Loath to Depart
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters, places, etc. belong to JKR, not me. This particular fic was my entry for the latest round of dmhgficexchange, and my prompt was Gemini by Spongecola. Finally my thanks to Hino-san for the beta.
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The sight of the scene before him made Draco feel like pinching himself. It had all the appearances of his fondest dream. He resisted that sudden urge for if this was only a dream, then he was happy to play the fool.
He glided across the floor, soaking in every detail as he approached his family. His lovely wife was decked out in a brilliant set of blue and silver robes. Though her hair was done up, there was one stubborn tendril that rested against her cheek, as though it loathed to be any further from her soft skin than it absolutely had to be. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her face flushed. Whatever conversation she was having with their daughters, it was certainly a lively one.
"Good evening, my sweets," he said upon reaching them. He dropped a kiss on Hermione's cheek while threading his arms around her in an embrace. He turned an eye to gaze at his daughters. Aurora, the elder of the two, was biting her lip in a fair imitation of her mother while their youngest, Talitha, had a pinched, nervous look about her. He sighed and shook his head. Clearly Aurora wasn't happy about having to go to bed on time.
But then, their daughter had been more difficult as of late. Ever since the girls' older brother, Leo, had started Hogwarts, Aurora had started to challenge all of her parents' rules, arguing time and time again that she wasn't a baby any more. Just thinking of the latest spat between his wife and his daughter was enough to make Draco's head ache.
"So whatever seems to be the problem?" he asked.
"There is no problem," Hermione replied. "I was just putting the girls to bed before coming to find you."
He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed I have been waiting for you." He didn't mention that Hermione was late, something that was very unusual for her.
"Daddy!" Aurora whined in a high-pitched voice, demanding his attention. "Mummy says we have to go to bed now. Why can't we spend the evening with you?" She stomped her foot and scrunched up her face. "You never let us have any real fun!" she screeched, her hands clenched into fists at her side.
"And here I thought you enjoyed your Quidditch lesson this afternoon," he replied mildly. There was not even the slightest hint of a smile on his face. "I must make a note of that. Aurora no longer thinks Quidditch is fun."
"Daddy!" Aurora's voice somehow went up another octave, and Draco winced at her screech. "I didn't say that and you know I didn't mean that. Why do you always have to be so impossible!" She crossed her arms and glowered at him, looking more like her mother by the minute.
"It's in my nature," he quipped, trying to inject a bit of levity into the situation. "Now come on, Aurora. Let's be reasonable. It's time for you to go to bed."
"But I don't wanna!" she all but howled. "I wanna go to the party! You and Mummy always keep the most fun things to yourself."
Draco exchanged a glance with Hermione, silently asking how long had this gone on. She rolled her eyes. That was all the answer he needed.
"Trust me, dearest, the parties that Mummy and I throw are no fun at all. We love you too much to inflict society upon you until that can no longer be avoided," he told her. He glanced at his youngest. He smiled warmly at her, not wanting her to feel left out. "And that goes for you too, Talitha."
But unfortunately for everyone else in the room, Aurora hadn't given up on her notion just yet. "That's what you always say," she whined, drawing out the syllables of the last couple words. She twitched her nose, a sign that she had thought of a new tack to try. "Why don't you just let us go and see? Just this once, Daddy. If it's as boring as you say, then we won't ever want to go again. I imagine I'll be happy to go to bed if it turns out to be that dull." A wheedling tone infused her voice.
"No," he replied shortly.
"But why not!"
"Because I said so. I don't believe I have to explain myself to you, Aurora," he replied sternly. Inwardly he shuddered. It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her that they weren't going to allow her to go to the party because they both knew better. Once—just once—as a child, he had made the same argument to his own parents. They had relented in the end and had allowed him to attend. The whole thing had turned into a nightmare, particularly for his parents, and as his mother was wont to say, he was a bloody nightmare to deal with the next day. There was no way he was going to make that same mistake.
Thankfully Hermione supported him in this completely. Evidently she had a similar experience when she was child. She was more determined than he was to ensure that she didn't repeat any of the child-rearing mistakes that both their sets of parents had made. He didn't always agree with her, but he had learned when to pick his battles.
That thought caused him to send a concerned glance at his youngest. Talitha was looking rather overwhelmed, and he wondered yet again whether it was a good idea to have the girls share a room. Hermione had reasoned that sharing a room would be good for their characters and make them less spoiled. That didn't seem to be working at all for Aurora, who could be an absolute horror when she put her mind to it. Both he and Hermione probably had a hand in that. Merlin knew that he had been a brat, always pestering his mother and his father. He was willing to bet that Hermione herself hadn't been all sweetness and light when she was little, given what a bossy terror she had been when she had first arrived at Hogwarts. He made a mental note to bring the topic up of getting Talitha her own room to Hermione sometime soon, before turning his attention back to the situation at hand.
"Aurora," Hermione was saying, "this is not up for negotiation. I have told you no, and now your father has told you no." She bit her lip before continuing. "Now your father and I have been very patient with you. If you want to continue making a scene, then I'm afraid that there will be consequences to your actions."
"Not that I think you'll mind all that much," Draco added. He lazily spread out his fingers and examined his nails, admiring how neat they all were. "You really aren't all that fond of Quidditch, are you?" His languid demeanor belied how dead serious he was.
Aurora got the point. She gulped nervously as she realized that her parents weren't going to be pushed around any more tonight. "Fine," she said in a small voice. Then she added, "But what about our bedtime story?"
"Yeah," echoed Talitha. "It's not too late, is it?" Their youngest looked up at them with big, brown eyes that held the threat of tears.
Draco and Hermione exchanged smiles. "No, of course it isn't," said Hermione. She looked relieved at the change of subjects.
"That's right," agreed Draco. "It's never too late for your story. What shall I read you?" He meandered over to the bookshelves that lined one wall of the girls' bedroom.
"Oh no! Not any of those books, Daddy," stated Aurora. "I've already read them all."
"Your sister hasn't," he said, a hint of a warning coloring his voice.
"Yeah. But I will soon." Talitha's lower lip jutted out into a pout. Draco knew that he was in trouble. Their youngest rarely asked for anything, and so it was difficult to tell her no.
"I know that, my sweet," he told her. "You're very clever, just like your mother." Both his wife and daughter blushed identical shades of pink. "So don't you want me to read any of these to you?" He waved a hand in the general direction of the books.
The two girls shared a furtive glance. Draco held back a groan. Clearly they had been plotting something. He looked over at his wife, but she shook her head from side to side. Evidently Hermione didn't know what was going on either. Meanwhile Aurora had all but pushed Talitha forward, encouraging her to go on with whatever plan they had. Draco could only admire his oldest daughter's instincts when it came to manipulation. There was no doubt in his mind what House she would be sorted into when the time came.
"Tell us a story about you and Mummy!" Talitha burst out. She looked up with her with eyes that had somehow grown even wider than they were before. "Please," she added.
"Yeah Daddy," said Aurora, stepping up to stand beside her sister. "Please! Everyone else has heard stories about their parents!" She frowned and looked down at her feet. "James says it's cause you and Mummy have no stories to tell. No good ones, at least," she finished in a small voice.
Draco didn't need to look at his wife to know that Hermione was rolling her eyes. He was tempted to do the same as well. He was also tempted to make a remark about how James Potter was not one wit cleverer than his father but bit his tongue as that would only lead to an argument with his wife later, when they could be doing better things. Instead he bent down to lift Aurora's chin up. "That's not true," he told her. He glanced over at Talitha. "And since you asked so nicely, I think we can indulge you…just this once."
"And after you're both in bed, of course," added Hermione, ever practical.
Aurora rolled her eyes, unconsciously copying her mother's actions of only a moment before. "Of course, Mother," she said rather haughtily.
Hermione was having none of it. "Watch your tone, young lady," she replied as she took their eldest daughter by the hand. "You know better than to behave like that."
"Indeed, I should hope so," said Draco. He picked up Talitha and carried her over to her bed, his heart bursting with joy as she giggled incessantly. He held her with one arm as he pulled back her sheets and then placed her down on her bed. He finished tucking her in and turned around. He was not surprised to find two pairs of brown eyes staring straight at him. Hermione was nothing if not efficient, and somehow she always quicker than he when it came to tucking their children in.
"Finished?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"He'd better be, or you'll be late," Aurora noted.
"Later, I should say, and no thanks to you," Hermione replied sharply. Wisely Aurora held her tongue.
"If you two ladies are done," Draco couldn't quite contain the smirk on his face, "then it's high time that I start the story that I promised our daughters."
"Not one for babies though," Aurora said, wrinkling her nose. "Because we're not babies who scare easy."
"Of course not, darling," he drawled in response. He ignored both his daughter's and his wife's glares—one of them not pleased with his patronizing tone while the other warned him not to get carried away. With a flick of his wand, he summoned two chairs from their daughters' playroom to the space between the beds. He frowned as he examined them. He had forgotten just how small the chairs were, seeing how they were suited to a child's frame. He heard Hermione's sigh and looked up to see her shaking her head at him.
"What would you do without me?" she asked. Then she took out her wand and transfigured the chairs into a sofa for them to share.
"Trust me, darling, I never want to find out." He offered her a hand, which she took, and together they sat down on the sofa. He gently wrapped an arm around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Now let's see," he said. He tapped his finger against his chin as he selected what tale to tell his daughters. He settled on one that had been terrifying back when it was happening to him, but he rather thought that he could edit the worst bits out as he went along so as not to scare them too much.
"I think I have the perfect story to tell you," said Draco. He resisted the urge to rub his hands together with glee.
"It was a night, much like this one," he said grandly. "Although I fear the boy who this story is about—and the actions he took proved that he still was only a boy, although if you asked, he would say that he was a man—but that boy was no where near as comfortable as we are tonight."
The day had already been cold, and as the sun set, he started to shivered uncontrollably. He folded his arms around him—first left, then right—for some small measure of shelter. Scant protection, however, and he remained trembling still. For a summer night, it was surprisingly cold.
A sickening dread worked its way through his gut. It was not the dark he feared.
There were only two things left that he feared, and that was not one of them. The cold he felt, through both day and night, was a harbinger of one of his fears. Indeed, he was forever checking over his shoulder, wondering just when he would see dark robes fluttering in the wind with a fog of ice creeping its way towards him. He knew it was only a matter of time before they came for him.
And they would come for him.
He knew that there was none who had any mercy or pity in their hearts for him. Indeed, he was not a creature deserving of such sympathy.
A thought crossed his mind. She would disagree.
He shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was think of her. He could not afford to think of her. He focused on alternating shuffling his hands together and blowing into them in a vain attempt to warm them up. He was terribly cold for a summer night—too cold almost. He frantically looked up and around at his surroundings, wondering if those most awful of hunters had finally caught up to him. To his relief, he saw nothing amiss.
The boy lowered his head, his silver hair brushing against his knees, utterly exhausted. The twigs and rocks he sat upon dug into him uncomfortably, making it harder for him to rest, but he was too tired to do anything about them. He had long lost count of how many hours he had been on the run. It seemed like an eternity, and for all he knew, it would never end. That was very much a contrast to the stories he had loved when he was younger, when the hero got his happy ending with the perfect witch for his wife included.
He winced. Draco Malfoy knew that he didn't deserve such a fate. He didn't deserve such a witch. It was really too bad that he had never been able to convince her of such. She had insisted on believing in him, insisted on saying that there was some good to him. He snorted. He imagined Hermione Granger wasn't very happy with him, the way he proved her wrong for once in her life.
No, he didn't think that she was very happy with him at all. She deserved that, though, for the way she inhabited his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push her aside. To his utter dismay, he couldn't stop thinking of her, of how tempting she had looked, of how close the two of them were together, so close that he didn't know—
Abruptly he shoved those thoughts aside. There was no good lingering over his happiest memories. All that did was rub salt into a wound left open for far too long. On top of that, it was like shining a beacon in the night right over his location.
With an alarming certainty, he knew he had to get away. He knew that his location had been compromised. He clasped his hands together and willed himself to stand, despite the fatigue inhabiting his bones.
He failed miserably.
He tried again, but it was no use. His limbs simply refused to obey him. He was exhausted, having been on the run for too long. Instinctively he fumbled for his wand before remembering again that it had been snapped in half. He groaned in despair. There was no hope for it. This was it. His journey would soon end. Draco knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that they would catch up to him.
So he pulled his knees up to his chest and laid his head down against them once more. Before he knew it, his eyelids were closing, ignoring that voice inside of his head that was all but screaming how he didn't want to sleep, for in sleep came dreams and he couldn't bear to dream about his witch and how she looked the last he saw her, an absolute vision in scarlet.
But there was little the boy could do to fight off the ravages of sleep and the dreams that followed. His mind wandered along familiar pathways, flickering about like a leaf on the wind, before arriving at the place he so yearned to return to.
The flat was brightly appointed and neatly arranged for all that it was rather small and cramped. From a single glance it was obvious that whoever lived here cherished books. Every spare corner was inhabited by a bookshelf, and books were lined in up in rows two deep. There were pictures, both Wizarding and Muggle, adorning what space on the walls remained. Odds and ends popped up in the most surprising of locations, souvenirs from the different places the flat's inhabitant had visited. All in all, it was a very cheery place.
Hermione Granger looked up from her desk. She scoured the room with her stare, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She shivered. For a second there, she could have felt his presence, right here, just waiting for her to notice him.
She sighed and picked up her quill again. Wishful thinking that, she reprimanded herself. Really Hermione! When are you ever going to learn? He told you that it's over and that's that...and of course, that bastard picks this time to learn how to keep his word.
With a heavy heart, she lifted a hand to her eyes to brush back tears that seemed to have no end. She turned her attention back to her journal and scribbled furiously, detailing everything she felt about what had transpired. When she was done, she took a deep breath and waited.
Nothing changed.
She swore under her breath. Writing had always brought about a sort of catharsis for her, after the end of all her failed relationships. She had hoped that it would be the same tonight—well had hoped, but hadn't really expected it. Nothing about her relationship with Draco Malfoy could ever compare to anything from her ones before.
Damn it! I'm crying again! She shoved her journal away. It hadn't done her any good anyway. She sat there, not bothering to keep track of time, while she cried incessantly, pitying herself all the while. She should have been in bed ages ago. She was unable to sleep, however, as her mind raced with thoughts about their argument, and what it was going to mean to her relationship, and what she could have done to have prevented this all. She felt so stupid to have been taken in by him. And yet…and yet…it wasn't as though as she believed him right away. She had given him a chance to see if he wanted to make amends but she had expected him not to have changed from the boy she once knew. He proved her so wrong. She should have hated him for that.
She had wound up loving him instead. And she knew he loved her too. She knew he loved her still, just as she loved him still. But Draco was nothing if not stubborn, and tried though she might, she had been unable to convince him things didn't have to end this way. He had been dead set on his path, ignoring all her pleas. And she knew he had been affected, when she had started telling him about her dreams of the two of them in the future, painting the perfect picture of them with their children. For a moment, she had thought she had finally got through to him. She could see her vision reflected in his eyes.
But he had proven her wrong once more. Even now, she could feel the bitterness of his words against her skin. If she closed her eyes, she could hear him now, screaming on and on how she didn't understand him, how she didn't realize the duty he had to his family, and how she couldn't accept reality—a reality which dictated that the two of them couldn't last and so she should just agree to end things with him before he got in too deep. And though it hurt—so much she didn't think there were any words that could describe just how much—part of her wanted to just close her eyes and pretend that he was still there, shouting at her.
Pretending wasn't going to do her any good.
Reluctantly she opened her eyes and looked around her. He wasn't here. Her flat seemed so large and empty without him. She was going to have to get used to that. When morning broke, she was going to have get out of bed and face the world. She was going to have to move forward, put one foot in front of the other, without knowing when she would ever see him again. But she silently vowed that if in the future their paths ever did cross again, she would not let him leave her so easily.
That thought made her feel a little better. Somehow it seemed right to think that way—just as she had given him a second chance, certainly he would give her one as well some day. She laid her head upon the nest of her arms, thinking happy thoughts. She knew that just like her, he dreamed of a future where they wound up together. Whenever she wasn't near, he yearned to see her, to touch her, to hold her. It was something she couldn't resist, and something he couldn't resist, and that would lead him back to her. When that happened, she would have him so enchanted that he wouldn't even dream of leaving. And then her dreams of their future would be made real.
It made her smile to imagine how he would try to use his Slytherin tactics upon their children. She could see him now, with that cocky smirk on his face, just waiting for their daughters to make their next move. He didn't have a plan of course—he never did, other than that of pure bravado—but he was full of confidence that he would be able to handle whatever came next.
He paused, not quite crediting his ears with what he had heard. Brown eyes stared up at him accusingly. Draco looked to his left and winced. Clearly Hermione was going to be of no help in this situation because she had lost all patience with him too. He was going to have to make it out on his own. He gulped and hoped that all his years in Slytherin would serve him well. Then he got to work.
Draco leaned back and sighed dramatically, shaking his head at his daughters. "Haven't you ever heard that it's bad luck to interrupt a story?" he protested.
Three pairs of brown eyes looked at him, each full to the brim with disbelief.
"They tend to take on lives of their own, don't you know?" he added. In unison, his wife and daughters all rolled their eyes at him. It was kind of sad how he had had no effect on any of the women in his life. "Merlin! It's hard to be the only wizard in the house," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that, darling?" asked Hermione.
"Nothing dear," he replied.
Aurora chose then and there to interrupt her parents' conversation. "Daddy! I don't remember saying I want a boring story."
"I didn't think it was boring. I was just getting to the good part," he responded defensively.
"Slowly," groused Talitha.
"Too slowly," agreed Aurora. "And boringly."
"That's not a word." Hermione frowned. She still wasn't able to let go of all of her swotty tendencies.
"Well it should be." Aurora crossed her arms and glowered at her father. "It's too slow and too boring. Are you trying to bore us to sleep?"
"Never that," said Draco. He didn't add that he would never bother with that for it would be far easier to spell his daughters to sleep. He briefly ran through his repertoire of spells, searching for one that would make the witches in his life appreciate him and his story-telling talents more.
He came up empty.
"Yes, well, I think I'll take it from here," Hermione said in her trademarked bossy tone of voice. "Your father might not intend to bore you to sleep, but I'm afraid that might wind up happening to all of us if I let him continue."
"I resent that remark, I'll have you know," he told her. He turned to face her, opening his eyes wide to appeal to her soft side. "Besides, you ought to let me continue. I haven't given you your happy ending yet."
"All the more reason to stop you. You know how I feel about those." Any bite to her words was countered by the smile she bestowed upon him. She leaned forward, her forehead lightly resting against his, and softly kissed his lips before he realized what she was doing. She grinned widely, then tilted her head to one side.
"I think I know just the sort of story you girls will like," she said. "It's the sort of story I'd always pester my mum to tell me about when I was a little girl. Like your father's, my story also takes place on a night much like this one—one which also hosted a grand ball." She winked saucily at her husband. "But unlike your father's, this story is about a man, not a boy. Makes it more exciting, I find." She launched into her tale.
He was the most handsome man in the entire room, and he knew it. Draco tried not to let it get to his head how eagerly he was sought after. It was sometimes damned hard, but he thought he did a very good job with it. Of course, it helped that Hermione was usually along to keep his ego in check.
He craned his neck, trying to catch the slightest glimpse of his witch. He grimaced at his results. Though he spotted witch after witch preening for his attention, he didn't see the one single person he most longed to see. There was no point, he decided, on remaining on the dance floor, particularly seeing how he had been bumped into countless times. So he made his way towards a spot where he could hide out and contemplate his next move.
He stood there as still as a statute, his arms crossed against his chest, lost in thought. His frown slowly twisted into a satisfied smirk as he considered the implications of his failure to find her. It meant she wasn't to be found dancing in the arms of another man. It also meant he wasn't likely to find her here.
Mentally he ran through a list of her favorite hiding spots in the manor. The library was one of them, but instinct told him not to bother looking there. She was probably still upset with him, to say the least. Hermione wasn't going to make it easy for him to find her tonight. On the other hand, she also wasn't likely to wander the manor at random. She knew better than that. He discounted the possibility that she hadn't even bothered to come. He knew her. In some things, they were alike. Draco knew she was some place nearby, where she could discreetly keep an eye on things whenever she felt the need. He wasn't the only one who got jealous.
Let's check the balconies then, he decided. Given Hermione's propensity for seeking out a bit of fresh air during any crowded event, it was the logical place to start. Now his only remaining problem was how to sneak out without getting caught by one of his friends—or worse, his mother. He shuddered involuntarily. Draco loved his mother, but if she waylaid him with some giggling tart by her side…he didn't really want to think of what sort of explosions might ensue.
So he kept to the shadows, flitting about the edges of the crowd. Several times he only escaped notice by quickly rushing to hide behind a pillar or a vase, and once even under a table, when he had been simply desperate to avoid the Greengrass sisters. It was an affront to his dignity, he supposed, but it was much better than being trapped into conversation with those two. Having to sneak around the way he did, however, meant that it took much longer than he would have liked to reach the set of balconies that faced the back gardens. But he did finally reach his target. Just as he had surmised, Hermione was standing alone on the middle balcony, her arms folded on the rail as she looked up and at the sky.
Draco paused, mid-step, struck by the simple beauty of the scene in front of him. The moon was a pale silver crescent in the dark sky, leaving the night to be illuminated by the stars. His witch's head was thrown back, and he could imagine her picking out what constellations that could be seen. He wondered if her eyes had sought out his namesake first. Hermione's unruly hair cascaded down her back, perfectly highlighted by her robes—a rich, deep velvety red done in finest silk and trimmed with gold. Without thinking, he crossed the distance between them, intent on running his fingers through her hair.
Right as he was reaching out his hand, however, she turned around. She offered him a brilliant smile, and he came undone. "I was wondering when you would get here," she told him.
"Where you waiting long?" he asked, almost absentmindedly, so distracted he was by her presence.
He couldn't explain it, but somehow Hermione looked so much better in person. She was a lovely sight whenever she appeared in his dreams, but his dreams couldn't compare to the real thing. She wasn't the most beautiful witch of his acquaintance. Indeed all of the witches his mother had ever thrown his way were far more beautiful than her. Still in his eye, none of them could match her. It was simply amazing. Whenever Hermione was side by side with another witch, the other witch always came off looking worse. Hermione made other witches seem too false, too made up, when she was around. The great beauties of his circle wound up looking like delicate, fragile dolls next to Hermione. Hermione, on the other hand, exuded a joie de vivre that enchanted him anew each time he saw her.
It was like magic, only better.
"Yes," she said, "but you always take too long when I'm waiting for you." She took a step towards him, leaving about an inch of space between them, so close that he breathed in what she breathed out, which only increased his feeling of intoxication. His heart beat soared, so tempting was her closeness. And that smile she gave him—it was unfair. It wasn't right how she could melt away all of his defenses with just a smile. It was impossible for him—with her so close and smiling at him the way she was—it was just impossible for him not to kiss her.
And so he did. It was brilliant, simply amazing, and so of course it had to end.
She gave him a soft look but said, "Don't think that I'm not still angry with you."
"Really?" He lifted one eyebrow in response to her assertion. "Then you've done an excellent job in fooling me. Brava."
She twitched her nose, and he knew that he had hit a sore spot with her. "Please. I know you're not that naïve. You know better than that, Draco." She sighed and turned away from him, walking back towards the rail. "Shouldn't you be getting back inside? I imagine your mother must be looking for you," she added bitterly.
"Hermione." He reached out a hand towards her, but then let it drop. They were still so close, but suddenly a chasm had opened up between them—one that he unfortunately knew all too well. "You know I love you," he said in a very small voice.
"You keep saying that," she replied, "but somehow you always manage to avoid choosing to be with me."
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
She stamped her foot. "Honestly! You know what I mean! Why do you always have to be so impossible?"
"It's in my nature," he quipped, trying to inject a bit of levity into the situation. "Now come on, Hermione. Let's be reasonable. You can't expect me just to turn my back on my family. Certainly I've never asked you to do the same to your family and friends."
She huffed indignantly. "Yes, but there's a difference. My family and friends have actually made an effort to welcome you. It's perfectly clear—almost stupidly so—that your parents still think of me as some phase that you'll eventually grow out of."
"I don't know about that. You did receive your own invite tonight. Certainly that's a step up from being ignored."
"Merlin!" She whirled around and poked him in his chest hard with her index finger. "I know perfectly well that the only reason why your mother invited me here tonight was so that I could witness her throwing witch after witch at you." She tilted her head to the side and considered what she had just said. "Or rather, throw you at witch after witch. Tell me, did any take?"
He bristled at that question. She knew the answer to that.
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Well? No response? Feeling guilty perhaps?"
He strode to the rail, stopping right beside her, and gripped it tightly with his hands. His whole frame shook with rage. His eyes sought out the scarlet blooms that he knew loomed in the gardens below. He pointed at them, and obligingly her gaze followed.
"They're lovely, Draco, but don't think that an assortment of flowers will—"
"I wouldn't dream of it, darling," he interrupted her. "I know you better than that." Left unsaid was his thought that she ought to know him better. He went on to say, "If I had my choice, I'd feed all of those giggling tarts to the roses over there. That would be perfect, don't you think? Just toss them over the edge and let nature do its work. And I would record the whole thing and send the memory to my mother. Maybe then she would get the hint."
"Carnivorous roses?" Hermione asked.
"Poisonous too." He sighed, trying to let go of his anger. "Fits the image you have of my mother, doesn't it?"
"You don't want me to answer that."
"No, I don't." He closed his eyes. It was so hard. He loved Hermione, but he loved his parents too. He didn't want to have to choose between them.
"I'm not asking you to." He opened his eyes and focused them on Hermione. Her head was down, her hair obscuring much of her face, but he could still see the wetness trailing down her cheeks. "I've never asked you to choose. I just wish…I just wish…."
"That you'd get your happy ending?" he said, completing her sentence for her.
"Oh never that. There's no such thing as a happy ending. Endings are inherently sad."
"But everything good has to come to an end."
"Don't believe the lies they tell you." She looked up at him again. "You have to understand, Draco. I love you, and so I don't want to force you to choose. But at the same time, you must realize your parents will continue this campaign against me until you stop them." She stepped forward and reached for his hands. "I wish there was something I could do. You don't know how many nights I've stayed up, racking my brain, trying to think of some way I could make this easier on you. But I can't. And I think that what we have and the dreams that we share…that you would want to fight for that."
He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She always knew just how to get to him. If he let her continue, she would regale him with the dreams she had for the future, dreams that included their having a family together. It was such an alluring thought—two girls with the same coffee-colored eyes as their mother, looking at him as they waited for him to read a bedtime story—but then again, it was just a dream. It wasn't meant to be real.
He took another breath and then ploughed forward. "Hermione…don't you think it's time that we just call it quits?"
An audible gasp sounded at those words. She cast a glance over at her daughters, their attention fully on her and the tale she was weaving. She smiled, happy with how they were hanging on to her every word. However, it was past time for her and Draco to put in an appearance, and she knew that they wouldn't like what she was going to do to them next.
"I'm afraid that's all the time we have for tonight," said Hermione primly, knowing that protests were certain to ensue. However, it was as good as place as any to stop.
"Mummy!" her daughters shrieked in unison.
"What?' she asked, grinning. "It's not my fault that I had so little time to tell you a story. But if you're good, I'll finish it tomorrow night."
"But that's not fair!" whined Aurora.
"No, it's not. You've hardly started," agreed Talitha. "I want to know how it turns out."
Draco coughed. "Well given that we're all here…isn't the ending obvious?"
Hermione shot him a sharp look. "I hardly think that we've ended at all. Aren't we still going?"
"I suppose so, at that," he said. The two of them worked together to convince their daughters it was time for them to go to sleep. It didn't take half as much effort as Hermione would have thought, as both Aurora and Talitha were already tired from staying up a good half hour past their bedtime. She took her husband's arm as they made their way downstairs to greet their guests. She yawned and then smiled. She rested her head against Draco's shoulder, amused at how tired story-telling had made her, as she yawned again.
She woke with a start. It took her a moment to realize where she was, so life-like that dream had been. She glanced at the clock. It had only been a handful of hours since she had seen him last, and already she was falling apart. Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to cry. Yes, she had almost reached him. But almost wasn't good enough. He wasn't here with her, and she didn't know when she would see him again.
Hermione bit her lip. There was no point in dwelling over such thoughts. She rose from her chair and made her way to her bedroom. She started changing out of her dress robes. It was a sad thing, really. She had grown so used to him standing there, lightly teasing her about how modest she still was with him, despite how long they had been together. She didn't have to close her eyes to remember that look that he would always give her. She knew that he loved her. Even with him gone, its presence adorned the room, a bittersweet comfort that she could not live without.
She threw her robes into a small pile beside her bed, too tired to clean up after herself, and pulled out one of his old shirts. Hermione briefly held it up to her nose, inhaling his scent before putting it on. She climbed into bed and looked at his side. Somehow that made her feel better. He still had a place in her home, even if he didn't know it just yet. It didn't take much imagination for her to see him there, right beside her. She fell asleep, wondering where he could be.
He didn't know what time it was when he woke. He gingerly shifted in his seat and looked up at the night sky. The moon had long since faded. Only a few stars lingered, offering little relief against the pitch dark. He figured it must be close to dawn.
Draco exhaled loudly. He rubbed his hands together as he pondered what his next move should be. He remained exhausted, but he knew that he couldn't afford to linger here too long. Already he had wasted too much precious time falling asleep the way he did.
However, he didn't realize how tired he still was until he tried to get up. His legs protested vehemently as he rose to his feet, and he winced as he tried to walk the stiffness out. Draco was in really bad shape. He paused after a few feet to rest against a tree, drawing in huge gulps of air. Somehow he felt like he was drowning, unable to get enough air to breathe.
This wasn't good. His muscles were dead weary. It didn't make any sense to him. He frowned to himself, feeling as though he was forgetting about something very important. However, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't remember what it was that he was forgetting.
In the end, he took the easier course of action and gave up. He groggily settled down on the forest floor, his mind replaying everything Hermione had said to him. He smiled warmly as he remembered how she cajoled him with images of the family that they would have together, never noticing how his breath was slowly becoming visible.
The forest that morning was full of ice, even though it was still the midst of summer. Frozen twigs crunched under their boots as they walked in silence side by side, an awful reminder of the Dementors who had been there before. Neither of the two was happy with this turn of events. Each of them just wanted to get this all over with, but unfortunately it wasn't possible to apparate to the location that had been flagged out for them. Thus they trod on, both obviously disheartened, until they reached their destination.
Before them upon the ground laid a wizard, who was unnaturally still. His identity was apparent from his shockingly white head of hair.
"Died with a smile on his face." Ron snorted derisively. "Too good an end for him."
Harry sighed. "Even though I don't know just what happened last night, I'm rather certain that Hermione would disagree with you there," he said, his voice carrying a hint of a reprimand.
Ron's demeanor only grew colder. "Yeah, Hermione. I take it you haven't been by her flat, mate."
"No. I had no time, said Harry, shaking his head. "My team was too busy trying to track Malfoy down. Kingsley had decided to use the Dementors and I knew Hermione wouldn't want that. Unfortunately he was dead when Boot found him."
"Good," Ron spat out viciously. "That's very good. You would've been too soft." Ron clenched his fists at his side. "I went there last night, just in case he had gone there. I found her."
Harry let out a gasp. "Hermione? But she's—"
"Still there, waiting for him to return. She never even noticed me. Bloody bastard never deserved her." Ron moved closer to the corpse and prodded it with his foot. "But he's dead at least. There's some justice in that."
Harry knelt down and took a better look at Draco's body. He hadn't noticed it at first, but the expression on Draco's face was one of joy, not fear. "Whatever Malfoy's last thoughts had been, they had to be happy ones," said Harry slowly, as the gears turned in his head. "He must have died before the Dementors got here. I wonder what could have killed him."
"Bah! Figures that Malfoy managed to cheat the Dementors of his death."
Harry stood up. He absently took off his fogged over glasses and wiped them with his robes. "That's not the only thing that was cheated last night," he remarked sagely. "Let's go. There's nothing else we can do here." The sun's rays burst through the trees, chasing the remains of the night away.
Slowly stray rays of light teased her awake, until she couldn't sleep no more. Immediately she turned over to look at the other side of the bed, needing reassurance that she had just had a bad dream. She smiled at the sight of him, curled up beside her, his chest rising and falling with each breath while a gentle smile formed on his lips.
One day she would show him that the dream they shared could come true. But until then, she would let him slumber and continue to believe that they would one day end. She knew better than that. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead before she got up out of bed to start the day.
Hopefully he would wake up soon.
****
Author's note: Reviews would be lovely.