Fifteen Days
Day 15
She's barely through the door before he slams her against the wall, her bags flying out of her hands to land in an unceremonious heap on the floor. She gasps in shock and pain, then makes no further sound but meets his eyes with her huge, scared ones, the tip of his wand digging into her throat.
"Granger," he grits between clenched teeth, his body pressed against hers, pinning her to the wall. The portrait upstairs started screaming after the initial slam, and the fact that no one is running to silence it tells her that they are most certainly alone in the cold, damp house.
"Draco," she whispers, his hand digging painfully in her hip.
"Why?" He asks, pressing his wand hard into her skin. She closes her eyes and tries to move her head away, but he is relentless. "Why?"
"I had to." It is small, soft and delicate, but he hears it clearly. There is a pause and then suddenly he is off her, backing up so quickly he is tripping, until finally he is pressed against the opposite wall and there is an entire hallway between them. A week ago, a day ago, he would have crossed the distance and taken her into his arms. Now, he flattens his hands against the wood and hopes for a splinter.
"What do you want?" he mutters, his grey eyes searching hers, pleading.
She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, tries to speak, swallows, shakes the tears out of her eyes.
"I want my childhood back," she chokes out finally. She turns and flees the house, leaving her bags discarded around the hall.
He slides down the wall and sits, his head dangling between his legs as he tries to breathe.
Fifteen days after the end of the war, and Draco hates Hermione.
Day 14
Lupin was sitting in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea when Draco walked in, carrying a pile of mail in his hand.
"Post's arrived," he said, and pulled up a chair to the table. Lupin made a noncommittal sound and buried his face in his mug. Draco looked at him and snorted.
"Bad hangover?"
"Terrible," Lupin croaked.
Draco smirked and turned his attention to the mail. He flipped through it idly.
"Tonks here?"
Lupin shook his head and winced.
"No, she's down at the Ministry. There's still so much to be sorted out. The auror office is in disarray, there are still renegade Death Eaters about, sites needing rebuilding, people in just general panic."
"It's only been two weeks," Draco murmured.
"And it's going to stay this way for the next two years, the way it's looking. Too many things to mend, too many funerals to organize." Lupin slumped in his chair. "They still don't have a complete death toll."
Draco merely nodded and chose not to comment. The air may have grown tenser, but then again, everyone was tense these days.
"Oh, and that vile snake escaped. That was a fun morning, trying to catch it."
Draco's head snapped up and he stared at the older man.
"What snake?" He was breathing too hard and his heart was racing too fast.
Lupin frowned.
"Nagini, I think she was called. That…thing of Voldemort's."
Draco was so intent upon Lupin's face that he did not even shudder at the mention of his once Lord's name.
"Escaped? As in, we had her? She's alive?"
Lupin looked at Draco concernedly.
"Yes, of course we did. About a week before the final battle, Har – " He paused, swallowed. "They brought her in. Captured her, they said. They put her in a locked cupboard in the basement. The enchantments must have started fading after…" Once again, Lupin cut himself off, staring down into his cup.
Draco did not notice. Draco was staring at Lupin so hard, his eyes burning a track through the man's face. Draco was staring at Lupin because he had just handed him the missing puzzle piece.
"When does Granger get back?" He whispered.
"Tomorrow, she said." Lupin watched him. "Draco? Draco, are you alright?"
The young man said nothing, but dashed out of the room, mail forgotten on the table.
Day 13
He missed her.
It was insane, and it was stupid, and they'd only fucked twice, but he missed her.
Weasley's blessing, odd and violent as it may have been, somehow made it worse. Now, there was something to expect when she came home. Now he had to court her. Now, they could be something.
He was so wrapped up in missing her that he barely noticed where he was going. He had been pacing the house for hours it felt like, just thinking and waiting. When he heard a strange amount of noise emanating from the doors next to him, he decided to investigate.
It was the library, but it certainly wasn't being used for research tonight. Weasley was passed out on the floor, his little sister looking like she was heading that way judging by the empty bottles around them. Lupin and Tonks were wrapped around each other on a sofa, each clutching their own drinks. Firewhiskey, if he knew that smell.
Ginny saw him and raised her bottle.
"Ah, Malfoy," she said, slurring her words. "Two weeks. Happy fucking anniversary."
"Midnight already?" he said lightly, stepping more fully into the room.
"Fuck if I care. Two weeks. Fifty more and it'll be a whole goddamned year." She swayed dramatically and he rushed forward and steadied her.
"Ginny, you need to sit down," he said quietly, stroking her hair and trying to lead her to a chair.
"No, I do not need to sit down!" She exclaimed violently and pushed him away, staggering to regain her own balance. "I need to not sit down and, and I need you to stop being nice and good and I need Fred and Luna and, and Hagrid, and Professor Dumbledore, and I need Harry." Tears started streaming down her face at an alarming rate. Draco thought she was going to hyperventilate. "I need Harry," she repeated, and slumped against a nearby sofa. "It's…it's like I'm eleven again and I'm lost and it's cold and I waited and I kept waiting and he came, he came and found me, except now I'm waiting and he's not here, and he's not going to find me, never, and it's so cold." She held her arms around herself tightly, sobbing.
Draco stood, paralyzed. Tonks had started crying too, and he could swear that Lupin was also weeping. He felt like he was going to throw up as he looked at Ginny. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything more broken.
He missed Hermione.
Day 12
"You hurt her, I'll kill you."
Draco nodded as well as he could.
"You hear me?
Draco nodded again, and, satisfied, Weasley released his grip and let him slide down the wall. He coughed, massaging his throat.
"I can't let her get hurt," Weasley said, towering above him. His voice sounded strained. "I know her and me ended, but she's my best friend, and she's all I've got left."
Was he going to cry? Draco fervently hoped he wasn't.
"Treat her well," the redhead whispered, and then he ran upstairs.
Draco coughed again, his neck still aching. Weasley might not be the smartest in the bunch, but he was stronger than a gorilla. He supposed that's all he need, what with Hermione as the brains and Potter as the –
Oh fuck. Fuck you, Potter.
Draco swallowed hard and kicked the wall. He'd hated him for years, this wasn't supposed to hurt.
Then again, Harry Potter was never supposed to be the Boy Who Died.
Day 11
"I'm leaving for a few days."
Draco lifted his head from where he'd been tracing patterns on her too thin stomach.
"What?"
She smiled slightly, and stroked his blonde hair.
"Just a couple of days. I want to go home for a couple of days, see my parents."
Draco rested his head back upon her stomach, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
"Are you okay?" she asked in that quiet way of hers, and he nodded noncommittally.
"Draco."
He raised his head again and met her gaze. Her brown eyes bored into his, concern and pain and something else lurking in their unfathomable depths.
"I'll be back," she said. "I'm coming back."
This time, he kissed her first.
Day 10
Something was not right.
Everyone knew that, of course. If it were right, if everything had turned out as it had supposed to, there wouldn't be a gaping hole in the victory parades, memorial services where there should have been parties.
Neither can live while the other survives, Hermione had told him once, after he had shocked the world by joining the Order. The world, he mused, but not Potter. Somehow, Potter had not been surprised.
Neither can live while the other survives. This was the thought that kept niggling at the back of his brain. Potter was supposed to live. The Dark Lord died, so Potter should have lived.
He wanted to voice this concern to someone, but had no idea to whom. It seemed too insensitive to mention it to anyone, all of them who had been much closer to Potter than he had.
The closest he came to saying anything was to Hermione. He knocked on her door late at night and when she opened it, all words left his throat as he beheld the girl before him.
She looked at him and then, as before, she reached up and brought his mouth down to hers.
Day 9
Another service, another publicity stunt. He, Hermione, and Weasley had to appear, make a speech. Both of the Gryffindors looked like they wanted to scream during the whole thing. Stupid media.
And that one journalist, smarmy little thing, asking about Horcruxes. Hermione and Weasley had gone pale and McGonagall stepped in quickly, saying it was forbidden to speak of such things and wanting to quell any rumors here and now.
Draco had no idea how the press came up with such things. The best wizards in the world couldn't figure it out, and a little reporter with a quill could find out things no one was ever supposed to know. He jinxed the reporter later, when no one was looking. He deserved it for making Hermione look like that.
The Horcruxes. The trio had told him about them one night, back in Grimmauld Place, when he had confronted them and demanded to come along on their excursions.
He hadn't come along, of course. They were, as ever, exclusionists.
But they had told him about the Horcruxes (casting measured glances between each other and speaking slowly, hesitantly). The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup. Possibly the snake and one other unknown.
He remembered one night when they came staggering home, Potter clutching Rowena Ravenclaw's broken dagger in his hand so tightly that it cut into his skin. Draco had caught them when they swayed, sat them down, called for help, fed them, washed their cuts, blanched at the gash in Hermione's side.
"Five," Potter whispered before he passed out.
They never told him anymore than that, none of the details, how they destroyed it.
He never told them that it hurt. He tried to, once, when they ran out the door yet again, faces hard. He had grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her back.
"Where?" he had asked
She shook her head.
"We're getting the snake. We can get it this time, we're positive."
"Can – "
She cut him off before he even asked the question.
"You know you can't." She glanced behind her to where the boys stood, waiting. "Goodbye," she said simply, and dashed off. He watched them disapparate and went back inside.
He wasn't awake when they came back that evening, but three days later, the attack came. As everyone prepared for battle, there was a feeling in the air that this was undeniably it.
Draco remembered this, and wondered where it all had gone wrong.
Day 8
He couldn't look at her.
Draco still couldn't fathom what had happened last night. All he knew is that if he looked at her, he wouldn't be able to stop.
There was almost enough things to do to distract him. An entire world needed to be rebuilt. There were still so many questions to be answered.
He still couldn't sleep well. He doubted if he was ever going to be able to again.
Except –
Last night. Last night he slept like a drugged baby. Last night he slept in Granger's arms like a fool.
It was too absurd for words.
After the war was never supposed to be like this. He should be dead or jail, and Potter, St. Fucking Potter, should be shagging the Weasley girl like mad, and Weasley and Granger should be on their way to producing an obscene brood of bushy redheads. He was never supposed to get her.
It was absurd, laughable, really but here he was, eight days after the war, and Draco Malfoy loved Hermione Granger.
Draco loved Hermione.
The words tasted good in his mouth.
Day 7
Suddenly, a week had gone by and everyone seemed to be in shock. It wasn't right that seven whole days of "after the war" could pass.
So, to cope with this strange and bizarre fact, everyone got ridiculously drunk.
There were tears and toasts ("To Harry!" Oh god, always Harry. Then someone would cry again.) and inevitably, some people vomited, and other coupled up, grabbing at each other with the rutting insistence of "we're alive, we're alive."
Draco watched, but did not participate. He spotted another figure doing the same, someone across the room, someone looking at him, and, unbidden, he went to her.
"Malfoy."
"Granger."
She surveyed the room coolly. She hadn't been crying, he noted. He hadn't seen her cry once since that first day after. She didn't cry, but it always looked like something crucial inside of her had perished. She never laughed.
"What do you want?" he asked her, suddenly, demanding her attention. She tore her gaze away from where Weasley and Brown were passionately mauling each other and looked at him.
She stared levelly with those huge, deep, dying eyes.
"I want what everyone else wants," she whispered.
Then she kissed him.
Then she kissed him.
Day 6
He repeated them like a mantra to himself, the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the dagger, the snake. He repeated them because if he could fully grasp what happened, he maybe would be able to understand how three teenagers had saved the world.
How one of them had given his life to do so.
Diary, ring, locket, cup, dagger, snake.
There was a moment when he thought it wouldn't work. One moment after Potter had shouted the Killing Curse (he couldn't believe that the Golden Boy would actually do it until that moment), one moment when everything hung in the air and nothing happened.
Then the light knocked him out.
Draco frowned and repeated his mantra again. Granger walked past him, her too-thin frame silently gliding through the house. Something was seriously wrong with the girl. She needed to grieve.
He watched as she walked away, then repeated his mantra one more time.
Day 5
This was the hardest thing he had ever done.
Harder than the Astronomy Tower, harder then joining the Order. Harder then fucking liking Potter (but that came too easily, in the end).
Draco took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and apparated. He opened his eyes again, after the crushing pressure had stopped.
He looked at his ancestral home and walked forward. The gates opened automatically for him, one of the Malfoy blood.
They had been buried in the family plot. He had fought tooth and nail with the Ministry, but they finally granted him this. The burial had been last night. No ceremony. No one except the gravedigger. No speeches for Lucius or Narcissa.
Draco entered the graveyard and slowly headed towards the two fresh mounds in the back. He stood in front of them, finally, and waited.
He didn't cry. He waited for the tears, but he couldn't cry.
Draco remembered the way he had sobbed yesterday and hated himself.
Day 4
The coat closet was musty and rank, but Draco welcomed the dark and the seclusion.
He had never imagined it would be like that.
The biggest ceremony in Wizarding history. The burial of "the greatest hero we have ever known." Speeches, music, eulogies, tears, oh Merlin, enough tears to float Hogwarts.
A huge tomb had been erected on the school grounds for him, the "only home he had ever known," someone had said. Right next to Dumbledore's.
Fuck. Fuck.
Draco buried his face in the nearest cloak and was racked with spasms. These sobs were violent, tearing his throat and burning his face with their heat.
It was over, it was over, it was over.
He tried not to throw up. He cried more instead.
Day 3
Third day after the war.
This was the way it was going to be from now on, he realized. From now on, everything would be "after the war."
He didn't remember a "before."
Three days of peace, if that was what you wanted to call it. Three days of emptiness. No one knew what the fuck to do.
Draco was numb.
"Mr. Malfoy, we need to ask just one more question…"
"Mr. Malfoy, could you tell us just one more time…"
"Draco, we have to understand…"
"You were one of the ones closest when it happened…"
"Details are blurry, you need to help us…"
He was sick of talking. He couldn't talk anymore. If he had to go through it one more time (mechanical, stilted, until it felt like it was no longer his memory) he was going to scream.
Three days of this. Who knew how many more left to go.
Day 2
"Please state your name."
He paused, then leaned forward in his chair.
"Draco Abraxas Black Malfoy." He stared at the quill suspended over a sheet of parchment, recording every word spoken.
"Draco," the voice was soft, but firm. Draco refused to look up. "Draco, can you tell us what you saw in the final moments of the battle?"
He said nothing.
"Draco," the voice was pleading now, and that shocked Draco enough that he made eye contact with his old Transfiguration professor for the first time. "Draco, please. We need to know."
The young man shifted, then began speaking.
"It…it was hard to tell what was going on. It was all so confusing." His voice was lower than normal, shakier. "We were all just fighting for our lives. I don't know how long we fought, we just did." He reached for the glass of water in front of him, took a sip. "People were falling everywhere, but they were okay, so I kept going."
"Can you please specify who 'they' were?"
He nodded. "Granger, Weasley, and Pot – Harry." He saw McGonagall flinch slightly. "The four of us were all together and we kept fighting. Then…then the Dark Lord appeared." Draco shuddered. "It was like – like the crowd parted or something, and then there he was and Po – Harry went out to face him."
He took another sip of water. "I don't know how long they fought. People were stopping what they were doing, watching. Granger and Weasley and I, we tried to keep others from interfering, Death Eaters casting hexes and such. Then, he must have seen an opening or something, but he shouted it. The Killing Curse."
"Who shouted it?" McGonagall leaned in closer.
"Harry."
Draco saw her let out a breath.
"Did You-Know-Who respond in any way, did he attempt to curse Harry?"
Draco shook his head.
"Not that I could tell. There was this…this pause."
"Pause?"
He shrugged.
"I can't describe it any better than that. Harry shouted it, and there was this pause, then the Dark Lord screamed and…and there was this light and I passed out." He swallowed. "That's all I know."
"I see." McGonagall took in another deep breath, rearranged her hands in her lap. "Thank you very much, Draco."
"Professor –" He tried not to shake. "Do you – do they – do you know why Harry…"
She shook her head slowly. Her eyes were bright.
"No one knows for sure. No one saw You-Know-Who curse Harry, but he had been, unmistakably. You-Know-Who's wand was destroyed, so we can't trace his last spells."
"Could someone else have –?"
She shook her head again.
"We don't believe so. They were fairly removed, well protected. The rest of the order was doing exactly what you, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Weasley were. There is a theory….some believe that Harry's own spell killed him. The back lash. He was such a young wizard." McGonagall was the one to look away then.
"Ironic," Draco murmured under his breath.
McGonagall looked up again, after a moment, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Arrangements have been made – Remus has informed me that you are welcome to stay at Grimmauld Place, if you wish."
Draco nodded silently. She continued.
"The Weasleys will be staying there while their home is rebuilt. So will Ms. Granger, I believe."
He nodded again and stood to leave. McGonagall stood as well, watched as he crossed to the door.
"Draco," she said as his head touched the knob. He looked back.
"Albus – Professor Dumbledore…" she paused again, let out a shaky breath. "He would have been proud of you.
Draco's eyes suddenly stung. He lowered his head and left.
Day 1
Draco woke up to the sound of sobbing.
His body felt like it was on fire. Every muscle ached. His throat was dry and his lips cracked.
He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes to try to clear them. He was in a hospital bed, as far as he could tell. He had no idea how he got here. Last thing he remembered was –
Oh.
The sobbing intensified and he looked over, wincing as the movement shot pain through his body. Granger sat on the next bed, bawling.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she was whispering, tearing at her arms and hair. She looked like she was about to dissolve. "Oh god, oh god, oh god." She was in such a frenzy Draco thought she was about to seriously injure herself.
He leapt off his bed, gasping at the pain, and staggered over to hers, drawing her struggling form into his, trying to sooth her.
"Shh, Granger, Granger, it's okay, it's over, it's over." She kept flailing. "Granger, it's alright. Hermione," he murmured.
She stopped struggling then and collapsed back into him, her entire body shaking.
"Oh god," she repeated numbly, tears coursing down her cheeks. "Harry," she whispered.
Draco felt his stomach fall out.
The Last Day
The attack comes much too soon.
She is thrown into the frenzy. People dash everywhere, preparing. Armies apparate around her, forces mobilizing. She can't say anything but is instead pushed forward where Harry, Ron, and, unbelievably, Malfoy wait.
"But, Harry," she finally gasps out, and he silences her with a shake of his head and a slight gesture in Malfoy's direction. She swings her head around, pleading, to Ron, but the same hardness is in his eyes.
They have failed. They know this, but everyone else believes –
Hermione wants to cry.
She had never felt so lost. For three days she has drifted, numb.
They made a mistake. The snake isn't, was never a Horcrux. Five. One in Voldemort's body. That meant there was still one.
That meant, she knows and grips her wand tighter, they are all going to die.
It begins, and she can no longer feel anything.
She fights and all she knows is that the boys beside her still stand, that they are still alive.
Then the crowds part and the enemy appears.
Harry rushes out to face him. They exchange hex after hex, curse after curse, and Hermione's brain is in overdrive.
Diary, ring, locket, cup, dagger, diary, ring, locket, cup, dagger, diary, ring, locket, cup, dagger…
She gasps and suddenly she knows.
She is Hermione Granger. She always knows the right answer, and now the right answer is inside her, tearing her to pieces.
She sees Voldemort sway, stagger. She knows Harry sees this too, and he raises his wand, takes the breath that will make him a murderer.
Forgive me, she thinks, and then in her mind, she says a spell. She does not scream it, like the boy in front of her, but almost stumbles over it, almost chokes. Almost.
There is a pause, a breath before her world shatters. Then there is a flash of light, and everyone is thrown to the ground.
Everyone but her.
She stands there, shaking so hard she thinks she will fly apart. She stands and looks at the three of them, collapses on the stained and muddy ground. The redhead boy who used to love her. The pale-haired boy who used to hate her. The black-haired boy who always trusted her. Their limbs limp, faces slack, they all look frighteningly alike.
Except that two of them are breathing.
Hermione drops her wand and drops to her knees. She shudders in the mud, she gasps, and her head grows light.
It's done, it's over.
It's over.
She breaks.