A/n: I wrote this while listening to Nickleback's Far Away. Lovely song, if I do say so myself.
Far Away
Who was I to make you wait?
I'm losing my mind, Hermione thought wryly. She stared mutely at the pale lady with the long, unbrushed chestnut hair and anguished smile. She felt calmly impassive as she watched the lady lift a tapered finger to the scar above her right brow, and trace it slowly. The silver-grey gown the lady wore was of soft silk, and it hugged her silhouette, giving her the impression of a womanly figure. Hermione knew that the flattering curves were only there because of 'clever' undergarments; she had always been small-breasted.
At least she makes the effort, Hermione thought.
A strand of hair fell into her eyes, and Hermione blinked. The woman blinked back, as one's reflection was wont to do.
"Are you coming?" she heard Viktor Krum's voice drifting upstairs, carried by the silence of their house. "Your friend Neville Longbottom grows restive with each second you waste, my darling. And his wife must be cursing us even as she drowns her sanity in his finest wine. Hurry, my Hermione."
Hermione almost laughed aloud at his complaints. Neville, her friend from her Hogwarts days, was the paragon of patience. And his wife, Cho, could drown herself in mandrake juice for all Hermione cared. She would gladly drown the dark-haired vixen with her own hands, if truth be told.
"Coming, Viktor," she called back, as her fingers did magic with the tumble of hair that had always been her bane since she was little. "Don't forget the wine!"
When she had knotted her hair in a messy bun with a few careless strands lazily framing her face, dabbed on some colour onto her lips and took a deep breath, she was ready to face anyone. Almost.
"You are so wonderful," Viktor smiled as he took her arm. "My Hermione."
"It's not me, it's the dress," she joked nervously, but it was almost true. The dove grey gown had magic sewn into it, she was certain. Why else could she look and feel wonderful?
"No thread of gold nor spell or enchantment can enhance what is not there, Hermione. Your dress is only a servant to your body, which is magnificence personified. It is known."
He had come such a long way, Hermione realised not for the first time. Once, he even had trouble pronouncing her name. Now… "Look who's been reading the dictionary," she teased.
Viktor only smiled, and kissed her quietly. He did everything quietly, Hermione knew. She never heard him crunching on his cereal because he never ate them unless they were soggy with milk. She never heard the sound of his shower; preferred a quiet soak. Even the soles of his shoes were soft, muffling his footsteps. The elusive, brooding teenager she had known had grown up into the silent, secretive man she had married.
She buried her fingers in his hair, her eyes shut tightly as they kissed. But sometimes she wondered what it would be like if they kissed while staring into each others' eyes, he into her light brown ones, and she into his grey ones.
Black, she realised with a startle. Viktor's eyes are black.
Later, before they entered the Longbottoms', she grasped his arm suddenly. "Can we make a move early, Viktor?" she pleaded. "I'm not feeling too well."
He placed a hand on her belly, his eyes hopeful. "Is it-"
"No." They had been trying, God knew they had. Two miscarriages and several false alarms later, they were still childless. Hermione's heart burned at the thought of tiny heartbeats gone silent. And now, their house was as quiet as Viktor himself.
His face hardened. "You are being silly. I know you do not like Cho, but for my sake, bear with her."
He had just been named Bulgarian Ambassador. And Cho was the one who was credited for the arrest of Draco Malfoy, one of the most dangerous Death Eaters, which earned her fame, respect and centrespreads in numerous magazines. Hermione, on the other hand, went on to become the youngest Deputy Head of Hogwarts in history, after the War. Naturally.
"I was wondering when you'd come in," a bright, sultry voice sang. Even her greeting was clichéd, Hermione thought. "You look lovely, Hermione. Skinny but lovely. Oh, I see a belly! Oh my goodness, you are pregnant!"
Hermione allowed herself to smile, though her eyes were shooting daggers at Cho. She felt Viktor stiffen beside her, but the way he kissed Cho's flushed cheeks made her wonder if he truly meant what he said when he complained about the alcohol in her breath.
"No, I'm not," she said evenly, though her hand moved automatically to her belly, as though trying to find a child that was not there. Cho's answering smile tormented her.
The house was smaller than the Krums' mansion, but it had enough props to show how much Cho loved her decadent lifestyle. There were self portraits of her covering almost every inch of the walls. Tiger skin rugs tickled her feet as she followed their chattering hostess, and gilded antique vases loomed in every corner. There was a bouquet of blood roses on a coffee table shaped like a mermaid, and every breath Hermione took was a torture, since Cho seemed to have drenched herself in perfume. Lavender was the scent that Hermione hated the most.
She wondered how many animals died for this silly child-woman's living room.
Neville himself was unrecognizable as he strode out to greet them. He was tall, and though he was still young, his hair was iron grey, like his grandmother's. Hermione hugged him warmly, wondering how such a practical man could ever marry such a frivolous woman, and decided that she'd rather not know.
They feasted on roast swan, canapés, pumpkin fritters, mashed potatoes and birds nest soup. It was soup made from the dried saliva of swallows, which Cho swore was the key to her beauty. It was sweetened with honey – too sweet, as a matter of fact- and Hermione almost gagged on it.
"Nausea, Hermione?" asked Cho innocently. "Pregnancy does that to you, but I have a book with potions-"
"I am not pregnant," Hermione interrupted, her smile shaky. "I thought I made it clear earlier."
Viktor was too busy talking to Neville to notice Cho's hushed concerns, but Hermione thought she saw Neville kicked his wife gently under the table. She loved him for it.
And to Hermione's increasing displeasure, each meal was served by House Elves. The dutiful creatures brought fresh plates and cutlery after each course, and Hermione almost bit herself when she saw that one had burnt its ears.
"You know, Cho," she began gently, "these elves…"
"Yeah, I know," Cho said, winking knowingly at Hermione. "They're too ugly to be servants for my guests, I told Nev. Let them wear paper bags over their heads, I said, but he didn't listen. One of them roasted its ears in the fireplace after I told it to stop being such a sore sight, can you believe it? As if that would make it prettier! Well, perhaps there's less of it to look at now-"
Hermione had enough. She laid down her fork with a clatter, downed her entire goblet of wine in three huge gulps and pushed her chair back. She kissed Neville on his cheeks, and hugged him, wondering how he could survive such a wife. She turned to Viktor, and told him, "No, you stay. It's…a woman's complaint. Nothing that concerns you."
"You have alcohol in your breath," his voice was stern, and she knew that he would be unyielding, as he sometimes was. "My Hermione, you-"
"You are Bulgarian," she answered. "Deal with it."
The night air was crisp and cold, as befitted a late autumn night. Winter was coming, and she wondered how Hogwarts was doing. She might have been the youngest Professor in history, but she was also the first to resign. Viktor wanted her at home, he said. He didn't want her working.
She sat on a hard wooden bench, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She wouldn't go home yet, she didn't want to face his rage and words and hear him defend Cho. It was always déjà vu. Their departure would always be filled with complaints of Cho, but their return would be filled with praises. Have you seen how she manages to upkeep her house and become the goddess in Witch Weekly? She is such a charming creature, but sadly wasted on your friend Longbottom. And Draco Malfoy, how did she do it?
It hurt, listening to him rattle on drunkenly. And sometimes, it hurt even more.
"Happy birthday to you," she sang softly, under the glow of the silver moon and the whispering of trees. "Happy birthday to Ron…"
Sighing, she leaned back, her eyes fluttering shut as she submerged herself in memories of a time gone by.
Her head bumped into something.
Even as she started to turn, strong hands grabbed her shoulders and the scent of wintergreen bit into her nostrils. She knew who it was before looking, but her wand was foolishly in locked up in her purse…
The years had gone by slowly for him. He had always been boyish, both in looks in mannerism. Rash, impetuous, with the sure confidence that he was invincible, and couldn't be hurt. Now, he stood behind her, a man who bore the scars of one who has been hurt many times.
"You're here," she said stupidly. All thoughts had deserted her, and for a moment, she couldn't remember whether she was still dreaming. "Alive." The tremor in her voice spoke volumes of the simple word.
"You've noticed," Draco Malfoy grinned. "Smart girl."
"I'm not a girl. I'll be twenty seven when the next moon turns."
"Would you prefer smart know-it-all then?" he challenged, as he took a seat beside her. He inhaled deeply, and stretched his long legs lazily. "It's been too long, Hermione."
"I'm married. I never expected you to be freed. You're a guilty traitor."
He cocked his head at her, as though seeing her for the first time. "You've been trained well, I see," he mused with a sneer. "In case you are wondering, I am Draco Malfoy, you know. Not some Inquisitor drunk on Polyjuice. Besides, I've been freed."
"How?" her voice was barely a whisper. She could feel her cheeks freezing in the cold, but she didn't care.
Draco's eyes glinted. "You thought that I broke out," he said slowly, never taking his eyes off her. "Hermione, I am deeply insulted."
Her silence answered him, and he sighed. "I've been acquitted of all charges," he said in bored voice. "A witness showed up."
There could be only one other person who knew that Draco had taken over as a spy for the Order, after Severus's death.
"Potter," Draco called suddenly. "It's time for the entertainment!"
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief when she saw Harry step out from the shadows, a child with him. His face was lined, and there was a sadness in his eyes, but he winked at Draco when she rushed to embrace him fiercely.
"What, no welcome for the Slytherin?" pouted Draco. "And Potter barely said a word!"
"Sometimes you say too much," Hermione replied, with tears in her eyes. "I would have kissed you if you didn't start debating with me from the start."
Draco looked pained, but it was Harry's questioning gaze that Hermione answered. "I told him," she admitted. "I'm a married woman."
Draco's eyes fell; he had feared that Harry would confirm the worst.
"But I'll be signing the divorce papers in the morning," she said almost to herself. "This was supposed to be our last night together, Viktor and I. But I ruined it," the tears were flowing freely now.
"He begged me not to tell anyone about our problems. I wanted to see a counsellor, but he thought that it would be a shame for a wizard of his status. He doesn't want anyone to know about his affairs…" She could see it in her mind. Cho had insisted on dining at Kaxos of the Isles, which she claimed served the best fusion cuisine in the universe. Hermione had smiled and gone along; they were still friends back then.
Cho was giggling about something Neville did the night before, but she was rudely drowned by thunderous laughter from a neighbouring table. The restaurant was dim, but that didn't stop Hermione from turning around, and found herself staring into the very familiar back of her husband.
Oblivious to her eyes, her husband was caressing the redhead's hand, as he whispered in her ear. The woman giggled flirtatiously, before replying, "It'll be just like our honeymoon, babe. Maybe you can do that on our true honeymoon, eh? Once you've dumped the frumpy wife of yours?"
She had time to break the redhead's nose before her husband pulled her away. That was also the fight that earned her the scar.
And the miscarriage. She was four months pregnant at that time.
"I decided to give him a chance, smart witch that I was," Hermione continued with a bitter smile. "I thought that a baby would seal our love, but we kept failing. Trelawney might have called that an omen," she laughed mirthlessly.
Draco encircled her waist with his arms, trying to comfort her. But she couldn't stop herself.
"Cho saw. Cho knew. And all she told me was, 'She's right, kind of. Don't get me wrong, but men do not like frumpy wives.'"
"And I found as time passed, that one betrayal hurts a lifetime. I couldn't love him, even though I tried. It took months, but we finally decided it was over. Tonight we dined with Neville as husband and wife. Tomorrow, I will be free."
Draco buried his face in her neck, as he had once done. "This should never have happened," he said angrily. "I shouldn't have been gone, and this Krum could never have hurt you."
That made Hermione smile. She removed his arms from her, and cupped his face with a palm. "And what do you know about being hurt?" she asked. "You've always emerged from fires unscathed. You have people risking their lives to vouchsafe yours. Draco, it's like you are born with a Patronus. You could never be hurt."
"Being apart from the woman I love hurts," he replied stubbornly. "And my son."
Hermione's heart did a somersault.
"Our son, Hermione. Ron."
"Ron died," it was too painful to even think about it. "They said he was stillborn. They took him away before I could hold him…"
"Ron is alive and watching this scene feeling bored, and wishing he could change to cartoons instead," Harry said, his green eyes betraying nothing. "Go greet your Mummy…Ron," he told the boy softly.
She could see it now; he had Draco's hair and his grey eyes. But something in the way his mouth was stubbornly set and the frown lines gracing his visage reminded her of herself. And just as suddenly, she couldn't see, for the tears were coming too fast, blurring everything away.
Washing her sadness away.
She could still feel Draco's hands steadying her, but every other part of her body felt numb. The boy was walking towards her warily, and it filled her with euphoria and broke her heart at the same time. He was so handsome he could only be Draco's, and so easy to love that he could only be hers.
She hugged him fiercely, the son she thought she had lost. She had named him after the friend she had lost.
"I didn't know he survived either until Harry arrived," she could hear Draco saying in the background. His voice sounded faint. "He's a work of art, don't you think? I think he has my intelligence and your good looks…"
She sobbed when he called her by the name she had so wanted to hear – Mummy. She was quiet by the time Harry told her how he had found the toddler at a Death Eater's house that they had stormed, but no one knew who he belonged to. It was only when Ron grew up into the very likeliness of Draco that someone noticed. The wizarding community might not have a spell to determine one's parentage, but the Muggles certainly did. And there was only one woman whom Draco had loved…
"I'm five," Ron said confidently. "It's my birthday. I will be fifteen when I become Minister of Magic."
Draco glanced at Hermione, his look a question. She laughed, wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded.
It was sunrise when the kiss ended.
She knew that something must be right with this mess-up world when the man she loved and the child she had longed for came to bring dawn to a cold, lonely night.
A/n: Please leave a review...I'd appreciate it if it even if it was 2 words.