ooooo
He was staring at her again.
She was asleep beside him, after a night filled with arguments, near hexes and revising strategies. The near hexes were results of the recurring fight they'd been having about their private relationship. It was hard that they may never let their love reach outside their dormitory's walls. It took a lot of control and convincing on Hermione's part when Draco tried to talk her into letting people know they were together. They can never go public. It was a big spat they had, the shouting surprisingly courtesy of him and not Hermione.
'I can't bear seeing bloody wankers come up to you and flirt with you! I can never tell them to back off and hex them when they offend you, Hermione, you know that!' he snarled.
'Our relationship might not survive if we tell them, Draco,' she calmly stated.
He will never vocalise that what she had said was true and that she made a nice point. But deep inside, Draco was scared. He was scared to lose her, scared of what people might say, how his aunt Bellatrix will react— and what kind of 'pest control' method she could use to eradicate the impurity clinging to her nephew—once the news gets out. If it gets out. He's scared of the judgments and criticism she might get because of him. Truth be told, he's scared for her. He sighed. What to do?
Hermione stirred in her sleeping state, his sigh unsettling her. As he watched her nose crinkle in frustration and her eyebrows furrow, his worries almost ebbed away. Almost.
He remembered how she had unceremoniously barged into his room with her bushy hair looking like it could produce electricity—not that he knew what electricity meant nor the way it worked. It seemed to have grown inches since the last time he saw her. And that would've been roughly five hours ago. Her eyes were obviously bloodshot despite the fact that the only light in the room was coming from the lightning outside the window.
She was wearing muggle pyjamas—and Oh, Salazar, were they horrendous; bears were printed everywhere—and she was clutching onto her wand as if her life depended on it. She looked like a downright horror—and oh, so adorable.
It was then that he remembered that she was afraid of thunder and most of all, lightning. He had stood up and pulled her to him. She had sobbed and hiccupped and whimpered in his chest for the duration of the storm. It was quite disorienting considering she was supposed to be a Gryffindor: brave through and through. It was an enormous feat for Draco, having to comfort a crying female. He was a heartless bastard; that much was true. But when it came to Hermione, he felt like a saint. He couldn't help but give. Give, give and give.
He watched as the little light in the room reflected and seemed to accentuate the clear, pretty skin of the girl beside him. The light seemingly followed her, her face resembling the lovely, awkward significance of a candle nearly burnt at the wick. The rays of light tangled up around her face and danced, its effect bothering her so.
He pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms securely and tightly around her, blocking her away from the source of light. He buried his face in her bushy yet deceivingly soft hair and breathed in her lovely scent: a subtle, spicy cinnamon with the sweetness of apples and a hint of peppermint.
As sleep tugged his eyes and mind to a close, the last thought in his mind was, You, Hermione, are my weakness.
ooooo
He was watching her again.
She was out in the Quidditch pitch, talking to the members of the Order. It was one of those prep talks she insisted they have. She relayed to them the final strategies, the techniques and moot points everybody had to take into consideration.
Draco was standing underneath an alcove, watching her talk. Hermione and he were a team. She was always better with explaining and public speaking. It was her speciality. Sure he was the one who mostly formulated the strategies; it was one of his positions in the Order: the strategist and the other, the spy. But they all listened to her, not him.
It was dark where he was. Nearly invisible in the darkness, all thanks going to the all black robes he was donning. It was a safe place to admire her. He went back to watching her, observing her. He watched the light shine down on her, accentuating the natural, honey-blond locks amongst the big mass of curly brown hair on her head. Her sun-kissed skin glowed and her molten amber orbs danced. She looked like an angel, the light seemingly pooling around her, giving her that enchanting feel. The light loved her.
As the meeting was drawn to a close and the others started to leave, she turned and headed towards him. When she was sure that they were the only people in the Pitch, she reached her hand out to grab him. She pulled him away from the darkness, allowing the light to pour down on him, bathing Draco in its lovely glow. The heat prickled his pale skin, the glaring colour of the light blending with his white-blond hair.
She pulled him into the middle of the field, occasionally twirling and laughing as she did so. He just chuckled, adoring the way her sundress flowed with the wind, resembling rippling pale flags. She smiled up at him and hugged him. It was one of those days where being happy was normal. Where being happy felt like freedom. Not constricting, not forcing. Just pure, unadulterated bliss.
"The daylight seems to want you just as much as I want you," Draco murmured, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her softly.
ooooo
She was watching him again.
She entered their shared common room and found him staring at the fire in the fireplace. She thought he was on one of those pensive days, the days he just seemed to brood and think. But no. As she approached him, she noticed that despite his stoic expression and rigid posture, his eyes told a different story. Those cloudy, grey eyes were stormy and the light coming from the flames Draco was staring at made him look scary. But what really caught her attention was the emotion evident in his eyes and the water pooling in those striking grey orbs.
Hermione sat down next to him and lightly put her hand on his shoulder. Draco stiffly turned to look at her, her expression curious and comforting. She took his hand and asked, "What happened?"
Draco shook his head and laid it on her shoulder, sighing softly. She ran her right hand through his fine, flaxen hair, in an effort to soothe him and maybe make him open up. Hermione, not being one to stand long periods of silence, spoke up first.
"Draco, do you trust me?" Hermione asked softly.
"Yes, of course. Why ask something you already know, Hermione?" Draco queried, his voice equally soft.
"If you trust me, you can tell me, Draco." He was silent for a few seconds; the only sound heard in the room was the crackling coming from the fireplace and Crookshanks' silent mewing at the corner. Then Draco replied.
"I can't tell you. You'll think I'm pa—"
"I will never judge you, Draco. That much I can tell you. You know that I won't."
"Hermio—"
"No," she cut him off. "If you don't want to tell me, then don't."
She got up to leave, only to be stopped by Draco. She looked down at him, took one glance at his torn and unguarded expression and she felt her heart break. She let him pull her back down on the couch and allowed him to lay his head back down on his shoulder. As she was drawing patterns on his palm with her fingers, Draco sighed and spoke up.
"I lost her," he said quietly. He said it so quietly that if she wasn't so near him, she may not have heard him. His voice sounded so torn and filled with an emotion akin to defeat.
"Who, Draco?" Hermione asked, still rubbing soothing circles in his hand, calming him.
"I—I… They found her dead this morning. They killed her." His voice cracked, his control over his emotions slipping down a notch.
"Who, Draco?" Hermione pressed, "Who is she?"
Draco shook his head. Telling her who she is will make it all the more real. And that was something he wasn't really ready to grasp and believe yet. Maybe she wasn't really dead. What if they were wrong? What if she was only stupefied?
"Granger, she's… she's gone. First it was father they killed, now her." The tears started streaming down his flushed cheeks. "She's gone."
The pieces finally clicked into place. She was Narcissa: his mother. The very person who taught him how to love and fight for what was right had died. She engulfed him in a hug as his tears started to flow non-stop. She felt a patch on her shoulder start to dampen. It was heartbreaking for her. It was a first to see him personally break down like this; all of his superiority and his pureblood mask down.
"Sh, Draco… It's okay. Let it all out," she said, stroking his blond locks.
"Nothing will be okay, Granger! She's not coming back. I… I have no one left." The last sentence was said with defeat laced in his tone. She put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her.
"You are not alone her, Malfoy. I'm here, aren't I? I won't leave you, would I? So why the bloody hell do you think you don't have anyone left?"
"I don't have any family left! Everybody's dying out on me, Hermione! Father, Aunt Andromeda, Tonks, and now my mother! I can't even visit Teddy, let alone see him because of those bloody—" Draco took a deep breath and continued, "I… I don't know what to do."
He rested his head in his hands and heaved a sigh. Hermione stood up and kneeled in front of him, sitting on the balls of her feet. She took his hands away from his face and laced it with hers. She lifted his chin up so he would be able to look at her.
"Draco, you know that I love you right?" she said, her eyes glistening with tears, feeling hopeless and desperate to make Draco believe her plea. His eyes flashed and he stared at her. He stared deep into her eyes, flickering from the left orb to the right. He nodded and sighed. It was his fifth sigh that night.
"I love you so much, Draco. And seeing you like this, so forlorn and hurt, is driving me to the edge. I love you so much that I'd do anything to take the pain away." He kept looking at her, willing her to continue.
"Don't you get it, Malfoy? I'm here for you. You still have me. I won't go anywhere and I'll never leave you, I promised Narcissa that. I thought after the long time we've been together, you would've known that. Draco, you may have no family left, but you still have people who care for you and love you."
"You don't get it, Granger! I won't always have you. You… you might find someone else better than me. I'm not even good for you! You need someone better, Hermione! Someone who's kind, has a good heart and who can take care of you. Not someone who's made mistake after mistake, been branded by the devil's advocate and tormented you for years. You deserve better, Hermione."
She sighed. It was her third to his fifth. It was a close fight. But she was determined to help him see her point and she wasn't going to lose him like this.
"Draco, you're too much! I love you, isn't that enough? You're enough for me and I don't need anyone better, Draco. You're the one I'm with and you're the one I picked. I need your trust here. How many times do I have to tell you this? How many times do I have to tell you I love you to convince you, Draco?"
She stared at him square in the eye, trying to make him understand. Then the thought flashed in her mind. No. No. No. "Do you even love me, Draco?" When he didn't reply, she dropped his hands, got up and ran to her room, leaving Draco in the common room utterly gobsmacked.
ooooo
They were going to fight again.
He at the Dark side, she at the Light side. He had put up a handsome fight with members of the Order to not let her join in the intervening of the Death Eater raid. It was for Hermione's own good, he pointed out. But his argument only reached deaf ears. They didn't listen to him, not even her best friends: Potter and Weasel.
Draco faced Hermione and she handed him his Death Eater mask.
"Don't go," Draco ordered.
"I have to go," Hermione replied, her voice void of emotions.
"I can't protect you when we're already there, Hermione, you know that."
"I don't need protection from you, Draco."
"But I have to know you're safe."
"I do too, but you don't see me convincing you to stay too, do you?"
He kept quiet and just looked at her. She made a move to leave the room but Draco grabbed her wrist. She looked up at him and gave a soft, almost inaudible sigh. It was so soft and it sounded so distraught. She walked closer to him and hugged him, her head resting on his chest. She listened to the steady thumping of his heart, its beating harmoniously flowing with hers. He rested his chin on the top of her head, holding her close. He wished and longed to apparate her away to a secure place—maybe Shell Cottage; Fleur would take care of here there—and not expose her to harm.
He sighed. It seemed that sighing had become his habit ever since he and Hermione got together. They were almost always on rocky land. They were standing on that line between love and hate, prancing back and forth on that metaphorical line. They were stuck, it was true. They were in one of those moments where they might not live to see the other by the time the day has ended. It may be the last time they see each other. It he lost her, he wouldn't know what to do.
"Granger, I want you to come back alive, do you hear me? I want you to return back here in one piece. Do not let anyone—anyone—take advantage of you or catch you. They will torture you, female or not. And they will do completely unwholesome things to you. They know you're best friends with Potter and they will use you as bait. I will hate you forever if you die out on me, Hermione."
"Stop worrying yourself, Draco. I will take care of myself. If ever I'm in extreme danger and I can't handle fighting anymore, I'll apparate back here. But promise me that you'll do the same. The Order members won't hurt you because they know your mask. But I cannot guarantee that the Aurors won't attack you. To them, a Death Eater is a Death Eater. Please be careful, Draco. Do the same for me, okay?" she said, some of her words obscured by his black Death Eater robes.
He released her from the hug, laced his hand with hers and walked out the room; their destination being the apparition point outside Hogwarts. As they stood outside the gates, Draco turned to face Hermione. His free hand caressed her cheek and he watched her lean into his touch. Hermione's hand ran from Draco's neck, to his chest. She looked up at him and gave him the most determined smile she could muster. He gave a low and subtle chuckle at her Gryffindor act and leaned down to rest his forehead on hers.
"I may never vocalise my feelings and I am pretty sure you're at your wits' end, especially after our row the day mother—" Draco took a deep breath, obviously not going to finish his sentence. He resorted to looking in those clear, innocent, dark eyes, and smiled.
"Hermione, I love you."
He watched her with cautious grey eyes. He watched the plethora of emotions flash in those amber orbs, the shock evident in her cherubic face. Then she smiled at him. It was the smile that made him feel like the most blessed person in the world. It was the smile that could've put an end to all wars and all hopelessness. She stood on the tips of her toes, her small, delicate hands fisting the robes Draco was wearing.
When the space between them was only by a hair's breadth, she whispered, "I love you too, Draco."
She softly pressed her lips on his; savouring his taste and that feeling of bliss his kisses always gave her. She hugged him one last time and walked away. He watched her walk away from him and when she was about to apparate, he called her.
"Granger!"—She turned around to face Draco—"Keep that big, bushy head down."
He winked at her and flashed her that smirk which always riled her up. It was the smirk which she loved the most. She raised her hand to her right eyebrow in a mock salute. She spun on the spot and then, she was gone. He stared at the spot where she was before and he mustered enough strength to apparate to the muggle village.
ooooo
He was waiting for her again.
The raid was over hours ago. They all returned back to Hogwarts, others having more injuries than the other. The worst injury so far was the Weaselette's. Been exposed to the Cruciatus and nearly killed. The Weasley clan was there, having a field day in the Hospital Wing. By the sides, there was a very worried Seamus Finnegan.
When Hermione's partner, Ronald Weasley, returned without her, Draco nearly throttled him. The bugger returned without her. What was the point of Draco deliberately assigning the bugger with her? He knew that Weasley would take care of her, but in he had pranced through the double doors, without Hermione. It took two professors to stop him from pummeling the weasel.
'You good-for-nothing weasel! I told you to protect her not leave her! Self-preservation, is it? What a brave thing to do, Weasley!' he had shouted.
So here he was, pacing in the middle of the night, still waiting for her. She couldn't have died. She wouldn't have died. He asked all those that had returned if they saw her back in the village. Some said they saw her running. The other saw her on the floor, clutching her arm. Another told him that he saw her being raped. It was the statement that almost made him behead the bugger.
If Draco hadn't so busy apparating the muggles away from the village, he would've had the time to find her and help her, protect her. If only Theodore was with him at the time, helping him with the muggles. If only he hadn't split up with Theo.
He punched the wall. Seventeen hours had passed since the raid had ended. And she was nowhere to be seen. He looked at the people in the Great Hall. All the students were in their dormitories, sleeping. The only ones left in the Hall were the ones recovering from injuries. He watched how Potter seemed to give extra attention to Lovegood, helping her drink the repulsive Skele-Gro. He saw Madame Pomfrey pacing back and forth, administering sleeping draughts to the hurt. He sighed. Where was she? What if… she's dead?
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and faced Professor Snape.
"She's alive, Draco. Don't lose hope," he said, comforting his godson. Draco was sure he had his walls up. His godfather couldn't have used Occlumency, could he?
"It's obvious you're worried about her, Draco. Don't. She's a brave girl, and she can take good care of herself," Snape assured him. It must've been obvious from his body language. He'd never been this serious in months.
"What if she's gone, sir? I don't know… I won't know what to do anymore…" Draco said, running a shaking hand through his unruly hair. He must've run his hands through his hair a hundred times in a span of an hour. It was unnerving having to wait for her.
"Have faith in her, Draco. She wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing."
Snape left him to his thoughts. Draco walked over to a nearby wall, resting his head on it. In situations like this, his patience was thin. He wanted nothing more than to have Hermione back in his arms, safe and sound. What is she was caught? What if she was being tortured right at this very moment? What if they were taking advantage of her? It was enough to make his blood boil. Theo had comforted him saying that no Death Eater had managed to get a hold of her. But he wasn't buying it. Not a single inch of it until she was with him.
He was snapped out of his reverie when he heard a squeaking sound coming from the double doors. He turned to face it and he saw that break of light. He watched as the first few rays of light poured in the dim room and he realised that it must've been daybreak. Then he saw a figure, a shadow breaking the absolute, blinding light. There was that all too familiar silhouette of bushy hair. He took steps forward, in an effort to make out the face of the figure. Then he caught a glimpse of those brown orbs. Filled with determination and weariness; but still determined nevertheless.
He watched her make her way through the door, clutching a sword with both of her sweet, delicate hands; hands which were painted crimson with blood. He watched as her grip on the sword slackened and he heard the deafening sound of it as it came crashing to the ground. He ran to where she was and caught her as she fell. He carefully sat down on the ground and pulled Hermione to his lap, cradling her.
"Madame Pomfrey, help!" Draco hollered. "She's here!"
Draco brushed the wayward curls away from her face and took note of the cuts and bruises. He took out his wand and healed her, not waiting for Madame Pomfrey. Hermione raised her hand and touched Draco's. He looked at her and saw the sides of her lips tug upward. He raised a worried eyebrow at her, all his readied lectures for her uncalled-for heroics gone.
"I did it, Draco," she rasped out. "I destroyed it."
"What, princess?" Draco asked, still attempting to heal her while waiting for Madame Pomfrey to check on her. What was taking the old woman so long?
"The snake, Draco. I destroyed the snake."
He watched as her eyes started to close and felt her squeeze his hand softly. It was almost undetectable. No. She was not going to die. No. With a swish of Draco's wand, Hermione drew in a deep breath and her eyes flew open.
"Don't sleep, princess. Not now. I know you're tired but please, no. Tell me what happened, please. Tell me. Just, don't sleep." Draco was panicking now. What was taking Pomfrey so long? "Madame Pomfrey, hurry! I need your help!"
"Come on, princess. Don't sleep. I know it's killing you to tell me how you destroyed the snake. Tell me what happened. Don't die out on me, damn it!" He was rapidly trying to close her wounds, trying to stop the blood loss.
"The sword, Draco," Hermione whispered, "It can destroy…" She trailed off, wheezing and coughing.
"Destroy what, Hermione? Granger!" Draco pointed his wand to her chest and she woke up again. "The sword can destroy what, princess?"
"It can destroy…" Her face contorted in frustration—or most probably from pain—and it killed Draco. Having to see her in this state, it was heartbreaking.
"Hermione, wake up! Don't do this to me, princess," Draco persisted, shaking her, willing her to stay awake. "I love you, Hermione! Don't sleep. Dammit! Don't leave me, Granger!"
Then he heard the rapid footsteps. It was Madame Pomfrey flanked by Professor Snape and McGonagall. Draco watched with rueful eyes as Snape picked her up from his lap. He stood up and Snape passed Hermione back to him. He looked at Madame Pomfrey who was ordering Snape and McGonagall. He averted his eyes to Hermione who was staring at him through half-closed lids. He leaned down and brushed his lips on her forehead.
"You'll be okay, Hermione. You'll be okay," he whispered. He honestly hoped it would be okay. It was enough to make him pray and ask the heavens to help her pull through. Pomfrey ordered him to follow her and she led them to the Hospital Wing.
He laid her down on the white sheets and sighed. When he was about to pull away from her, she stopped him.
"Draco," she whispered. It was almost inaudible, but he heard it. He leaned down to hear her better.
"Yes, princess?" he said, his voice genteel, aware of the fact that there were other people in the Infirmary.
"It can destroy horcruxes, Draco. It can destroy the horcruxes."
That was the last sentence he heard coming from her. He was ushered away from her bed and led out of the Hospital Wing. He slumped down on the floor and sobbed in relief.
ooooo
She was waiting for him again.
It was the day of their graduation. She had officially finished Seventh Year. It was a beautiful affair even though the impeding war was just around the corner. There was a lot of laughing and crying. Speeches were given, people were honoured, and legacies were remembered. It was one affair in which that strange pang of melancholy engulfed her like flames. It licked at every part of her, even her heart. Was it wrong to have found happiness in a time where the Wizarding World was plunged into havoc?
She was underneath the apple tree located at the far end of the Black Lake. She remembered how she had come upon that place. And how in that very place she and Draco start their courtship.
She was looking for him.
After being told that he was to work with her again—until the end of the War—he stormed out of the room, leaving her awestruck, shocked and enraged. She knew Draco Malfoy was a spoiled, arrogant and selfish prick, but he had one of the most brilliant brains and abilities Hogwarts ever had. If he was teamed with Hermione Granger, the Light side may win this war.
So here she was, barging out Hogwarts double doors, running around the grounds, looking for that familiar shock of blond hair. He was an asset, McGonagall told her. Ever since the start of sixth year, he'd been a spy for the Order. Hard it was, but he was capable. Even earned the trust of the head snake himself. Then he failed to kill a certain Dumbledore with his own wand; the faith waned. But he managed to manipulate the snake into trusting him again. The little bugger. He was a Slytherin through and through. A nasty, pompous, sly, arrogant, intelligent, skilled, handsome, charming and bigoted Slytherin.
Where the bloody hell is he? Hermione thought.
She jogged to her favourite tree: the apple tree. It faced the Black Lake, pretty much isolated from the other trees. If to an ordinary bystander, the tree would've been easily overlooked. The taller trees obstructed the beautiful thing from one's point of view. It was by accident that she came across that tree. The reason: the ferret himself. It was the day he was extra… colourful with his choice of words and it very nearly drove her to the edge. Draco Malfoy's purpose in life must be to rile her up. Yes, that was a good theory. But the bugger actually proved himself to be useful. Because of him, she now had a place to relax, contemplate and maybe plot the bugger's death.
When she was about to sit down underneath the apple tree to take a rest, she heard a rustling sound. She scanned her surroundings and when she couldn't find anything, she shrugged. Then she heard him.
"Nice, Granger," that annoying voice drawled, laced with fake sweetness. "If you could dismiss your surroundings as easy as that, anyone could kill you in a heartbeat."
She looked up and there he was. The bugger in the flesh. Oh, how she wanted to throttle him. He jumped down from the tree and smugly faced her. He leaned down; close enough that she could feel his hot breath. It unsettled her, having this close proximity with the Git Almighty.
"Whatever happened to constant vigilance?" he whispered.
"Well, when you're looking for a ferret who escaped, you'd forget constant vigilance," she stated matter-of-factly. "Especially when that ferret's name is Malfoy."
"Very funny, Granger. Where'd you get your amusing humour from, the Weasel? Potter the Great? I'm doubling over with laughter."
Hermione gave an aggravated grunt on stomped her foot on the ground.
"You, are impossible, Malfoy."
"Ah, but you seem to like impossible people, Hermione," Draco said. He smiled when he saw her gasp at his usage of her first name. "Why else would you be hanging around Boy Wonder and his Sidekick?"
"Why are you such a git, Draco?" she countered, also using his name. Two can play in this game. "Get over yourself."
She harrumphed and sat down on the grass, effectively ignoring the person who she was looking for earlier. Then she felt him sit down next to her. She observed him from her peripheral view. She watched how he smoothed his robes with those long, piano fingers. She observed how his fringe always seemed to cover his right eye. It was unfair. Why was he so beautiful? Is this nature's own take on irony: a person so beautiful with such a dark and ugly soul?
Then he dropped an apple on her lap. She eyed the apple. It was so beautiful. So red and shiny. It was pure red, like the colour of blood. And it shone, almost like it was polished to perfection. It was beautiful, like him. She looked at him and she saw that he was staring at the lake, almost as if he was glaring at it.
"What's this for, Malfoy?" Hermione asked.
"A peace offering, Granger," he told her. She went silent. When it seemed like she wasn't going to reply, he faced at her. "I'm trying to apologise here, Granger. I'm sorry."
Had Hell just frozen over? Malfoy was apologising! And to a muggleborn no less!
"I… I'm sorry too, then." She stared at the apple, marveling at its impeccable beauty. Why'd he even pick this apple anyway? He could've picked other ones; the less perfect ones.
"It's not poisoned, you know. So you can eat it. Not like in that muggle story where the pretty princess died because she ate the apple," Draco suddenly said, snapping her out of her reverie. She looked up at him. Did he just imply that she was pretty? And that she was a princess? Did he just indiscreetly compliment her?
"Go on, eat it, dear princess," he ushered. When she didn't make a move to eat it, he took it from her grasp and bit it. He passed it to her, and admired her look of shock. Her mouth was hanging open, awe and surprise marring her features. She looked adorable. He chuckled and watched her laugh along with him. She had one of the sweetest laughs in the world. It sounded like little, tinkling bells, so sweet and comforting.
"Eat it, princess. The brave prince has already taken the first bite, testing it for poison," he jested. She giggled and turned the apple around to the spot without a bite. He watched her white teeth bite into the red flesh of the apple, breaking the surface. He took note of how the redness of her lips was like that of the apple.
It was probably the tastiest and sweetest apple she had ever tasted. She turned to look up at Draco and gave him a smile. A smile which was only for him. Oh, how his heart fluttered.
"You know, Granger, if it was this easy to please you, I'd give you apples every day."
"Then I'd gladly look forward to seeing you, dear Slytherin Prince."
And so he did. Until he offered her something which pleased her even more: his heart.
"Galleon for your thoughts, princess?" she heard. She turned around and saw him, holding an apple. Typical. She rolled her eyes and motioned for him to sit next to her. He sat down and laid his head on her lap. He gave her the apple he had brought and she giggled.
"You know, Draco, I think I've eaten enough apples to last me a lifetime."
"But you still love them and eat them nonetheless."
"That's because it'll be a shame to put all your efforts into giving me apples to waste," she said, running her hands through his smooth, silky hair. He watched for a moment as the light shone down on her, making her look like the angel that she was.
"What about I give you something else then? Just, don't reject it," He fumbled through his robe pocket for something. "And don't eat it, please," he added as an afterthought.
Then he pulled out from his pocket a black silk box. He sat up and stared at Hermione. No, he's not… He isn't… He is… Her thoughts went on overdrive.
"Hermione, I may be the coldest person you've ever met and I'm not exactly a stellar person either. I can rile you up and irritate you to no end in a span of 5 seconds—" he trailed off, "—but that's not the point, is it?"
"The point is… I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Hermione. I want to have a future with you as a constant in it. I want you to be the reason why I keep on living and why I—" be cleared his throat and opened the box and took the ring.
"Marry me, Hermione."
ooooo
She was looking for him again.
The War was over. Voldemort killed, people died handsomely for their cause, knowing in their hearts that they stood up for what they had believed in.
She passed by Harry who was being tended to by a dozen healers, some walking to and fro. Luna Lovegood was there, holding his hand the entire time. She passed by the bustling people, looking for Draco. She was panicking. He was nowhere to be seen. He'd asked people if they had seen him. The only concrete answer she got was, 'By the Black Lake. He was there.' She patted Theo's arm and went on her way.
She ran to the said lake, looking around for that familiar shock of pale hair. She stroked the wedding band on her finger, and broke into a run, her destination: their tree.
It had been two years and twenty-one days. Two years and twenty-one days ever since she became Hermione Malfoy. Two years and twenty-one days of being contentedly happy, and thoroughly loved. It was a beautiful feeling. But as what people say, good things must come to an end. And the two years and twenty-one days of complete and utter bliss was coming to an end. And deep inside, she knew that she had always hated fate.
When she broke into the clearing, she saw the scene. There was Draco and he wasn't alone. There he was, wand trained at a figure wearing black robes. Death Eater robes. Then she remembered Draco wasn't wearing his robes, or his mask. In fact, he was wearing a red band on his arm with a phoenix on it. Like hers. Then she saw the face of the person Draco was talking—more like pleading—to. It was Bellatrix.
"I love her, Aunt Bella. Your Dark Lord is gone now. He's dead. Just give up," Draco pleaded.
"You filthy blood traitor! And you even had the nerve to call me Aunt. No relative of mine is a blood traitor," she spat out. "I'll finish her off. I will kill everything you hold dear, Draco. Just you wait."
She cackled. It sounded so empty, so hollow. "But you know what'll be better, kill you off first."
Draco's eyes widened. His aunt was going mad, he could tell. Hermione gasped. Why wasn't Draco running away? Why can't he just stun her?
"Cissy will hate me but who cares? She's already dead. In fact, if I kill you she'll be orgasmic with glee! Baby Draco'll finally be with mummy dearest," Bellatrix cooed, her eyes gleaming with malice. "And you wouldn't have to bother grieving for those I would kill. But you'll die knowing that all the people you loved will die a gruesome death."
"Don't do this, Aunt Bella. Don't," Draco said, desperation evident in his voice.
"Goodbye, Draco."
She trained her wand on him and a burst of green light shot out from her wand, the light directed at Draco. Draco had anticipated it; but not as soon as he had expected. The spell rebounded and hit Bellatrix but it had taken an effect on him as well.
He fell down on his knees, clutching at his chest. Hermione ran towards Draco but she was already too late. He was gone. He had disappeared in a burst of green flame.
"Draco," she whispered. "You can't leave me, Draco."
Tears welled in her eyes. He was gone. Draco's gone. She watched as the sun broke out from amongst the trees, the first few rays of the sun hitting her eyes. Draco was always there to block the sun away. But now… he's gone.
"Draco!" she screamed, the pain in her chest becoming too constricting to bear. Her small fists pounded on the grass, the tears falling on the grass covered with mildew.
Then she saw it. It was there twinkling in the grass. His wedding ring. She picked it up and scrutinised it. There it was engraved inside.
Lights will guide you home
"How can I when you're gone, Draco? You were my home…"
With the ring clenched in her hands, she wept and wept. Her light was gone. There was nothing to live for now.
ooooo
She was thinking of him again.
It had been three years. Three years since the War had ended. Three years since the day hundreds of the bravest witches and wizards fought and sacrificed their lives for their own cause. Three years since half of her heart had been ripped out of her chest as a new day dawned. Three years of living with the guilt that she hadn't been able to tell him she loved him one last time. It had been three years since she lost Draco Malfoy.
She was facing a vast expanse of sea. She was sitting underneath an apple tree in her backyard. Their backyard. To say that Draco had left her a nice house was an understatement. As she was the only Malfoy left, all the money, all the properties and all the businesses was transferred to her name. But she didn't want any of it. Not a single knut. All she wanted was Draco.
But the house. Oh, the house. It was everything that she had wanted, everything that she had once told Draco about. And the little bugger made her dream come true.
It was such an exquisite house. It was the complete antithesis of the Malfoy Manor, located on top of a quaint cliff. The very house was white. Everything was white. The walls were adorned with the finest—and most likely expensive—white French windows Europe could ever offer. And covering these French windows from the inside were white, chiffon curtains. These curtains blew out like clouds, fluttering and twisting up towards the crème coloured ceiling, and rippled over the wine-coloured carpet, casting a shadow on it as the wind does on the sea.
The house had seven bedrooms—each having a bathroom, two studies and a massive library. All hers. He had furnished everything with colours ranging from the whitest of white to the palest of blues and greens. It all looked so ethereal.
It had been a shame. The house was beautiful. Too beautiful in fact. A definite flaw. She could never call it home. It was an embodiment of melancholia in her life which had haunted her again and again. The most beautiful house all hers for the taking yet, it could never have the most beautiful title she could ever bestow upon it: a home. It was contenting, but it could never make her happy.
The house gleamed white during the day against the green grass and the blue sea. At night, it glowed. Every single light was turned on at night, its glow exuding out of the windows. She never turned them off. She also always kept one window open. Always.
He was stroking her hair as she lay on his chest.
They were outside, lying down on the grass, staring at the dark abyss scattered with particles of light. There were so few of them that night. It was the day before the storm. Tomorrow was the day. The day wherein Darkness and Light will try to conquer each other.
"Hermione," he said softly. She hummed in response.
"You know, out of all the properties Malfoys had, this is my favourite one."
"Why?"
"Because I get to live in it with you."
She blushed and hit Draco's arm. Hard. He chuckled and hugged her tightly making her squeal in delight. It was such a natural thing, being happy. Draco was the reason why she could feel happiness even in the darkest of times.
"You are such a cheesy bastard, you know that?" she jested.
"That makes you the cheesy bastard's wife, you know that?" he countered, that recurring smirk marring his flawless face. She hit him again, this time lightly. He sighed in contentment, holding her closer.
"With you, Hermione, this house is home."
"Draco, as long as I'm with you, I amhome," she said.
"Hey, Granger," Draco tilted his head down to look at her. "Keep a window open always, please?"
She put her arms on his chest and laid her chin on it. She looked at him curiously. "And I would do that because?"
"Just, promise me you would. And always leave a light on. Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"
"Yes, I'm listening and I hear you perfectly, but why?" she said playfully.
"Just so I can always find a way back home," he said seriously, staring at the stars. "Princess, do you know why I had this house made for you?"
"No," she said, sounding hesitant. What is he going on about? "And pray tell, why?"
"Because even when I'm gone, I want to make sure you'll never be in the dark. Never again. I want you to always stay in the light. The light has always loved you Hermione. That's where you belong. The light must be the only thing that loves you just as much as I love you, princess."
"You won't be going anywhere, Draco. So stop it. I don't like the way you seem to be indiscreetly saying goodbye. It's unnerving."
"Just… I love you."
She never got to tell him she loved him back. It was just so unfair. The sun that dawned the day Draco disappeared was the worst that could've come. She had tried for four years to not let the lights go out. She had fought the clouds that ripped out her broken heart and she had done her best to go through the storm without him. Because she was living for him.
She was watching the sun go down for the first time. With every ray of light disappearing came a memory. And with every memory came another wave of pain. She was facing her demons again. Again and again, yet, she could never defeat them or lay them to rest. Maybe, maybe, she was meant to stand out in the rain. Maybe, the storm wasn't meant to stop.
"Mummy?"
She wiped the tears away with nimble fingers and turned around. A toddler of two and three-quarters stood before her, clad in a green sweater and black pyjama bottoms. He had a messy mop of flaxen hair making him look more of a cherub than he already was. The most striking feature of him was his piercing, deep grey eyes.
He looked so much like Draco Malfoy that the moment the mediwitch handed him to her, she had cried. Cried because here she was, alive and well with the most beautiful infant she had ever seen, but Draco wasn't there with her. He wasn't there to congratulate her and hold their son. He wasn't there to share the happiness, the euphoria she had felt. Her son was the greatest blessing in her life; a reason to keep on going.
She gave her son a soft smile and beckoned him to her. She watched him toddle towards her and she opened her arms out to accommodate him. He sat down on her lap and cuddled close. She put her chin on his head and rocked him back and forth.
"And why is my little light, Scorpius, out and not inside playing?" she asked him. He pulled away from her and lifted his head to look at Hermione fully.
"Mummy, Dipsy won't give me cookie," Scorpius seriously said.
"Dipsy won't give you a cookie?" Hermione gasped. She amusingly watched him nod his head up and down, looking scandalised. It was one expression that reminded her strongly of Draco. "We can't have that, can we?"
"No, mummy, definitely! Tell her mummy!" He exclaimed with fervour. She chuckled and called for the said elf. Draco would've been so proud of her if he knew she had hired an elf.
"Mistress Malfoy calls for, Dipsy, Mistress?" Dipsy asked after curtsying.
"Scorpius told me you didn't give him a cookie. Is that true?" Hermione inquired.
"Yes, Mistress. Dipsy didn't give cookie to young Master because it's almost supper, Mistress."
She nodded her head and dismissed Dipsy, who complied. She turned to face Scorpius.
"Did you hear what Dipsy said, Scorpius Hyperion?" she said. He nodded his head, a scowl perfectly imprinted on his angelic face. There's just too much Draco in him.
They sat watching the sky turn from varying hues of violet to blue. Scorpius was such an intelligent boy, much like Draco and she when they were his age. And such an inquisitive young soul he was.
"Mummy?" he said, breaking the serene silence.
"Yes, Scorpius?"
"Do I have a daddy?"
She froze. It was the topic which she had been dreading he asked about.
"Why, yes, you do have one, sweetheart," she said, picking her words with precision. She didn't need another question coming.
"Where is he, mummy? Where's daddy?"
His innocence really overwhelmed her. Her having not exposed him to the outside world must have taken its toll. Only seeing Harry and his family must've been the wrong way to go. Having him hang out with Theo wasn't enough anymore.
"Daddy's… well, it's really complicated, Scorpius, please do understand mummy."
"What was he like then, mummy?"
She sighed. It was too early. Too early to try and take off his rose-coloured glasses. But, she can't always hide the truth from him. And maybe, just maybe, telling him the truth would stop the rain. Stop the storm plaguing her.
"Daddy… Daddy was the bravest man I ever knew, Scorpius. He didn't make all the right decisions offered to him but he was in the right side in the end. He was brave until the end, Scorpius. He looked so much like you, you know? He had the same white hair; the same grey eyes and both of you love chocolate very much.
He would've loved you, dearest. He would've been overjoyed if he was here. I… Just know that mummy, Uncle Theo, Uncle Harry and Aunt Luna loves you, okay? And daddy, wherever he is, loves you too."
He nodded his head in acquiescence and cuddled Hermione. She bit back the tears that threatened to fall. She buried her head in his unruly blond hair and sighed. The storm had bayed. It must really be time to let go. And to let go she must definitely do.
"Mistress," Dipsy's voice called from the veranda.
"Yes, Dipsy?" she replied.
"Someone is inside waiting for you, Mistress. He said he needs you, Mistress."
Assuming that it was Harry, she called back, "Send him out here, please. Thank you, Dipsy."
She stroked Scorpius' hair and watched him play with the buttons of her jumper, his eyes drooping ever so slowly. She averted her gaze to the waves rolling and breaking against the rocks, its sound soothing her nerves. It was so calm. It was definitely time to let go.
Then, she heard it. That voice which could've waken her up from the deepest sleep. That voice which she could've heard in a crowded room. That voice which could've drowned the loudest claps of thunder and banish the most frightening of lighting. It was his voice.
"Hermione…" his voice called out. It was the same baritone voice which she remembered. Nothing had changed. And her memory of him was still as sharp as ever.
She stood up, Scorpius in her arms and faced him.
There he was, in the flesh. Not a vision, not a figment of her imagination. It was him. He looked tired and weary, but he was very much alive.
Then, the tears started to fall. The tears which she had hid from Scorpius, Harry, Theo, Luna and Dipsy. Tears of sorrow, hurt, depression, anger, love, melancholy and relief. He was alive. Alive.
"Draco. You're home."
ooooo