I.
"This is your chance to make it right. To start over."
So people kept telling him. In fact, it had been the opening line to his mother's "You're going back to Hogwarts" speech. But what people, even his own mother, didn't seem to understand, was that for those like him - the losing side of this war - it wasn't about starting over. It was about moving on in the mess they made. He had been prepared for a time of darkness.
He had known that for him the aftermath of war would come with guilt, shame and repentance. He had been prepared for his pride to be the price for his salvation. What he hadn't been prepared for, was his salvation wearing the face of Hermione Granger.
Not so very long ago he wouldn't even have been able to tell the colour of her eyes. But now he knew. Her eyes were brown. A rich, golden brown when she was happy. A dark, almost black brown when she was angry. They were never golden when she looked at him…
II.
"I can never make up for what I've done!" Draco spat with a bitterness she'd thought he had long since overcome. "I could live hundreds of years and still it wouldn't be enough." She watched him as silence settled between them.
His hands were balled into tight fists that shook violently by his sides. He was pale in the moonlight that illuminated the both of them and his eyes were wide and fixed on the grave of his best friend. As time went by it got too easy to forget that there had been painful losses on both sides. He looked so fragile that Hermione was afraid he would shatter at her touch. "Draco…" He stiffened when she lightly touched her hand to his wrist. "Please, look at me."
She had to swallow against the lump forming in her throat, when he lifted his ganze to her.
Grief. Guilt. Pain.
How had she not seen this before? How could she - even for one fleeting moment - believe he had been healing, when now it was so painfully obvious from just one look - one real look - that he was not? "I'm so sorry" she whispered as she linked her fingers with his. Already she could feel him retreat into himself.
He took a step back, but she held on to him and put her other hand against his cheek. "I wish I could make everything alright for you, but I can't change the past and I can't absolve you for everything that you've done." She blinked against the sudden sting of tears. "But I can be there for you. I am right here, Draco. I don't care about your past and I have stopped caring about it a long time ago. We could both have died in this war, but we didn't. We are alive and I'm not willing to put this to waste by dwelling in the past. We live now. And we're together. Right here and right now you and I are together."
She took a step towards him and tentatively put her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. "That's good enough for me."
"Hermione…" Draco endowed himself a moment of peace as he leaned his cheek against the slightly damp wool of her cap and inhaled the familiar scent of cinnamon and old books that was so undeniably Hermione that despite his mood it made a small smile tug at the corners of his lips.
He loved her. He had long since given up to try denying it. She was the closest he had come to happiness in a very long time and he would forever be grateful for that. If only…
His hand glided down her arm and came to rest just below the crook of her arm where he knew the unforgivable word would forever be engraved in her skin. He could have stopped it, if only he had been less of a coward. He knew there would have always been a place for him on the other side of the trench, if he had chosen to quit. Chances were he wouldn't have been welcomed with open arms, but he would not have been turned down either. He could see it in the way even Hermione did not for one second doubt Potter's story of the boy who had once upon a time lowered his wand. If only he had been brave enough to take a risk. If only…
He gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you."
When Hermione woke up the next morning, he was gone.
III.
She missed his warmth.
Hermione had always wondered how someone who looked like he had been carved out of ice and snow and the bitter cold of a winter's storm could emanate such heat. Now she would have done anything for just one more moment in those arms. For a chance to let that warmth chase away the nightmares and the horrors and those long, cold nights too far away from him.
IV.
She had been waiting for him.
It was the image of her sitting on those stairs while the castle was coming down around her, that would forever haunt him. He knew he didn't have much time - he had made sure that Potter and Weasley were close on his heels and would be there to get her to safety. Right now her safety was all that mattered to him.
She knew.
He could see it in the way she looked at him pleadingly, as he raised his wand to her. She had always been too smart for her own good. "Please" she whispered. "Draco, don't do this. I love you and you love me…"
He did. He had for a long time. And that was why he didn't have a choice. She deserved so much better than to be bound to a war criminal.
"Obliviate."