Chapter Text
Chapter One: The Return of Hermione Granger
Hermione Granger returned to Britain with three trunks, six tattoos, and a deeply unreasonable amount of confidence.
The confidence part was mostly new. The tattoos too, honestly. The emotional instability, unfortunately, remained exactly the same.
Rain streaked across the carriage windows as Noctis Manor appeared slowly through the fog ahead, all black stone and golden light and sprawling estate grounds that looked dramatically richer than anything people their age should legally own.
Hermione stared at it for a long moment. “You’ve got to be joking,” she muttered.
Because two years ago, after Eighth Year finally ended and all of them barely survived pretending to be normal students after a war, this had not existed. None of this had. Back then they’d been damaged teenagers drinking too much firewhisky in abandoned classrooms and sleeping tangled together in common room piles because nightmares hit harder alone.
Now apparently they owned a gothic luxury empire.
Typical.
A silver fox Patronus burst beside the carriage window.
Theo Nott’s voice echoed smugly through the small enclosed space. “If you try to flee, Adrian already said he’d physically carry you inside.”
Hermione rolled her eyes immediately. “That feels illegal.”
“Not on private property.”
Another Patronus slammed into his. Ginny’s horse trotted alongside the carriage.
“We made dinner,” Ginny announced. “Pansy threatened the staff twice.”
“Only because somebody suggested beige flowers,” Pansy snapped from somewhere behind her.
“Which,” Blaise added lazily, “was objectively offensive.”
Hermione laughed under her breath before she could stop herself. God. She’d missed them.
The carriage rounded the final curve. And there they were. All of them crowded across the front staircase like a very attractive cult.
Theo leaned against Ginny while she held onto his hand absently. Pansy sat sideways on the stone railing beside Draco with one of his hands steady against her thigh so she wouldn’t fall. Astoria stood tucked against Blaise’s side beneath his umbrella while Daphne curled easily beneath Adrian’s arm.
Close. Always touching. Still exactly the same. Hermione’s chest tightened painfully. The carriage stopped. Before she could even open the door, Theo yanked it wide dramatically.
“There she is,” he declared. “Europe’s sexiest flight risk.”
Ginny immediately shoved past him. “Oh my God,” she gasped, grabbing Hermione’s face with both hands. “You got hotter.”
“I hate all of you already.”
“No you don’t,” Pansy said knowingly as she swept down the stairs in cream silk and fur like an evil socialite queen. Then she stopped. Looked Hermione up and down once. Twice. Her eyes narrowed. “You got rib tattoos.”
Hermione blinked. “How the fuck do you know that?”
“The posture.”
“That is the most insane thing you’ve ever said,” Blaise informed her.
“I know my women.”
“You absolutely do not,” Draco said dryly.
Pansy ignored him entirely and grabbed Hermione by the wrist. “Turn around.”
“No.”
“TURN.”
Ginny was already cackling.
Theo leaned around her shoulder trying to inspect visible ink near Hermione’s collarbone. “I knew she got more.”
Astoria looked delighted. “Is that new jewelry too?”
Daphne reached her last, wrapping Hermione into a warm hug that smelled like vanilla and expensive tea. “You disappeared for two years,” Daphne murmured softly against her hair.
Something inside Hermione cracked a little at that. Because she had.
The morning after graduation she’d packed a bag and left Britain without warning.
Florence.
Paris.
Prague.
Athens.
Libraries and museums and old magic and too many nights pretending loneliness counted as healing. And somehow these idiots had still saved space for her anyway.
“You look emotional,” Theo observed immediately.
“I’m literally standing in the rain.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”
Adrian stepped forward then, calm and solid as always, taking two of her trunks effortlessly. “Welcome home, Hermione.”
Home.
The word hit harder than expected.
Draco finally moved closer, rain dripping from pale blond hair as he looked her over carefully. Not judgmental. Just checking. Like he needed visual confirmation she’d actually come back intact.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly. “That tattoo is definitely new.”
Hermione smirked despite herself. “Which one?”
Theo made a strangled noise. Pansy looked personally delighted. Ginny nearly doubled over laughing.
And suddenly everyone was talking at once again—
touching her,
pulling at her sleeves,
stealing her bags,
looping arms around her waist and shoulders like no time had passed at all.
Hermione stood in the middle of the chaos and realized, with growing horror—she might actually stay.
Hermione barely made it through the massive black double doors before someone shoved a drink into her hand, Theo stole her coat, and Pansy began loudly critiquing her trousers.
“They’re depressing.”
“They’re black.”
“They’re accountant black.”
Hermione stared at her. “I have literally been traveling.”
“And apparently suffering,” Pansy said gravely.
The entrance hall alone was absurd. Towering ceilings stretched overhead while warm chandelier light spilled across polished marble floors. Half-unpacked crates still lined portions of the walls beside expensive artwork waiting to be hung. Fresh flowers overflowed from crystal vases. Somewhere deeper in the manor, music drifted faintly through the open halls.
It looked luxurious. But unfinished. Lived in. Like all of them had moved in too quickly and decided they would figure the rest out later.
Which honestly sounded accurate.
“Careful,” Ginny warned as Hermione looked around. “If you compliment the place, Draco starts acting like he personally laid every brick.”
“I practically did,” Draco replied from somewhere behind them.
“You hired people.”
“I supervised aggressively.”
“You pointed at things with expensive taste,” Theo corrected.
“That is leadership.”
Blaise snorted into his wine. Hermione smiled despite herself as they moved toward the dining room in one chaotic cluster, everyone talking over each other exactly the way they always had during Eighth Year. Only now they were richer.
Unfortunately.
The dining room looked like a magazine spread interrupted by emotionally unstable young adults. Candles flickered down the center of the massive table. Velvet chairs sat mismatched beside antique silver. One entire corner still had fabric swatches draped across it while magical paint samples shifted slowly along the far wall.
Astoria noticed Hermione looking. “We’re redoing that side,” she explained softly. “Pansy hated the original paneling.”
“It looked haunted,” Pansy said.
“It is haunted,” Theo informed her.
“That wasn’t the issue.”
Hermione laughed as she slid into a chair between Ginny and Daphne. Immediately, hands started passing plates toward her.
Bread.
Pasta.
Roasted vegetables.
Wine.
She hadn’t even touched her fork before Adrian narrowed his eyes at her plate. “You’re barely eating.”
“I ate on the train.”
“You had pretzels,” Ginny said flatly.
Hermione blinked slowly. “How do you know that?”
“You sent me an owl complaining about train pretzels three hours ago.”
“Oh.”
“You’re among vultures,” Blaise informed her sympathetically.
“Emotionally invasive vultures,” Theo added.
Daphne reached over automatically, brushing damp hair back from Hermione’s shoulder. “You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Good,” Pansy said. “You’re sleeping for twelve hours tomorrow while we burn your wardrobe.”
Hermione pointed her fork threateningly. “Touch my coats and I’ll curse all of you.”
“You’ve become hotter and meaner abroad,” Draco observed from across the table.
“France does that to people,” Theo said wisely.
“Italy,” Hermione corrected.
“Pretentious either way.”
Ginny nearly choked on her drink laughing. The conversation shifted rapidly after that, bouncing between overlapping stories and updates while Hermione sat in the middle of it trying not to feel too overwhelmed by how badly she’d missed this.
Missed them.
Two years ago they’d all left Hogwarts with no real plans beyond survival. Now somehow—
Theo played Chaser for the Montrose Magpies and spent most matches getting fined for antagonizing referees. Draco had become Seeker for the Appleby Arrows and apparently enjoyed terrifying the league publicly. Adrian played Keeper for the Ballycastle Bats and acted like the only stable person in professional Quidditch. Blaise had spent the last year bouncing between European clubs while becoming annoyingly famous in wizarding tabloids.
Ginny had retired three months ago. Hermione glanced toward her instinctively. Ginny noticed immediately.
“It’s fine,” she said before Hermione could say anything. “Mostly.”
Theo’s arm slipped automatically around the back of Ginny’s chair. Not dramatic. Just there. Supportive.
Hermione’s chest tightened slightly. The injury had been bad then. Worse than the papers knew. Ginny had hidden most of it publicly, but Hermione remembered the owls. The frustration bleeding through every line.
“She’s already rebuilding the sport anyway,” Pansy said confidently. “Retirement lasted approximately four days before she started terrorizing management structures.”
Ginny grinned. “The Noire League sounds cooler than retirement therapy.”
Hermione blinked. “You actually used the name?”
“Of course we used the name,” Theo said. “It’s sexy.”
“It’s branding,” Astoria corrected gently.
“Sexy branding,” Blaise amended.
Ginny leaned forward excitedly now. “We’re building youth programs first. Training camps. Sponsorships. Better recovery support. I’m working with a few former players too.”
“And she hasn’t slept properly in weeks,” Daphne added.
“I sleep.”
“You passed out in the solarium holding paperwork.”
“That counts.”
Draco took a sip of wine. “We’re also trying to stop Theo from naming things.”
“I had excellent suggestions.”
“You suggested ‘Hot People Flying Fast.’”
“That accurately describes Quidditch.”
Hermione laughed so hard wine nearly came out her nose. God. It felt good to laugh again. Outside, rain battered softly against the manor windows while warmth wrapped around her from every side.
Touching shoulders.
Stolen drinks.
Half-finished conversations.
Theo sprawled dramatically across two chairs while Ginny leaned against him.
Pansy tucked beneath Draco’s arm while arguing with Blaise.
Astoria fixing Daphne’s bracelet absentmindedly while Adrian quietly refilled everyone’s glasses.
Messy. Close. Still clinging to each other exactly the way they had after the war. Only now they’d built something beautiful around the wreckage.
A month later, Hermione had somehow become one of the primary contributors to wizarding Britain’s ongoing moral crisis.
Honestly? Good for her.
“You cannot wear that to a Foundation dinner,” Draco informed her flatly.
Hermione looked up from the kitchen island where she sat in a silk robe and black lingerie with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “It’s a dress.”
“It’s lingerie pretending to have career ambitions.”
Pansy didn’t even glance up from her sketchbook. “Buy her the emerald one instead. The slit on this version isn’t high enough.”
Astoria hummed thoughtfully beside her. “The back’s too covered too.”
Hermione grinned over the rim of her wineglass.
See? Finally somebody respected her artistic vision.
Around her, Noctis Manor buzzed with its usual midnight chaos. Theo and Ginny occupied one entire end of the massive velvet sectional, tangled together beneath a blanket while arguing over sponsorship contracts for The Noire League. Ginny sat half in his lap with her legs draped over Hermione’s while Theo lazily rubbed circles against Draco’s shoulder from where he leaned over the back of the sofa.
Across the room, Blaise lounged shirtless in one of the oversized chairs while Astoria sat sideways across his lap reviewing Maison Noire gala sketches with Pansy. Adrian stood near the fireplace pouring whiskey while Daphne leaned against his back reading over donor reports for The Noire Foundation.
Nobody in Noctis Manor understood personal space. At all. Which was exactly why wizarding tabloids were having collective nervous breakdowns.
Hermione took another sip of wine as Draco dropped heavily into the chair beside her. “You encouraged this,” he muttered darkly.
“I encouraged confidence.”
“You encouraged her to weaponize thigh slits.”
Pansy finally looked up. “As she should.”
Hermione stretched her legs directly across Draco’s lap just to annoy him. He barely reacted anymore beyond automatically shifting one hand to steady her ankle.
“That’s the problem,” Draco informed the room. “All of you encourage each other.”
“Correct,” Ginny said proudly.
Theo looked delighted. “It’s called emotional support.”
“It’s called public indecency,” Adrian corrected dryly.
Blaise snorted into his drink. “The Prophet called us ‘hedonistic aristocratic youth’ yesterday.”
Theo looked deeply flattered. “That’s actually incredible.”
“It gets worse,” Daphne warned calmly.
Astoria reached for the paper sitting beside her.
“Oh no,” Hermione breathed immediately.
Astoria smiled sweetly. “There’s another diagram.”
The room dissolved instantly.
Theo nearly slid off the sofa laughing.
Ginny made an actual choking sound.
Pansy looked personally victorious.
Draco closed his eyes like a man enduring divine punishment.
Hermione snatched the paper eagerly. And immediately lost her mind. Because the Prophet had once again attempted to map the physical affection inside Noctis Manor like they were studying some kind of rare mating ritual.
Arrows.
Photographs.
Circles.
One section literally read:
PHYSICAL BOUNDARIES REMAIN NONEXISTENT INSIDE NOCTIS MANOR
Underneath sat:
- Hermione sitting between Ginny’s legs at a beach bonfire
- Draco asleep against Blaise during a yacht party
- Pansy kissing Daphne’s cheek during a gala
- Theo sprawled across literally everybody during a movie night
- Adrian carrying Astoria bridal-style after too much champagne
- Hermione adjusting Ginny’s necklace with her teeth because her hands were full
“Oh my God,” Hermione wheezed.
“It’s the Maldives photos again,” Ginny groaned.
To be fair… The Maldives had looked terrible. Not because anyone was actually cheating. But because none of them behaved remotely normal around each other. They touched constantly.
Piled together on lounge chairs.
Shared clothes.
Shared drinks.
Shared beds during storms because Theo hated thunder and dragged everyone into one giant suite “for morale.”
There was one particularly catastrophic photograph of Hermione in a black bikini sitting sideways across Ginny’s lap while Pansy applied sunscreen to Hermione’s shoulders and Draco fed Blaise strawberries in the background.
Objectively? The optics were horrific.
“Wait,” Theo said suddenly. “Turn to page four.”
Hermione flipped the paper. Immediately screamed laughing. Because now there was an actual headline:
WHO IS DATING WHO INSIDE NOCTIS MANOR?
Below it sat an aggressively incorrect chart.
According to the Prophet:
- Hermione was apparently involved with Ginny, Pansy, and possibly Astoria
- Blaise and Draco were “emotionally codependent bachelors”
- Theo was “suspiciously affectionate with everyone”
- Daphne and Adrian were “the only seemingly stable pair”
“SEEMINGLY?” Adrian repeated.
Theo was crying actual tears laughing now. Ginny collapsed dramatically against Hermione’s shoulder.
Pansy looked at the chart thoughtfully. “I do think they should’ve connected me and Hermione with a thicker line.”
Hermione nearly spit wine across the room.
Draco pointed at them both. “This is exactly why these articles exist.”
“You’re just upset nobody thinks you’re fun,” Blaise replied.
Draco looked offended. “People fear me.”
“People think you share skincare products with Zabini.”
“That is slander.”
Blaise grinned slowly. “You literally stole my moisturizer yesterday.”
The room exploded again.
And Hermione—
surrounded by warmth,
touching hands,
wine,
laughter,
beautiful people draped across expensive furniture like emotionally unstable royalty—leaned back against Draco’s shoulder and realized she’d never felt more at home in her entire life.
Mid-afternoon sunlight spilled through the massive conservatory windows of Noctis Manor, turning the entire sunroom gold.