The flames reach the sky: a symbol of triumph and new beginnings, of Victor.

“It is over,” a lyrical voice speaks from the shadows. There is knowledge in the tone despite the breathless innocence that often fools others.

Hermione smiles when Luna’s arms move around her from behind, her hand gently touching Luna’s as she is hugged. She watches the Ministry burn, the smell of burnt wood and crackling of timber surrounding them. In the distance, she hears the call of the dragons, a cry of success as they soar through the air above the wreckage. Her voice is barely above a whisper as her gaze looks from the sky where her husband commands his force to the lone figure standing before her silently. “Is it really?”

“Yes, my sweet,” Luna replies before wet lips press against Hermione’s jaw. Luna is one of few allowed such informality with her. He will not allow most to look directly upon her and touching her is punishable by death depending on His mood or Charlie’s, who is allowed the same rights as Him. Her own wand bears the traces of past Avada Kedavras aimed at those foolish enough to touch her husband or Him. Luna is an exception as is Ron.

Her gaze moves from the flames to look amongst the triumphant faces of His until she finds their Ron standing at the edge of the fire, alert to possible danger even as he holds his Malfoy possessively against him. Their gazes meet, always aware of when one or the other is looking, and they share a victorious smile. Malfoy looks at her and quickly lowers his gaze, trained well since he joined Him. She is slightly amused at her former tormentor scared to even look upon her.

“We have won,” Luna whispers against her ear. “Go to Him, my sweet. Your Other will soon be here and you must celebrate.”

“Yes, we must,” Hermione agrees softly as she looks back into the flames and wreckage that represent years of fighting, death, and loss as well as hope and dreams of a new world unlike any other the Wizarding World has ever seen. He will ensure this world is better than any have anticipated. She feels Him call to her, His voice a whisper in her mind, and she steps out of Luna’s embrace to go to Him.

Ron notices, as always, and calls out orders to leave, declaring the final symbol of the World Before destroyed and victory as theirs. The silence is broken with cheers and sounds of celebration, which are indulged briefly before He looks at Ron and gives a curt nod. Everyone is told to be alert, as always, but that it is finally over and the evening is theirs to do with it what they will. She listens to Theirs Disapparate to continue the celebration in ways of their own choosing.

He holds out His hand to her and she takes it, stepping closer to the flames. He turns to face her after the area is quiet save for the burning wood before them. It is just them now. She knows Ron has taken his Malfoy somewhere to give them privacy, to celebrate himself, even though he is close by and constantly ready to defend them if necessary. He will have no worries tonight, she knows. Soon, her husband (His) will join them and she is excited as she anticipates their own celebration.

There are no words necessary to convey His happiness at this war finally being over. He pushes His spectacles up His nose, long fingers brushing over soot on His cheeks as He smiles, a crooked smile from His boyhood that only she is allowed to see. She wipes the soot from His face, neither doing more until Charlie arrives. Charlie is an assumed presence behind her even as he soars through the air and gathers his force to send home. Only when the dragons begin their journey home does He touch her face, cool fingertips tracing her cheek and jaw as they wait for their Other.

The sound of the dragon landing behind her makes her smile as she turns to meet her husband’s gaze. He walks towards them with confident steps, brave and handsome, an easy grin on his face that few ever see. Charlie takes His hand when he reaches them and lowers his head to kiss her. He tastes of fire and brimstone, mint and spice. Charlie and His hands are on her shoulders, their fingers pushing the fabric of her robe away from her body. She is caught between them, cold heat, and her body is soon bare as He kisses her deeply.

She raises her arms towards the sky and tilts her head back as lips move over her neck, back, chest, shoulders. Hands soon caress her as the flames burn beside them. His hand is behind her and she hears Charlie groan against her back as He strokes him. Her husband parts His robe and prepares Him for her, for them. She closes her eyes and hears the sound of skin sliding against skin merging with the soft growls and moans of their celebration and the crackling of the burning Ministry beside them.

Charlie’s fingers tease her as he rubs against her from behind. He is excited from victory, tense from his flight and ready to make this world Their World. He lifts her from the ground, strong arms beneath her as he offers her to Him, his touch soothing and comforting as her legs move around His waist. She gasps when He slides into her, her body arching forward as she falls back against her Charlie. He whispers against her skin as He begins to move, words in the language only they only understand, each hiss causing her more arousal.

His hands move behind her, joining with Charlie’s beneath her, and then He is spreading her, opening her for her husband. Wet and slick slides inside and she clings to Him for balance as they celebrate their success. Charlie moves slow as he presses forward, his hands all over her as she adjusts to the thick hardness inside her.

It is perfect, They are perfect, and she feels the love, the devotion, the commitment they have chosen to make to one another with every touch, thrust, and kiss. Them to Him and He to Them. They celebrate as her body rocks back and forth between them, their lips meeting over her shoulder, her head against her husband’s shoulder as He supports her. The flames nip at their skin as the fire continues to burn, getting closer to them as lips, hands, and skin touch until they are simply One.

The world belongs to Them.

The End