An Aversion to Change - Alternate Ending
Within a moment, Hermione was ready. She met Draco at the top of the staircase. They rushed down at equal speed. He tore open the portrait hole and was about to sprint down the hallway when Salazar called out from the frame. His words, or more accurately, his tone, stopped them both.
"So it's begun, eh?" he said with a sick humor on his voice. "I knew it would soon. But why rush to get out there? What good could you two possibly do?"
"One person can change the course of history," said Hermione tersely. "Who knows what will happen with two."
"Wise words from one so utterly foolish."
"We do inot/i have time for this," Draco said waspishly. He gripped Hermione's arm and started off quickly down the hallway.
"It is more than just your life that hangs in the balance here, boy!" Salazar yelled to them. Then, after a moment: "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I don't have a choice!" Draco yelled back. There was an edge to his voice that Hermione had heard only a few times before: desperation. On only a few occasions had she ever known Draco to be desperate; neither of them had ended well. The fact that one of those times was now did nothing to quell her mounting fear or allay the ominous feeling that had taken residence in her heart.
"There's always a choice," Salazar replied scathingly.
Unexpectedly, Draco's hand plunged into his robes, withdrawing his wand faster than Hermione thought possible. "Reducto!" he snarled, face more bestial than human.
Salazar gasped and dove out of the way just before Draco's curse hit. The portrait was ripped to shreds, but Hermione swore she heard Salazar's faint cackle drifting down the hallway. She looked at Draco like he was a stranger, her face a mask of confusion and outrage.
"Draco! What the devil was that for?"
He growled in reply and gripped her hand again. Together, they sprinted through the castle, weaving through the throngs of sleepy students that had risen at the noise. Before the few professors that were stationed inside could get a handle on the situation, Draco and Hermione launched out of the door and onto the grounds. In the distance, she could see beams of light and jerky black figures. The shouts grew fiercer as they approached, but neither tarried.
As the distance between Hermione and the battle lessened, gory details slowly filled in the missing pieces of her mental sketch. Unidentifiable bodies scattered the field, lying stiff and prone, unnaturally configured on the dark grass. As much as she wanted to know who these people were, either to mourn or rejoice, she did not stop. Those that were still fighting needed her. Chances were, even with what little help she could give, they would not need her for long; already the fight seemed to be narrowed down – only the strongest were still alive.
Draco had disappeared, no doubt fighting his own battles, as Hermione shot Stunning spell after Stunning spell at Death Eaters. Right as she was about to hex a huge, burly man, fog encroached around her vision and her heart became as ice. Her breath caught in her chest. Dementors. Lots of them. Ignoring the Death Eater, Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated. She thought of Draco and only Draco – lying with him, flying with him, the feel of his hands on her face, of his lips upon her neck. She loved him more than she had ever loved anything else. That gave her all the power she needed.
The force of her Patronus's appearance from her wand nearly sent her staggering backward. But what really caused her to step back was the form her Patronus had taken. Instead of an otter, the most spectacular dragon Hermione had ever seen burst from her wand: streamlined, sleek, and a shimmering pearly white. The Dementors stood no chance. They disappeared immediately, abandoning the battlefield and retreating to whatever dark and terrible place they came from. Mouth agape with shock, Hermione watched her new Patronus fly around her for a moment before disappearing. All she felt was elation as she turned to the battle once more.
From what she could distinguish through the chaos of light and sound, it looked like the battle could not go better. Lupin was to her left fiercely fighting Fenrir Greyback, the former using a wand, the latter attempting to use brute strength. To her right, Hagrid and Madame Maxine were engaging a full-fledged giant, one of the few that had deigned to come from the mountains to fight. Grawp was beyond them, tangling with two more. Luna dodged hexes from a Death Eater, looking more like she was participating in some intricate and foreign dance than a battle for her life. Ron and the Weasley clan were nowhere to be seen.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Neville single-handedly fighting off Bellatrix Lestrange. Her face was contorted and her teeth were bared in an ugly grimace as she hexed Neville mercilessly. The Cruciatus Curse brought him to his knees and, when it looked like the fight had been all but finished, Bellatrix's concentration broke. Neville sprang to his feet as if the pain never happened and hit her with one of the strongest Stunning Spells Hermione had ever seen. The mad woman dropped to the ground, stiff as a board. Before the effects wore off, Neville summoned her wand and pocketed the evil bit of wood, then cast a quick, "Incarcerous" and levitated her towards the Forbidden Forest, hiding her behind a tree. Hermione's heart swelled. For the moment, the panorama looked hopeful: it seemed like they were gaining ground. It seemed like they would win.
But as the air before her cleared of smoke, the fleeting sensation of triumph disappeared completely and she was cruelly reminded of just how quickly the tide could turn.
What she saw froze her in place. Voldemort, his long black robes billowing in the wind, held Ginny in front of him like a shield, one pale, long hand wrapped tightly around her neck. She gasped piteously for air, her small hands scrabbling viciously at his. Hermione could see her nails rake into his flesh, but he did not give an inch, instead tightening his deadly grip. Her brown eyes fluttered as she struggled for air; her face took an unnatural pale-blue tint.
She heard a strangled cry and turned her head. It was Harry. His face was contorted into an expression of anguish, all the blood drained from it. Even from a distance, Hermione saw his body involuntarily shake. She drew a deep breath and watched the intense exchange.
"Let her go, Voldemort!" he yelled. "This is between you and me. She has nothing to do with any of it!"
"Ah, but she has everything to do with it," Voldemort said slowly. He caressed the side of her face with the tip of his wand, trailing it from her hairline to her chin, blood dripping from the thin line it traced. She bit back a whimper as her friend grimaced in pain. "She reminds me of someone, Harry. Someone I killed sixteen years ago…Ah, but you never really knew her, did you? She was just a memory to you, and never will be more."
"My mother," Harry said softly, his green eyes widening.
Voldemort smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming in the pale moonlight. "Your mother," he repeated, "who died to save you. You know, I wonder if this girl will do the same…" He pointed his wand against her head and said, "Avada Ked-"
"No!" shouted Harry. "Wait!"
The battlefield stilled: Death Eater and Order member alike stopped to watch the final exchange. Voldemort turned his head back to Harry and barked in what was assumed to be laughter. "Wait, Potter? There is no 'wait' in this situation! I know you destroyed my Horcruxes! Waiting was what allowed you to progress so far! I dare say I underestimated you; Lord Voldemort is not so proud to ignore his…oversights." His snake-like face contorted into a guilty grimace.
He continued. "But if nothing else, I have learned! I will wait no longer! You must make your choice! Your life or hers? Do you save the one you love? Or do you see her die and live the rest of your life knowing that you are the one responsible for her death? That she died because of you!" A silent moment, a moment of hesitation, passed. "CHOOSE, POTTER!" Voldemort yelled, digging his wand further into Ginny's head.
Fear struck Hermione's heart. Harry had worked so hard to destroy the Horcruxes, but had he worked as hard on mastering his emotions, on squelching that damned 'hero complex' which had caused them all so much grief over the past years? As much as she hoped he had, she knew immediately what his choice would be. "No, Harry!" Hermione yelled, now miraculously able to move.
She dashed towards him, legs furiously pounding the ground. Little did Hermione know that another pair of legs was rushing towards the scene as well. They barreled into her with a deep grunt, knocking her brutally to the ground. The breath whooshed out of her and her wand flew away. Momentarily unable to breathe, she watched in horror as Harry's frame wilted. He lowered his wand and said resignedly, "Let her go."
"Throw down your wand," Voldemort ordered, not missing a beat.
He did, tossing it away violently – too far away to be retrieved. "Let her go, Voldemort!" Harry yelled. His hands were fisted at his sides and his teeth bared threateningly, green eyes flashing.
His order was met with a cold, cruel laugh and a sadistic smile. "Avada Ked-"
"NO!" Harry threw one hand out, brandishing it as if he still had a wand between his fingers. He didn't say a word, his green eyes focused solely on Voldemort. His fingers were still, his body, statuesque. It was as if time had frozen.
But in no more than a moment, everything changed. Without a flicker in his expression, Voldemort crumpled. Ginny went down with him, somehow rolling herself out of his grasp before he could land atop her. The battlefield was silent as Ginny got to her feet and, clutching her throat, joined the rest of the combatants in staring at Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Vanquish the Dark Lord.
Harry ignored the looks. Wordlessly summoning his wand, he strode over to Ginny and engulfed her in one of the fiercest hugs Hermione had ever seen. Then, the spell was broken. Almost simultaneously, Order members leveled their wands at defeated Death Eaters, who silently dropped their own, staring at their fallen Lord in shock.
Still uncomfortably pinned to the ground, Hermione rammed an elbow up into her attacker's side. The violent nudge was met with a familiar grunt and a hissed curse. The weight rolled off of her and Hermione picked herself up, looking at Draco in surprise.
The blonde boy breathed quickly, sitting back on his hands and staring at the deceased Lord Voldemort in shock. "I did it…" he said quietly. "I can't believe I did it. Hermione…he's dead."
It was surreal. Hermione followed his eyes to Harry, who was steadfastly avoiding Voldemort's corpse. He milled around with the Order members, Ginny by his side, helping to unmask and secure the Death Eaters. He talked with Moody for a moment, who then sent off his Patronus. A minute later, several Ministry officials Apparated to the scene.
A wave of realization crashed into her. It really was over.
And Hermione could not think of one clever thing to say. The battle was cataclysmic, but there was an air of uncertainty about the battleground now. What should she say? What should she do? It seemed like there was no better idea than to sit on the ground and stare blankly at Draco. So she did, until a question prompted her to speak.
"Why did you stop me?"
Draco jerked out of his reverie. "The Dark Lord had his hostage," he answered quietly. "If you rushed in to be the heroic sidekick, he would've killed you without a second thought. I couldn't let that happen."
"But what if Harry failed?"
"Potter is obviously capable enough to handle himself," Draco said sternly. He cast a sly glance to his right and looked away quickly. A group of Order members, with a deranged-looking Channing Orman bound between them, prodded along by Harry Potter himself, was headed towards them. He picked himself up from the ground quickly and helped Hermione up. Keeping hold of her hand, he started to drag her away.
"Hermione!" shouted Harry.
Draco or no Draco, Hermione could never ignore the call of one of her best friends – especially Harry, even if he did sound less-than-pleased at the moment. She stopped in her tracks, feeling Draco tug back on her arm, whispering, "This isn't going to go well, Hermione. Please, let's go."
She ignored him and dropped his hand, running to Harry and throwing her arms around his neck. "You did it, Harry! You did it!" Her eyes welled with tears of joy, a few of which dripped onto her cheeks. Harry embraced her for a second, then slowly pushed her away, hands bracing her shoulders. All of the stress he had endured over the past months had finally reached his eyes; they looked older. Wiser. But the new-found maturity did not temper their wicked sparkle.
"Hermione, what are you doing with him?"
"Him? Him who?"
"Him," Harry all but snarled, jerking his chin towards Draco with a scowl. "That filthy piece of ferret. What are you doing with him?"
A cold fist closed itself around Hermione's heart. She had completely forgotten that, before Harry had called to her, she had been holding Draco's hand. There was no way she could explain or excuse such a blatant display of friendliness. And the fact that he was standing directly behind her now, his expression stuck halfway between seething and scared, did nothing to help the situation.
So, she didn't bother. Taking two steps towards Draco, Hermione grabbed his hand and resumed her spot before Harry and a growing group of Order members. Remus shot Hermione a curious look and Moody half-watched impassively, his blue eye entirely focused on Channing, who was glaring daggers at anyone who cared to make eye contact.
Her gaze jumped from face to face as she tried to gauge reactions and simultaneously think of an easy way to tell them that she was in love with Draco Malfoy. There seemed to be no better way than just to say it, and she was about to until she caught Harry's eyes again. His look was so intense and so full of hatred that the words flew right out of Hermione's head, leaving her speechless.
"Hermione?" he ground out through clenched teeth.
Draco squeezed her hand reassuringly. She looked at him out of her peripheral vision; his face was set determinately, chin held high and eyes haughty with disdain. It was everything she hated about him and everything she loved.
Suddenly, the words just came tumbling out. "I love him, Harry."
A moment of pregnant silence. Then he spoke so quietly she could barely make out his words. "You what?"
Hermione took a deep breath and repeated the sentiment with conviction. "I love him. I love him, Harry, like you love Ginny. He's…he's everything to me. I…" Her cheeks pinked and her smile lit up the torn battlefield as she searched the sky for words. "I can't imagine a day without him. He's…he's everything I never knew I needed. He's an intellectual foil and a constant challenge. He's frustrating and stubborn and a complete git, but he's…he's mine. I love him." Draco squeezed her hand again and she looked at him again. His mouth was still twisted into a haughty sneer, but his eyes had softened.
He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. Hermione felt like she could fly.
Harry was silent, gaping at the confession. Remus, sensing the boy's unease, stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps, Harry, we should deal with this later, when everything has calmed down."
There was no hesitation this time. "No." His reply was so harsh and grating that Hermione could hardly believe it was his voice. "We deal with this now. All Death Eaters must be brought to justice; this is no exception."
Hermione rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated laugh. "If you're so intent on rounding up the Death Eaters, then what the devil are you still doing here?"
Harry ignored her. "He's lying to you." His green eyes flashed with conviction; Hermione was momentarily doubtful. She shook off the feeling quickly, feeling Draco's hand tense in her own. No, he needed her now.
"Don't be silly, Harry. He's not the same person."
"People don't change, Hermione!" Harry all but screamed. "He doesn't change! He's lied to you…lied to all of us!"
Harry's accusations were starting to lose their naïve charm. "Stop it, Harry. You don't know him, not like I do."
"You don't know him at all, Hermione! You've lost objectivity by being too close! Take a step back. Hell, take a few, and tell me what you see. The infamous Draco Malfoy shows up on the steps of Grimmauld Place one fine morning, claiming to have renounced his Death Eater ways, begging for sanctuary. Orman, of all people, performs the Legilimency test and suddenly he's back at Hogwarts and back with you. He started becoming chummy with you, didn't he?" Harry's tone was turning sour now, derision dripping like venom from a snake's fangs. "Suddenly he was vulnerable, needed your help. He played to your sympathy, Hermione, and you fell for it hard."
"He was vulnerable!" Hermione interrupted, her cheeks growing hot with anger. "This place was hell for him! And I don't care who he was or what he did, he didn't deserve that kind of treatment!"
"Did you ever stop to consider that maybe that kind of treatment is exactly what a betraying sack of filth like him deserves?"
"You don't know what he was going through! Your accusations are based off assumptions; you didn't have to see…You didn't have to be there!"
"No!" he shouted, "I didn't, because I was too busy saving the damned world!"
Something in Hermione snapped. "Well, it's not my fault that some raging psychotic murdered your family! Being the hero was your destiny, not mine!"
"Oh, you're blaming me for my destiny now?"
"ENOUGH!" shouted Remus, stepping between the two warring friends. "This has gone far enough! Why don't we just let her hear what we heard, Harry? Let Malfoy defend himself if he sees fit and let Hermione draw her own conclusions. She's an intelligent girl, after all," he said, shooting Hermione a pointed look. "Surely she can put her feelings aside for a few moments of objectivity."
Color rose high on Hermione's cheeks and she lifted her chin into the air. She could hardly speak without snarling. "What is your proof?"
"Orman," Remus answered. Draco's hand grew suddenly clammy in her own, but she hardly noticed.
"What do you mean?"
"That mission he supposedly gave you? A ruse; nothing more than a ploy for information. Orman was working for Voldemort, Hermione. Has been ever since his initiation. He's been leaking information across our boundaries through a private Floo connection."
"There, then," Hermione interrupted. "You have your guilty party. What's this to do with us?"
"Orman wasn't acting alone." All eyes flicked to Draco, whose stature seemed to have wilted the slightest bit. Remus continued. "Malfoy arrived at Grimmauld Place under direct orders from Voldemort. His mission was to get close to Harry and pass along anything he may have learned. Unknowingly, the Order sending him back to Hogwarts only facilitated his deception. He was able to get close to you and you, being who you are…"
Hermione unconsciously gripped Draco's hand tighter. "No." Her voice was low and fierce. "That can't be true. After everything…this whole year…" She shook her head violently. "No!" Her brown eyes flashed as they connected with Remus'. "Proof. Where's your proof?"
"Alastor?"
With a swift flick of his wand, Orman's gag was replaced with a bottle of Veritaserum. A few drops trickled into his mouth and down his gullet, much to his obvious displeasure. Moody waited a few moments before prodding Orman with his wand.
"Name?"
"Channing Thomas Orman," he grunted.
"Patronus form?"
Through clenched teeth: "Toad."
"The potion's taken affect, Remus. Fire away."
"Thank you, Alastor," Remus said, inclining his head to the ex-Auror. With arms crossed over his chest and wand gripped tightly, he stepped to the side so that Hermione's view of Orman was unobstructed. Quietly, he asked his questions, and Channing answered loyally but unenthusiastically, as if the truth was being ripped from his throat.
"Who did you work for?"
"The Dark Lord."
"And what was your mission in coming to the Order of the Phoenix?"
"Information."
"For what purpose?"
"He…he needed to know what you were planning."
"And were you working alone?"
Orman shot Hermione a quick, cocky smile. Draco's hand clenched around her own and she could hear him exhale slowly through his nostrils. After a moment more, Orman answered. "No."
"There was another person in the Order working for Voldemort?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
Hermione held her breath as Orman bared his teeth in an even wider, even more sadistic grin. "Draco Malfoy."
Her intake of breath was so sudden that it hurt. Draco Malfoy. She turned slowly to the boy at her side as everyone else watched, deathly silent, waiting for the crash.
"Draco…" she whispered. "Draco, please, if you love me, tell me it's not true."
"It's not true," he whispered back. His voice lacked conviction and he could not meet her eyes. She withdrew her hand from his and let it fall limply at her side.
"But it is true, isn't it? Orman was under Veritaserum; there was no way he could have lied." She took a step backwards and looked at him like he was a stranger which, she supposed, he was. "Everything they said was true."
"Hermione…" he took a step closer to her, "Hermione, it started out that way, but I didn't want to…I couldn't…"
She was incredulous. "But you did. You did, Draco. After all that we've been through…all of the trust…" Her heart, which had been glowing with warmth and happiness not five minute prior, felt like it had been ripped from her chest. She suddenly ached all over. Her thoughts were scattered and she could hardly see for the tears in her eyes. "None of it was real," she murmured, "none of it."
"No!" Draco took another step forward and took Hermione's arms in his hands. "No, Hermione! All of it was real! Everything! This!" he said, grasping her wrist and pulling it up between them. "This is real! We are real! Hermione, I love you! Please!"
Hermione looked sadly between Draco's zealous face and the delicate pieces of silver dangling from her wrist. Slowly, she withdrew her wrist from his hand and deftly undid the clasp.
"No, Draco," she said, dumping the bracelet into his statuesque outstretched hand. "No. If you loved me, you would've told me the truth. You would've told me about this deception before it even happened and we could've stopped the deaths of six friends and countless others." Her chin quivered and her whole body shook. "But you didn't." Hermione could feel a sob welling up in her throat, practically choking her. This was too much. All of it…too much. She needed to say it now, else she never would.
"Goodbye, Draco Malfoy." And with all the mettle she had in her, Hermione Jean Granger turned her back on the man she loved. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she heard Moody cast the Incarcerous spell and ordered him to be taken to Azkaban with the other Death Eaters. There were several simultaneous pops, after which Hermione turned around.
There was no one.
He was gone.
With a keening wail, Hermione fell to her knees amidst the scorch marks and singed grass. She sobbed into her hands, biting her lips to keep from screaming, clenching her eyes shut so she didn't rip them out of her skull. Dawn was just beginning to break, but it felt like the dead of night. Hermione was alone.
She would never see him again.
"Hermione…" came Harry's voice. It was soft now, normal. Like everything was back to the way it was. Like nothing had changed. Except everything had.
He said her name again and she ignored him, but when he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, she could not contain her rage.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Her fists were balled tightly, her short nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm. "AREN'T YOU HAPPY NOW? HE'S GONE! AREN'T YOU CONTENT?"
"Hermione…"
"NO!" She jumped to her feet and advanced upon him threateningly. "NO, Harry Potter! You go on and you live your happy little life, but stay the fuck out of mine!" Before Harry could even open his mouth to reply, Hermione was gone, transformed into a fox and hidden away in the Forbidden Forest.
She did not return for three months.
Six Years Later
A knock at the door.
Hermione glanced at the clock on the mantle. The hands pointed straight up to the twelve – midnight. Although it was not uncommon for her to be up this late, she was not at all accustomed to visitors at such an hour. The knock sounded again, more insistent and, this time, accompanied by a voice.
"Hermione!" shouted Harry. "Hermione, I know you're still awake! Open up!"
She sighed in exasperation. Harry was not exactly her favorite person right now. Hell, he was not exactly her favorite person for six years. Ever since the battle. Ever since Dr-
No, she scolded herself. Don't even think it, Hermione Jean. Don't even. Not tonight.
"Hermione! I will blast down this door!"
"I'm coming, Harry!" she shouted back. She set down her book on the edge of her chair and hefted herself up to answer the damned door. "You could've just let yourself in, you know," she grumbled as Harry strode past her and shrugged off his coat.
"I know you like the ceremony." He tossed his coat onto the arm of her couch and ran a hand through his hair. "Have any tea?"
She looked at him like he was crazy. "Harry…it's midnight. No, I don't have any tea at the moment."
"Oh." His face fell slightly.
Hermione had to squelch every hospitable instinct she ever felt. Before she could feel guilty enough to put a kettle on, she asked him the obvious question: "What are you doing here?"
He hesitated for a moment. "I just got out of work and had the idea to stop by for a chat."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "At midnight?"
"Well, Aurors work strange hours…You know that."
"Doesn't Ginny want you home? I'm sure your children miss you."
"Ginny knows I'm here, and the kids should be in bed by now."
"Oh. Well, what do you want to chat about, then?" Hermione crossed her arms and tried not to let her annoyance show. She didn't like visitors.
Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Look, maybe it'd be best if we sat down. And perhaps you could…?"
Hermione sighed. How did he always do this?
"Fine, I'll put the kettle on. Make yourself at home."
She heard Harry do just that as she made her way to the kitchen of her modest two-bedroom house. As she filled the kettle with water and grabbed some biscuits, she heard Harry stroll casually around her living room. She closed her eyes and imagined what he was doing, what he was thinking.
There were no pictures in Hermione's living room. Only books. Two bookshelves entirely filled with them. She'd read each one at least twice. They were her favorite – no, her only companions. There was a dusty radio sitting in the corner, but it was more there out of habit than anything else. The furniture was simple, perhaps even a bit drab. It was a strange floral pattern that she found for cheap at an estate sale one afternoon. She didn't like the pieces – far from it, in fact – but they were functional.
What he must think of me, she thought. The great Hermione Granger, fallen so far from where she was, all because of...STOP!
She grimaced in frustration and winced as the kettle started to scream. When she brought the prepared tray out into the living room, she saw Harry leafing through a two-year old copy of The Prophet.
"I've been meaning to recycle those…" She set the tea tray on her coffee table and took a seat. Harry made an affirmative noise in the back of his throat and sat down opposite her, fixing himself a cup and helping himself to a biscuit. Hermione watched him eat and drink, hands folded in her lap, waiting.
Soon, Harry's munching was all either could hear. The silence became awkward quite quickly.
"Oh, do say something, won't you?" Harry grumbled. "You're too still; it's unnerving."
"I'm just not used to company."
"I know. We hadn't heard from you in a while. Why don't you come to the Weasleys' for Sunday brunch anymore?"
Hermione grimaced. Her three month sojourn into the Forbidden Forest did little to heighten her popularity anywhere, much less with the Weasley clan. When she returned, it was to barely-concealed questions of her character and not-so-subtle reprimands, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley and Ron. iEspecially/i Ron. After six years, they had only begun to abate, but not before wearing on Hermione's last nerve. The last Sunday brunch she attended had ended in a shouting match between her and Ron. Mrs. Weasley got involved soon after and…Simply put, it was a mess.
"I have a distinct feeling I'm not welcome there anymore," she responded quietly. Harry grimaced as well, obviously reliving the same memory.
"That was over seven months ago, Hermione. I'm sure they've forgiven you by now."
Hermione's brown eyes blazed to life; a rare occurrence. "It is not I who need forgiving," she snapped.
Harry looked rightly scorned and mumbled an apology. "You haven't been the same, Hermione. Not since the Battle at Hogwarts."
"Six years ago tonight," she bristled. "Is that really so surprising?"
"I just thought…Well, we all thought that you would get over him, you know? I mean, he betrayed us! He almost cost us the war!"
"No," Hermione snarled. "I betrayed us. I almost cost us the war. I was feeding Draco the information. I was the one responsible for our near-defeat. Me. It should be me in that hell-hole, not him. But no matter how many times I swear to this, nothing ever changes."
Harry smiled condescendingly. "Do you really think the Wizengamot would condemn a member of the Golden Trio to Azkaban, Hermione?" Hermione glared at him, but Harry's smile persisted. "You should be happy you're out here. Although the Dementors are banished, Azkaban is still not a very pleasant place."
"And how does that make me feel better?"
Harry paused and looked troubled for a moment. "I guess it doesn't," he admitted. "But I'm far off track." Harry gulped his tea and stood up. "Hermione, I need you to come with me."
She remained seated, looking up at him. "Why should I go anywhere with you?"
"Hermione, could you, just this once, pretend that nothing happened? Could you pretend that nothing has changed and just trust me again?" Hermione pursed her lips. "I'm asking you as a friend. Please, for me, for yourself, just trust me tonight."
Hermione sneered, not at Harry, but at the situation in general. "Where are we going?"
Harry smiled, donned his coat, and held out his hand. "Just hold onto me."
Hermione did as she was told and turned simultaneously with Harry, letting him guide her while Apparating. When they landed, it was on an uneven surface. The smell of the sea was strong – nearly suffocating – and the wind was bitingly cold for spring.
Azkaban.
Harry nodded, like she had spoken aloud, and shoved several rolls of parchment into her hands. "We're worried about you, Hermione. You're thin, you're pale, you're reclusive. When we do see you, you never smile. I can't remember the last time I heard you laugh." He cupped her face gently; his palm was warm against her skin. "We just want the old Hermione back, that's all."
Hermione clutched the scrolls. "So what are these?"
"I pulled some strings with Seamus, explained your situation and held a couple interviews. This smaller scroll will get you into the prison. Once you get in, ask to see Cormac McLaggen – he's the warden."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why does that not surprise me?"
Harry chuckled. "Life does have a funny way of doing that, doesn't it? But ask to see McLaggen and then give him this scroll. He'll take care of things from there."
"And after that?"
At that instant, Harry's expression was unreadable. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Now go," he said, sweeping her into a hug, "and promise me one thing."
"Yes?"
"Start coming to Sunday brunches again." He gave her a weak smile, which she returned. "I love you, Hermione. We all do. Never forget that." With a final squeeze, Harry took two steps back and Disapparated, leaving Hermione alone and cold on the desolate piece of rock that was Azkaban Fortress. But she hardly noticed the temperature anymore; she was a few scrolls away from what would undoubtedly be a turning point in her life. And as terrible as it was, she couldn't decide what she wanted to do.
For a full five minutes, she stood there, her hair whipped into a frenzy around her head by the wind and her limbs cold and numbed from the delicate sea spray. Sighing, Hermione cursed, and made her way towards the prison. She had to see him. Harry had gotten her this far, after all, and to stop now when she would never have another chance…The Gryffindor in her couldn't abide it.
Eventually, she found the door, where she was greeted by two dour-looking guards. One led her to McLaggen, who tried to tempt her into reliving old memories. Hermione's deep-seated disgust for the man sorely tempted her to leave. She almost told him as much, but then remembered the scroll he held. No, she would bite her tongue.
McLaggen led her down a set of stairs, through a thick stone door, down more stairs, and through an enchanted barrier until they reached a long corridor.
"He's the last cell on the left," he told her. "I'm sure you'll recognize him."
Hermione nodded, clenching her teeth together tightly; she could taste bile in the back of her throat. She managed to bite out a quick, "Thank you," before he left her alone.
To say the hallway was intimidating would've been an understatement. It was absolutely terrifying. There was hardly any light: a few dim globes flickered precariously above the wet stone floor, offering very little illumination and absolutely no comfort. The walls were dripping with…with something and the air was beyond stale. It was nauseating. Hermione wasn't sure how anyone would be able to survive in here, but then again, maybe that was the point…
By the time she had finished categorizing the hallway, she was halfway down it. The whole time, she had been focused on what was in front of her. In a moment's mistake, she looked to the side. Inside the cells, behind thick iron bars, were what once could be considered men. They looked normal. Oh, by all accounts, they looked fine. Their figures were filled-out and healthy, albeit filthy. Their hair was a bit matted and most had beards which desperately needed maintaining, but they could pass for human easily.
Until you looked at their eyes. Something in them wasn't quite right. They were opened wide, wide enough so that the whites around the iris were easily visible. Even in the low light, Hermione could tell they were glazed with sickness, madness, or both. She wondered what kinds of charms were placed on the cells. Could they not hear? Could they not be heard? Either way, a chill rushed up Hermione's spine. She quickened her pace and turned her eyes forward until she reached the last cell on the left.
Hermione sucked in a deep breath.
There he was.
Sitting on the floor against the middle of the wall, watching the bars expectantly. He looked mostly the same. His pale hair was longer and he had a rather unsightly beard, but other than that…Even his eyes hadn't changed. Hermione thanked Merlin for that; had his eyes changed, she may have just walked away without a word.
But his grey eyes were the same and they were staring at her just as she was staring at him. After several moments of silence, Draco spoke.
"I was wondering when you'd come." His voice was raw, suffering from disuse. "When Potter came in here four months ago, he explained everything to me. He told me that you were sick and that seeing me might help you. So Hermione," he asked, rising to his feet, "are you sick?"
Hermione gulped and fought the urge to take another step away from the bars. She was in shock; it was him. In an instant, everything came flooding back. Their hatred, their love, his deception…A wave of heat followed by a severe chill. Her stomach churned. Though she wasn't sick before, she was afraid she might be now.
"I know you tried to testify for me before the Wizengamot," he continued, stepping closer to the bars. "You shouldn't have. I needed to pay for my crime. This sentence doesn't even begin to rectify what I did to you."
"You weren't only guilty one, Draco." Her voice was weaker than she meant it to be. "I betrayed the Order and all I got was a slap on the wrist."
"You didn't do so knowingly. I tricked you. It wasn't your fault."
"But if I had just listened…"
"Yes, yes," Draco interrupted, "everything would be different. But it isn't."
"So what do I do?"
Draco gave her a funny look. "What do you think you do? You carry on. You forget about me. You get a job, a house…a husband."
This time, it was Hermione's turn to give him a look. "A husband…do you really want that to happen?"
She could see in his eyes the answer before he even had a chance to open his mouth. Of course he didn't; he still loved her. Hermione's knees weakened. He still loved her. After a trying moment, he answered carefully. "I just want you to be happy."
"And what if the only person that can make me happy is behind two-inch thick iron bars?" Hermione's thin veil of composure finally cracked. With a pitiful wail, she flung herself at the cell, desperate for his touch. She bawled and clung to whatever bits of him she could, her fingers finding purchase through the threads of his ratty clothes. "I can't leave you again," she said between sobs. "I did it once and it nearly killed me. I can't do it again. I can't. I can't. I can't…"
Draco gripped her tighter, his thin fingers digging painfully into the flesh of her arm and back. She didn't care. Each bruise would be a memory; each ache would be cherished. "Hermione, please, don't make this harder than it already is."
So wrapped up was she in Draco's arms and her own crying that Hermione did not notice McLaggen's presence just to her left. "It's time to go," he said, obviously annoyed. Hermione didn't move, just clutched him tighter. With a strange look and a sigh, McLaggen pried Hermione off the bars. Then, he turned to Draco and spoke. "You're one lucky son of a bitch. The papers check out – there was no pardon, but your sentence ends now." He jerked his wand at the cell door, which opened with a slow shriek. "You're free to go."
The room spun; Hermione fought a faint. "Free to go?" she sniffled. "How?"
"Apparently," McLaggen sneered, handing a thoroughly stunned Draco a package wrapped in brown paper, "Mr. Malfoy has friends in high places who are willing to vouch for his so-called 'quality of character.' Now get out of my prison before I find a different reason to keep you rotting."
Neither of them needed to be told twice. Draco's astonishment disappeared into a hard determination. He gripped the package tightly and Hermione's hand tighter. Together, they wound their way out of Azkaban, Hermione leading him along swiftly. After two minutes of walking, they practically threw themselves into the cold, salty breeze. Once they crossed the prison boundary, the iron gates slammed shut behind them with a finalizing clang.
"Hold on tightly to me, Draco," Hermione instructed, all-business. "We're getting out of here." She was just about to Apparate when Draco jerked his hand away.
"Just a moment." He tore the package open, revealing his fourteen inch Hawthorn wand. "I thought I would never get this back…" he mumbled with an experimental wave. A plume of green sparks showered from the tip, causing him to emit a satisfied grunt. "First thing's first." He pointed the wand directly at his head and, within an instant, his beard was gone and his hair was shorter. "Much better," he said, stroking his cheeks.
Hermione just looked at him, dumbfounded. "You get your wand back for the first time in six years and the first thing you do is shave?"
Draco shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of lips that looked liked they hadn't smiled until today. "I have my priorities."
She rolled her eyes. "Now can we leave?"
Draco gripped her hand again in response and with a brisk twirl, they Apparated away, landing in Hermione's dingy sitting room.
Before Draco could even get a word out, reality hit and the floodgates opened once more. Hermione threw herself around him and sobbed into his neck for a long time. He held her tightly all the while, stroking her back soothingly and burying his head into her curly brown hair.
Eventually, her tears abated. Draco inhaled deeply and spoke, voice shaking slightly. "I have something for you." Hermione clung to him a little less so that she could look into his eyes. "I remember what you said when you gave it to me, but I've been hoping ever since that you really don't feel that way." Her breath caught as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small scrap of cloth.
He unfolded the cloth carefully and revealed what had made Hermione's eyes well with tears anew: her charm bracelet. Cared for and shiny, it looked like new. "I was amazed McLaggen let me keep it – I suppose it was an extra bit of cruelty to have a constant reminder of you. But I think you should have it back now that I'm out. If…" He trailed off and, for the first time, looked quite uncertain. "If you still want it," he finished quietly.
She was incapable of speech. With shaking fingers, she lifted the dainty chain from Draco's palm and attached it around her wrist. The magic flowed over her like a second skin and finally, for the first time in six years, she felt whole.
The scene suddenly condensed. No longer was she standing in the middle of her ugly sitting room, surrounded by books and the weak pre-dawn light filtering through the dirty glass. Only they existed now, caught in each other's arms, lost in each other's eyes. Slowly, Draco kissed her, and she kissed him back.
It was the first kiss of the rest of their lives.
Fin