Seven Months Later

Hermione curled one foot under her and accioed the glass over. The liquid inside sparkled as if it were gold, and Draco smiled to see flecks of the same color in her eyes. Funny how he'd never thought she was beautiful when they were kids. He'd been wrong about so many things. Spoiled. Selfish. Racist, if he was being totally honest with himself, though he'd called it blood-purity. Whatever it was, the war had burned all that shit away.

"We did it," he said.

Theo snorted, "If by 'it' you mean took over, sure."

"As long as we're holding on to things, it won't happen again," Neville said. "Even if right now, we've got a bit more direct control than we wanted."

No Dark Lord, he meant. Draco couldn't argue with that. Even a hint of anti-squib sentiment was already enough to get your neighbors reporting you. No one went around spouting Anti-Muggle-born feelings anymore. Things were better. Maybe not perfect — no one could hope for perfect — but they were better. He'd hold onto that.

"It's for the greater good," Hermione said.

Draco brushed her lips across her cheek, but she turned her face and tricked him into a real kiss. "Trickster," he said, but he lingered there long enough, Theo decided to opine.

"This is your flat. If you two plan to just strip down and go at it, you have a bedroom you could use."

Draco flipped a rude gesture his way, but pulled himself away from Hermione and went to make a drink for himself.

"I'm on pelvic rest," she said. At his perplexed expression, she sighed. "Until the babies come, no more sex."

"No more orgasms," Draco muttered as he measured out whiskey for himself but not Hermione. No alcohol. No runny cheese. No orgasms. Turned out the bloody things could start labor, and their Healer seemed afraid they'd slice her fingers off and make her eat them if anything went wrong with the pregnancy or birth, and as a result, she was cautious.

Overcautious.

"You're naming the boy after me, right?" Theo said.

"The girl, actually," Hermione said. "Theodora Marie. Assuming you don't piss me off between now and then." She was insisting on naming the boy after Potter, which made Draco want to add more alcohol to his glass. Hadrian James.

"And the other will be little Corban?" Theo asked. "Or are you going for something classic? Severus? Albus?"

Hermione snorted. "Hardly. And, with any luck, Corban will have had an accident by the time I go into labor."

Corban Yaxley showed no signs of being accident-prone and remained the adored hero of far too many. So honest, they said. So noble. And not power-hungry at all. He didn't ask for anything for himself, had them install the Minister as Minister Perpetuo.

Draco looked forward to the day that particular dragon turned at devoured the man holding its tail. Until then…

He turned and raised his glass to the room. "To the best friends — and most beautiful wife — a man could hope for. The darkness is behind us. To our bright futures."

"To our futures," they echoed him.

. . . . . . . . . .

It started with a boy. It ended with everyone living happily ever after. Because that's how all the stories end. If you don't care for the way one ends, perhaps you were the villain of the piece all along. For villains, as we know, always end up punished. They don't end up with friends and power and babies on the way.

That only happens to the heroes.

And when it does, we say…

All was well.