her lip between her teeth.
Theo sighed, his jaw going tight. His eyes slid closed when Draco pressed a kiss to his temple, then dropped his mouth to his ear, whispering something Hermione couldn’t hear. The warmth lingering beneath her skin shifted into something tighter, a flutter of apprehension settling beneath her ribs.
She hadn't meant to skimp on lunch —it was just such a busy day. The problem was that this wasn't new. It was something she'd been doing since she was eleven years old, cutting corners with herself to squeeze a little more time out of the day. Homework. Revision. Healing. Leadership. Somehow, she was always the thing that got pushed to tomorrow.
“It was chaos today,” she said softly, her hands wringing together in her lap. “There was so much going on because of the Spattergroit, I didn’t have time to sit down and have a proper lunch.”
“If only you had an assistant,” Draco murmured. “Someone to help you carry the load. Hmm?”
“Well…” She flushed. “Katherine was…”
“Was…” Theo prompted, finally speaking. “Katherine was what, sweetheart?”
Oh hell. Hermione exhaled, her shoulders sinking, her face flaming.
“Katherine was already at lunch so I didn't want to bother her, and I had three trainees who needed to be quarantined, and the Ministry asking everyone about capacity —Magical Bugs kept trying to steal Healer Graves away from me the entire day, but Graves is the only one qualified enough to assist with the chaos and handle the four idiotic teenagers who were brought in because they were more-or-less playing Russian Roulette with knee-reversal hexes —it was a complete disaster of a day and so yes, I skimped on lunch because I had a hundred other things on my plate,” she nearly said in a single breath. By the end of it, her eyes were stinging.
It had been a hell of a day. So it didn’t surprise her that she’d looked distraught and Daphne was worried enough to go to Draco about it.
“How many decisions?” Theo asked as he reached for her wringing hands, gently pulling them apart, his thumbs rubbing along her knuckles.
She blinked, “What?”
“Rough estimate,” Draco said quietly, his eyes never leaving her. “How many decisions did you make today?”
She gave a weak laugh, “It felt like a thousand.”
Theo nodded, “Thought so.”
Right when she opened her mouth to speak, the doorbell rang. Her brows drew together, watching Draco untangle from Theo before he left the kitchen.
“I’ll be joining you for lunch tomorrow,” Theo told her. “And for the rest of the week—“
“Theo—“
“You will leave the hospital grounds and join your husband for lunch for the rest of the week,” his voice was soft but firm, leaving no room for argument. “Understood?”
Hermione let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding before she nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Thank you,” Theo kissed her forehead.
Draco came back into the kitchen before anything else could be said. He was carrying a flimsy box packed with takeaway containers. The kitchen immediately smelled like Chinese food and Hermione flushed hot when her stomach growled. Loudly.
“Come sit,” Draco said.
Theo helped her down from the counter without letting go of her hand, guiding her to the kitchen table. He settled into a chair and gently pulled her onto his lap while Draco unpacked the takeaway containers.
Hermione’s mouth watered, suddenly aware of how hungry she actually was. Theo’s hand ran up and down her spine, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. And yes, she almost wept when Draco slid over a container of sesame chicken. Her favorite.
Theo accepted the chopsticks Draco offered him without a word. He plucked up a piece of chicken and held it to her lips, waiting.
She couldn’t stop the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, or the warmth blooming in her chest. Her shoulders loosened another fraction. For the first time since she’d walked through the hospital doors that morning, there was nothing she needed to decide.
Hermione leaned forward, taking the bite before letting out an entirely undignified groan. “Oh, God,” she mumbled around the first mouthful. “That’s so good.”
Theo huffed a quiet laugh. Draco only smirked.
Her eyes swept over the assortment of takeaway containers while she chewed. Draco had, naturally, ordered nearly one of everything she and Theo had ever shown even the slightest interest in, along with his own container of Kung Pao chicken. It was an absurd amount of food for three people, but no one ever complained when Draco was in charge of ordering.
They ate together in comfortable silence, Hermione's untidy stack of paperwork pushed to the far end of the table where Theo had firmly insisted it stay. Every now and then, he reached over with his chopsticks to offer her another bite before taking one for himself, without making a fuss about it. Across from them, Draco picked absently at his own meal, nudging the container of pork dumplings a little closer, knowing she'd inevitably want one.
“How’s the firm?” Theo asked Draco.
The blonde rolled his eyes immediately, wiping his mouth with a paper towel before swallowing. “A client called me young man and asked, ‘Do you even know who I am?’ He was a bit put out because I advised against putting seventy percent of his family’s assets into experimental self-heating cauldrons —a new venture his younger brother had convinced him to bankroll.”
Hermione grinned as she chewed. Asking Draco Malfoy if he knew who you were was absolutely absurd, yet it happened far more often than she would have imagined. Then again, he spent his days dealing with old-money Witches and Wizards who'd mistaken wealth for personality. It seemed to come with the territory.
Theo barked a laugh, snagging another dumpling with his chopsticks. “I'd have paid good money to see that.”
Draco took an unhurried sip of water before setting the glass back down. “I briefly considered informing him that I was only there because I enjoy having something to do between breakfast and dinner.”
“Well?” Hermione asked with a smirk. “Did you even know who he was?”
Draco arched a brow. “You’re feeling awfully brave this evening for someone who yet again neglected to care for themselves.”
Theo laughed under his breath. Hermione’s face went hot.
“Feed her another dumpling before she gets herself into trouble.”
Hermione immediately accepted the dumpling once Theo raised it in front of her. Giving her husband a little hum of appreciation when he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“She’ll be having lunch with me for the rest of the week,” Theo told Draco.
Draco nodded, “And then next week, with me. Understood?”
Hermione nodded as she chewed, swallowing before answering. “Understood.”
“You have a long history of neglecting your own needs, when you’re working,” Theo murmured. “And while I understand it was a particularly stressful day, you don’t get to neglect yourself, sweetheart.”
“This isn’t new,” Draco added. He didn’t finish his thought. He didn’t need to.
A pang of guilt curled in her belly. She nodded.
It was a conversation they’d been having for years. It had never really been about skipping lunch. It was about sacrificing herself. Neglecting herself, in the name of work.
Back when it had just been her and Draco, he’d had to physically pry textbooks from her fingers after midnight, feed her because she’d forgotten she’d been hungry for hours, or press a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion into her hand after she’d stayed up all night studying things she already knew.
Then, after her and Draco parted ways, and she’d fallen in love with Theo, it had quickly become obvious that Draco hadn’t been exaggerating. Theo had inherited the same battle, watching Hermione quietly put everyone else’s needs ahead of her own until she had nothing left to give.
Now there were two of them making sure she remembered herself.
By this point, Hermione knew better. That was the problem. But days like today made it frighteningly easy to slip back into that familiar tunnel vision, where everyone else’s emergencies became more important than her own basic needs.
After they finished dinner, Hermione was to sit at the table —forbidden from touching any of her paperwork— while Draco and Theo cleaned up the takeaway containers, and put away the leftovers. She sat there quietly, hands resting in her lap and watched them, listening to their continued soft conversation about their work days.
Watching them together warmed something deep inside her. Back together again after all those years apart. Years ago, she'd asked Theo why it had ended, because it had always been obvious that love hadn't been the reason. And she knew that both Draco and Theo were endlessly devoted and fiercely monogamous creatures. So the thought of one of them stepping outside of their relationship was never even a fleeting thought.
They were young. That was it, essentially. Theo had explained that they simply got to a point where they realized they had no idea who they were without each other. Love hadn’t run out. They needed to figure out who they were on their own.
It was more than understandable. And honestly, Hermione thought it was a very mature and self-aware decision on both their parts.
Part of her heart still ached for the years they'd spent apart, all that time they could have had together and didn't. But another part —the piece that had once belonged solely to Draco, and later solely to Theo before they finally found one another again— couldn't quite bring itself to wish it had happened differently.
Because if things hadn't unfolded exactly as they had, she wouldn't be sitting here now, watching them move around the kitchen together. Speaking softly. Brushing fingers across each other's backs as they passed. Stealing absentminded kisses like they were making up for lost time.
It was new for them again. And she adored it.
Draco looked at Theo as though he'd hung the moon and the stars, reaching over to straighten his collar before deciding that wasn't nearly enough and pinning her husband against the counter for a proper kiss.
Her eyes stung, watching them. Because she realized that Draco had been looking at her like that too, since he came back into her and Theo’s lives properly.
Years ago, she'd convinced herself that walking away had been kinder than asking Draco to choose between her and his mother. She'd never doubted that he'd have chosen her. That had almost been the worst part. Because she couldn't bear the thought of being the reason he lost someone else.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle Narcissa, back then. Hermione just couldn’t ask Draco to keep paying the price that came with loving her. He hadn’t wanted to let her go. She hadn’t wanted to leave. But at that time, it felt like the only obvious choice to Hermione.
Now the future looked strangely familiar. Narcissa would almost certainly have opinions. Perhaps stronger ones than ever before.
But Hermione wasn't the frightened twenty-five-year-old who'd quietly slipped out of Draco's life because she thought it was the right thing to do. Not anymore. And now she understood that sometimes love meant staying. Even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.
This time, if Narcissa disapproved, she wouldn't just be standing against Hermione. She'd be standing against all three of them.
Hermione found, rather unexpectedly, that the thought didn't frighten her nearly as much as it once had.