One Last Time, a harry potter fanfic

He looked, for the last time, upon the one person he had ever loved …

It wasn't meant to be. That was what everybody else had said; that he belonged to the Dark Side and she to the Light. 'Let the dark stay with the dark, and let not the light be tainted,' that was what her best friend Ron Weasley had said when he had heard of her intentions. Harry Potter had been more accommodating, much more understanding. But even he did not approve of her decided course of action.

"Hermione," he had said to her on the eve of her wedding. "I care about you. We all do, you know that. If this is really what you want, and you've made up your mind, then there's nothing I can do or say to stop you. If you go through with this because it's what you want, I'll be happy for you."

"Will you, really?"

Harry sighed, gripped her hand tighter and said, "Yes, really."

"Then you'll come to the wedding."

"If you want me to, of course I will."

She had thrown herself at him then, suffocating him in an enormous hug that conveyed all the feelings that words could not.

"Hermione … promise me one thing."

"What is it?" she asked, breathing in the scent of his hair.

"Never regret."

Never regret. She hadn't forgotten those words. And she had heeded them, silently and constantly praying for the strength that she so needed and felt she did not have. But she had survived thus far. And not once did she regret her decision.

Harry Potter came to her wedding along with his wife, Ginny, carrying their one month old son, James in her arms. He was an exact copy of his father, except he had his mother's eyes.

Hermione laughed at the memory. Those were the same words Harry had himself heard from other time and again. Now they were directed at his son. Fate was indeed some lame comedian at times.

Ron Weasley had been there as well, along with the rest of his family. Molly did not look too happy, though. Then again, not many people did. McGonagall looked happy for her student, and yet disappointed at the same time. Hermione was secretly thankful then that she did not have to see the faces of Dumbledore, Moody, Tonks, Lupin and Sirius that day if disappointment was all she would

find there. She would rather remember their happy faces. She would have liked for them to have been at her wedding, though.

Her mind was pulled back to the present when she heard the priest's words:

"…take Hermione Jane Granger to be your lawful wedded wife to love and cherish, until death do you part?"

She looked up at the face of the man so many others hated, the man she loved. She stared into his grey eyes and saw there what few others saw – warmth, compassion, tenderness. Within those icy depths, she saw a scared and wounded boy's heart. A heart she had taken into her hands and caressed with a love that it had yearned for and never received. And the owner of that heart had captured her own, and she willingly gave him her all.

"I do."

She smiled then.

"And do you, Hermione Jane Granger, take Draco Malfoy to be your lawfully wedded husband to love and cherish, until death do you part?"

She felt him give her hand a light squeeze and she sensed his nervousness. She returned the pressure in reassurance – much to him as herself. He smiled at her. Not that smirk that everyone was so accustomed to seeing on his pale, pointed handsome face, but a genuine smile that reached his usually cold grey eyes and warmed them. Yes, she loved Draco Malfoy with all her heart.

"I do."

Harry's words from the night before echoed in her mind 'Never regret.'

I won',t Harry. I promise.

"You may kiss the bride."

"What shall his name be?"

Hermione barely heard the nurse's eager question. She was tired and panting, and she felt like every part of her body was thoroughly beaten. She ached all over and sweat was dripping down her face, neck and arms. The only comfort she felt was the warm hand that she was permitted to hold so tightly its circulation was almost cut off.

And yet, as Hermione struggled to breathe, and strained to lift her head, she felt happy. In the midst of all her suffering, all ten hours of it, she was content.

"Scorpius," she heard Draco tell the nurse. She could hear the joy in his voice, the excitement. "Scorpius John G. Malfoy."

Hermione looked up to smile wearily at her husband. Draco planted a chaste kiss to her lips as the wailing baby was placed in her arms. Little Scorpius had his father's looks, but it was definitely his mother's stubbornness and demeanor he had inherited. He was already demanding nourishment that only his dear mother could provide. Hermione held the child – their child – close to her bosom.

Yes, Hermione was one very happy – albeit immensely tired – witch indeed.

Never regret.

Draco woke from a troubled sleep. Turning, he saw that he was alone in his bed. The scent of baking made its way to his nostrils. That meant his wife was working her 'magic' in the kitchen – the conventional muggle way. Draco swung his legs out of bed, pulled his robe over his pajamas, slipped his feet into the slippers he had received last Christmas and walked out of their bedroom, down the stairs and into the kitchen.

As he knew she would, his bushy-haired wife was busying herself in one of the forms of magic she loved most – cooking without a wand. Draco could smell cinnamon rolls and cream puffs already. On the long wooden table lay several utensils and a large bowl. Draco guessed this was going to eventually turn into yet another fantastic cake. It was chocolate this time, by the looks of the batter.

Draco turned to look at the end of the long kitchen table. A little boy sat there, chocolate chip cookies piled in a plate in front of him beside a tall class of milk. The child had a pointed face, not unlike the face Draco so proudly sported, and platinum blond hair, combed in a fashion not unlike the one Draco had while he was the child's age many, many years ago. He was almost the exact copy of his father in outer appearance save for his eyes. He had his mother's warm, hazel eyes. Draco chuckled to himself. It was funny really. It seemed as if Potter had quite unintentionally started a trend that he rubbed off on his children and those of his closest friends that they should look like their fathers and yet have their mother's eyes.

The boy looked up at the sound. "Father! You're up! Good morning!" Of course, all this came out rather muffled due to his small mouth being completely stuffed with cookies.

"Scorpius John! How many times have I told you not to talk with your mouth full?" said a woman's reproachful voice.

The boy swallowed hard – Draco heard it from where he stood and winced – and repeated himself. "Good morning, Father!"

"Darling!" the woman exclaimed, turning to her husband. Draco smiled at the bit of flour that clung to her cheek. "I didn't want to wake you up so early, you had a late night."

"Quite alright, Hermione," he said, walking up to her. "You're baking woke me up." He held her round the waist and gave her a chaste morning kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his son smile and could not help the sigh that escaped him.

Hermione pulled away from him and studied his face. Whenever she did that, he felt that she could see right through him. Damn that Gryffindor air of hers! But he forced himself to not look away.

"What's wrong, Draco?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, planting another kiss on her nose. "I'm just so, well, happy."

"You're happy." It was a statement that had spilt from smiling lips.

"Yes, I am happy," he repeated as he pulled her closer yet again. "Come here, Scorpius."

Gleefully, the boy ran to where his parents stood, and attempted to hug both of them around the waist.

"I am happy that I have the both of you in my life, and I'm happy that life has allowed me to have you for all these years. I am content."

Hermione Granger smiled and leaned her head on her husband's chest. One strong arm wrapped tighter around her while the other Draco placed lovingly around his son's shoulders.

Draco sighed again, closing his eyes. "I love you both so much."

There was a sudden flash of bright light. Hermione jumped in alarm, pulling her son behind her, while Draco reached for his wand. A second later, however, he was laughing as his wife proceeded to berate the culprit who had startled her so.

"GEORGE WEASLEY!! Don't you ever do that again! I am going to tell your wife and I am going to tell your mother! Yes, George, your mother! And you too Ron! I thought it might have been Death Eaters!"

Hermione's tirade went on and on while the brothers sought to protect themselves (and their camera) from her blows. There were immensely thankful she had quite forgotten she had a wand in her apron pocket. Draco decided to put an end to it before she remembered, though.

"There, there, Hermione," Draco cooed, grabbing her arms and keeping her at a safe distance from the Weasleys, whom she had unceremoniously dragged through the kitchen window. "You know violence before breakfast spoils your appetite."

An hour later, however, Hermione had decided to forgive (perhaps temporarily) the brothers' untimely trick. She could not force herself to be angry with them for long, at George, in particular. She knew that his pranks would never again have the same enthusiasm (and potential for chaos) as they did when his twin brother, Fred, was still alive. They promised to give her a copy of the picture, though.

George and Ron Weasley stayed for the rest of the day, making themselves useful (for once! Hermione thought) and helping with the party preparations.

"Five years old, eh, Scorpius?" said George. "Big man, soon. Not too long, now and you'll be off to Hogwarts!"

Scorpius beamed at the words.

"A Ravenclaw by the looks of him," said Ron. "Inherited his mother's brains, it seems. But then again, you never know."

"Happy Birthday to You!"

Little Scorpius John blew out the five candles on his chocolate cake which was shaped like – guess what? – a Quidditch Pitch.

"He's gonna be a fine Seeker, this one!" said Bill. "Just like his father and Uncle Harry, eh, Scorpius?"

Draco felt like he was watching a memory that wasn't his. Like he was watching – what did muggles call them? – a movie. As if the scenes that played themselves out before him were from someone else's life, a life that he could only wish to have. Draco shook his head and mentally thumped himself on the head. What was he thinking? This was his life. This was his son, his wife, his family. The family he had always wanted. And he had friends. For once in his life, he had real friends. The Weasleys, the Potters, and their other friends had taken time to accept him into their circle, but accept him they did. Having been in Slytherin did not matter anymore. Having been a Death Eater did not matter anymore. Because he wasn't one of them anymore.

Draco joined in the applause as Hermione helped their son cut his birthday cake. Their son. Those simple words had never sounded so sweet in his mind.

It was nearly ten by the time the guests began to leave, and Scorpius was already being fought to bed by his weary mother, who was assuring him that his presents would not run away in the middle of the night.

As Draco waved the last of the guests goodbye, Harry Potter and the Weasley brothers came up to him.

"You'll tell her tonight," said Harry. Draco looked him in the eye. It wasn't a question. He nodded.

"Ready for tomorrow, then?" said George. He placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, surprising the younger man.

"As ready as I'll ever be," said Draco grimly. "And how ready can any man be to face a thing such as this?"

There was no answer. Draco looked at their faces one by one, white and sickly pale in the moonlight.

"We've given this house all the protection we can. They'll be safe."

Draco's words were directed at Harry Potter. And Harry heard the hidden plea behind those confident words. The Boy who Lived merely nodded. He wasn't about to allow what had happened to him as a defenseless one-year-old to happen to any other child.

That night, Draco sat awake by the fireplace as his wife read a book in bed. His son was fast asleep. His normally cunning, shrewd mind was betraying him. Frustrated, he fisted his hands around the soft couch pillow his wife had made last Christmas. Green, red and gold. How ironic. Draco threw the thing aside, got up and walked towards the hearth. Placing his hands on the mantelpiece, he stared down into the bright orange flames, as if the answer to his woes might lie there.

But there was no answer to be found. Life had always made its demands of him, and he had always risen to the challenge, proving to his father and to himself that he was better than the weakling they thought him to be, a better man than that into which they had tried to mould him. But must the price of his pride be so steep?

Delicate, tender arms wrapped themselves around his waist. He had not heard her come down the stairs. He tried to relax into her embrace.

"Tell me," she said simply, and waited.

Draco did not know how long they stood there like that. She waited patiently for his answer, an answer he did not know how to give and yet he knew had to be given. And the answer he was about to give, he wished was a lie. Finally he heaved a sad, heavy sigh, one that made him shut his eyes in a mute appeal to Fate for mercy.

"Hermione," he said, "I want you to know, I regret none of the three years we were together, and certainly none of the seven years we've been married."

She said nothing, simply remaining there, hugging him.

"I want you to know that I love you with all my heart, and that I will always love you and our son." Draco paused to draw in a shaky breath. He had to continue. He had to tell her all the things that he had always wanted to tell her but did not know how. He had to tell her now. "I have had many regrets in my life, Hermione. I wasn't as strong as you in our much younger years, and you're still stronger than me now. And I need you to be even stronger still, Hermione."

"Why are you saying this?" she said after a moment more of silence. "Why are you speaking this way?"

Draco heard the worry in her voice, the fear of uncertainty. He turned around to face her.

"Because I love you, Hermione, and I could never lie to you."

"Then tell me what's worrying you. Something's been on your mind lately and you haven't told me."

Draco sighed again. There was no use beating around the bush. He sat her down on the sofa and seated himself beside her.

"Hermione, you know I would do whatever is necessary, I'd do anything to protect you and our son." He ignored the confused look on her face and pressed on. "I'm sure you know that, tomorrow …"

"Tomorrow the Order is going out after the remaining band of Death Eaters who are at large despite the fact that Voldemort is dead, I know," Hermione cut across him. "And you're going to lead them."

Draco nodded. "Hermione, listen to me," he said, more urgently, grasping her hand. "They know."

"What do you mean they know? Who knows what?" she asked, bewildered.

"Hermione, the Death Eaters already know I'm a double agent."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that they've known that I've betrayed them for quite a while now. And they know that I'm going to lead the Order to them tomorrow. The ruse was supposed to end tomorrow, but they found out sooner."

"I already know there's going to be a fight, Draco."

"Hermione, you're not listening to me! There's not going to be just a fight. This is going to be an outright battle. Harry Potter has much less to fear from going to Death Eater Headquarters tomorrow than I do."

"Draco, please," Hermione pleaded. "You're scaring me. I don't understand what you're trying to say!"

"Listen," he said, in an effort to remain calm despite the growing turmoil inside of him. He pulled her closer to him. "This mission; it may well be my last for the Order. Hermione, I may not come back alive."

Hermione pushed herself from her husband's form. No. This could not be the truth. She refused to accept it. But her brain knew that he was not lying, that this was not a hoax. And she turned away

from him. She was strong, damn it! She was not going to cry! But she felt the tears begin to run down her cheeks as she shut her burning eyes.

A warm, trembling hand turned her around slowly. And she allowed Draco to pull her into an embrace. She clutched at his shirt, her tears staining his robes, as she whimpered into his chest. Draco held her tight as he himself tried to fight the drops that rolled down his face.

Words were no longer sufficient. Hermione pressed her lips against her husband's and Draco eagerly returned the kiss. His tongue probed at her lower lip, and she readily opened her cavern to him. They kissed like there was no tomorrow. Ironically, there was some truth in that half-thought. For the two of them, there might be no tomorrow.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, and Draco's hands moved from her hair to her waist, attempting to pull his wife even closer to him. They slowly made their way to their bedroom, not wanting to part lips, not wanting to let go of the other.

The door was locked and clothes were discarded. Hands roamed freely, each wanting to memorize every part of their partner's body, every curve, every scar.

They gave themselves to passion then, and slowly, savoring every moment, wanting to feel as much as could be felt in one night, with all the ardor that burned inside them, they made love. And afterwards, they lay quietly in each other's arms, wiping away the other's tears, not speaking, knowing that words were now futile.

When he awoke the next morning, he found he was alone in bed. He donned his robe made his way down to the kitchen, where he found his lover baking chocolate chip cookies. She looked up when she heard him enter and tried to smile up at him as she approached him to hug him. He gave her a chaste morning kiss as usual, and then, as per his daily routine, went back up to take a shower. He emerged from the bathroom to find his clothes already laid out for him. At the foot of the bed lay the bag he was going to be taking with him. It was going to take a few days to reach the Death Eater HQ, after all – if they wanted to get there undetected for the most part.

After pulling on his clothes and combing his hair, Draco Malfoy made his way back down stairs. He checked that his wand was in the pocket of his robes. It was there.

His wife was standing by the kitchen door that led to the garden out back. She held in her hands, a white container.

"Take this with you," she said calmly.

"Cookies?"

"I thought you liked them."

"I do."

He allowed her to fuss over his collar and his hair. He allowed her to smooth his robes of the non-existent creases.

Then, he kissed her on the nose and stepped out of the house. He walked purposefully towards the edge of the garden where he might disapparate. When he reached the little fountain at the west corner of the quaint garden, he stopped, fighting the urge to look back at her. If he turned around, it would be so much more difficult to do the thing that he meant to do. But she decided for him.

"Draco!" she called out his name.

Immediately, he dropped the bag he was carrying on his shoulder and spun round to catch her as she leapt at him, arms wrapping around each other, lips crashing in one last passionate kiss, one last declaration of undying devotion and love.

When they parted, Draco hugged her as tight as he could and whispered into her ear.

"I love you, Hermione, even beyond my last breaths."

"My love for you will never die. I won't forget you."

Tears were threatening to leak from his grey eyes again. He willed himself to pull away from her. For a moment he gazed upon her. Her looked, for what was almost certainly the last time, upon the woman he loved. Then he closed his eyes and turned on the spot.

Hermione gazed into his steel grey eyes, trying to fight back tears. She reached out a hand to touch him once more, but he was gone. Hermione felt her knees go weak, and she crumpled to the ground, her arms crossed her chest, as if she was hugging the thing she loved tightly there. She could not help the whimpers that escaped her lips, as she wept for the man she loved, mutely praying, begging Fate to have mercy.

SIX MONTHS LATER …

"We're ready to go, Hermione."

"You go ahead, Harry. I want to stay here for a while."

"Come on, Ginny," she heard him say.

"Goodbye, George. You're with Fred now."

Hermione listened to the footsteps die away. The birds sang in the trees. Leaves and spring petals littered the green grass.

Hermione held the document in her hand tight. The other hand lay on her belly, which protruded slightly from her petite frame.

"I'm going to call her Helen, darling," Hermione whispered, as she tenderly rubbed her little bump. "She's going to be beautiful."

Hermione pressed a finger to her lips and then to the large marble stone before her.

On it was written:

Draco Malfoy

Beloved Son, Friend,
Husband and Father

That love is all there is,
Is all we know of love.

Hermione looked down at the photograph in her hand and smiled.