I'd like to take this opportunity to blame this angst filled story on Medea's Rage. I am clearly hanging out with her too often if stories like this come out of my brain. This is not a normal theme for me, and think that I've chanelled my inner Medea for this piece. If you don't like it, it is truly her fault, and all should leave her a messeage telling her to let me write my happy, fluffy stories.
Love to all readers ~Countess Black
He held her wrinkled hand tightly, staring deeply into her slightly unfocused eyes. Her breathing was shallow as she struggled to fill her lungs with the stagnant air.
She mumbled nonsense words randomly, sounding much like the word salad of the deranged.
Closing his eyes briefly, he squeezed her hand in an effort to communicate he was there with her. She didn't respond to his gesture. But he knew she wouldn't.
It was a travesty. Her once brilliant mind, was now reduced to this mish mosh of firing neurons, jumbling memories that were no longer coherent.
He wondered if she thought of him. They had spent the last forty years in matrimony, rearing children and making a life and name for themselves.
He thought back to the night he had asked her to become his wife. The look in her eyes had told him more than her words ever would. She didn't want too, but she had answered the question with a firm yes.
He and his family had been a little more than a charity case to her at that time. She was none the less determined to restore the Malfoy name to its previous state of grace. The war had torn the name apart. A marriage to one of the noblest war heros would serve such a purpose in her eyes.
His mind had flashed to their honeymoon when they had made love for the first time. She held her eyes open as he thrust into her, staring blankly at the ceiling of the bedroom they now shared. He did everything to make union pleasurable, yet she allowed him the use of her body with a cool detachment from the actual deed.
There were no words of endearment on her part, no panting or heavy breaths. Just the act of opening her legs and allowing the man she had vowed her life to, to take his pleasure. Only when she closed her eyes did she become an active participant in their lovemaking.
As Draco lay next to the witch he had lovingly pledged his life to, he realized the cold truth. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he showered affection and lavish gifts upon her, her heart would always belong to another.
His mind recalled the events in their lives. They had been happy even though loveless on her part. She acted the doting wife and mother as she was expected, but he still knew the truth.
Through the happy Christmases, family vacations to Spain, Italy, and various other countries around the world, she still held love for another man in her heart.
He believed that she grew to care for him and perhaps even love him in her own way. It world never be the same passionate, unyielding love he felt for her, but it was enough for him.
Refocusing his grey eyes and mind back onto the woman in front of him draped in the hospital gown of St. Mungos, he watched the end draw near for his bride.
He had always thought that Ron Weasley had been the other man the Hermione loved so much she withheld her heart from her husband. As hid children filled the room, circling their mother's bed, he knew that he was wrong.
Looking at the faces he and Hermione had created, he understood. It wasn't Ron. He had died during the Final Battle, shoving his brother Fred out the path of a crumbling wall, causing himself to be crushed beneath its weight. He had died the hero that he was.
His eldest, his first son, looked like the carbon copy of himself at that age. His youngest, his only daughter, resembled her mother in uncanny ways.
It was when he looked at his middle sons that the light came on. Twins didn't run in his family and as far as he knew, they didn't run in Hermione's either. He did know which family they did run in, especially identical twins. Apparently his guess on the owner of his wife's heart wasn't too far off. Right family, but wrong man.
His twins must have felt his gaze as they met his eyes. Eyes that were neither grey nor brown in there shade. Eyes that were the most startling blue that he truly felt they must be a shade all their own.
He had seen the same shade before a couple of years ago at the funeral of George Weasley, as he looked into the eyes of his identical twin Fred. Their eye colour had always been different from the other Weasleys. Theirs were brighter and a slightly darker, more piercing shade of blue.
Usually any funerals involving the Weasleys were more of a celebration of the deceased life. However this one was different. It seemed that with the death of George, the spark in Fred had died as well. They really were two halves of a whole.
This was proven two months later when they buried Fred between his twin and his wife Katie.
George's wife wasn't buried in the Weasley family cemetery. A simple plague marked her passing in the field. She had been cremated and her ashes scattered over the Scottish Highlands she had loved so much in her youth.
It seemed unfair that he would be alive to see the deaths of all his friends and family. After all his transgressions he had committed in his younger days it was somehow fitting.
As his gaze once again found their way back to his beloved wife, lying prone on the hospital bed, he noticed the lucidity in her stare. She knew he had figured out her secret. He once again looked at his identical boys and looked back at her.
"I'm sorry." That was all the confirmation he needed. She had spoken the words so clearly and forcefully he had no doubt that she was confessing her infidelity to him. The result of which being the two men standing to her right. Two blue eyed men that were the same shade as two other identical men. The only other men, that weren't his family, that Draco would gladly give his life for.
Pushing the grey hair back from his beloveds face, he placed a chaste kiss upon her forehead, letting her know all was forgiven. They may not be his blood, but they would always be his children.
"Don't be sorry Mione. Everything's okay my love. But please tell me who." Draco whispered into her ear, so their children wouldn't know what they were speaking of. He could never deny her anything, even the forgiveness of the actions against him.
The answer would be more than the identity of his children's biological father. It would finally reveal to him who he shared Hermione's heart with. Which one of the Weasley twins had she given her heart and body too?
If Draco hadn't been bent over her, he wouldn't have heard her soft answer, released on her last breath of life.
"George." The name was the last word Hermione Malfoy said before she slipped away into the next life with the others that had preceded her. The Golden Trio was once again complete.
He didn't have her buried in the Malfoy Family Cemetery as most expected. Instead he asked and received permission from the last Weasley of their generation, to have her buried next to the people she loved most besides her children.
That had been three months ago. Draco stood in front of the disturbed ground that covered his wife's final resting place. Laying the bouquet of wildflowers upon the Earth he addressed the shadow that fell over him.
"What do you think Little Red? Think she's happy with where I had her placed?"
The once red head grinned at his continued use of the nickname he had given her nearly half a century ago, despite the fact her long fiery locks were now tarnished silver.
"I believe she is. And once we're both placed here, everyone will be together again.
"Do you think she will want me placed beside her?"
"She loved you Draco. Perhaps not quite the same way you loved her, but she was happy with you and her life.
I do believe that had George not married Angelina right after the war, Hermione would have married him. But I also believe you were who the ancestors chose for her. I know she was truly happy with you." Ginny knelt placing her own flowers at the base of her husband's headstone.
Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, had joined his best friend Ron in death five years before Hermione. But they were together in the next realm awaiting the rest to follow in time.
Draco stepped back and looked at the grave next to Hermione's. He had her placed next George feeling that it was appropriate. He would be on Hermione's left when the time of his judgment came, and George was on her right.
He thought back once again to his family, especially his eye eyed twins. Draco reached down, plucking a flower from the flowers he brought and placed it on George's headstone.
He felt no anger for the man that committed adultery with his wife. He was grateful for the boys he had raised and watched grow into successful men.
"Watch over her Mate. I don't know how long I'll be here, but I'll watch over our kids and your sister till I do."
Ginny walked over to Draco placing her hand on his elbow pulling him away.
"Let's go have some tea Blondie." Ginny teased.
Draco nodded and chuckled at the joke, running his hand through his grey hair. He turned letting Ginny lead him from the graves of their loved ones, but at the last minute he turned back to address George once again.
"I'm still going to beat your arse though." Draco stated firmly pointing at the headstone.
He let Ginny lead him towards the Burrow with the promise of a hot cup of tea and a few of those biscuits he likes so much.
As they walked down the path, the two friends felt the wind kick up and would have sworn they heard the infectious laugh of the Weasley Twins.