Words: 4,213
Rating: M for sexual reference, themes, and language.
Type:One-shot
Genre: Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort
Plot: The beginning was the worst. She hadn't expected it to come; or perhaps she did, she just didn't expect it to come sooner. There was a sledgehammer lodged next to her heart. It took up so much space that sometimes, she forgets to breathe. AU. EWE. Post-War. DM/HG. Trigger Warning: Character Death.
Prompt: Counting
Author's Note: Hey! Right, this is a short Dramione one-shot. I'm still focusing on Breathe Again, but of course, I need a break once in a while. Hope you like this one. Thank you so much. Please, your reviews are much appreciated. It keeps me motivated. 'Til next time!
Beta: JularaVon (as always; to whom I am eternally indebted to, thank you!)
.o.O.o.
One.
The beginning was the worst. She hadn't expected it to come; or perhaps she did, she just didn't expect it to come so soon. There was a sledgehammer lodged next to her heart. It took up so much space that sometimes, she forgot to breathe.
While she held that stick in her hand, bright blue stripes staring right at her, he caught the green spark shooting off from the end of Voldemort's wand. She sat on her bed, alone. He crumpled to the rubble of stones, alone. She didn't know if it was bliss or fear. He didn't know if it was pain or comfort. She tugged a hand on her abdomen and whispered softly. He tried to stretch his fingers, but life was leaving him.
When the battle was over, she waited. She stood behind the front door with a hand tucked under her shirt, to hold onto that little thing inside her, and as soon as the door opened, Harry walked in. Her breath got caught in a hitch. She smiled but his face showed sorrow. He didn't look victorious. Behind him, some of the Order members carried a limp figure, unmoving.
It was him. Merlin, how she hoped she was wrong.
Her heart pumped twice as much as blood as it normally did. Like it tried to beat for him. Warm tears slid down her nose, her cheeks, her neck, her chest. Her hand pressed against the soft skin under her shirt, as if protectively holding that little fragile thing in her stomach. Harry placed his hands on her shoulders; but she moved them away. She turned. She walked. She didn't know where she intended to go; only that, once she had reached the kitchen, her back slid against the wall with a hand pushed through her thick curls, and her entire body falling apart.
She knew she screamed. Everybody heard it except her. The buzzing in her ears was louder than ever; and all she could hear was his voice. His soft voice. His breath against the tiny spot under her left earlobe. He whispered his dreams to her before pressing a kiss that sent a million volts of electricity through her. He had made her feel so alive; and now, he was dead.
.o.O.o.
Two.
Skin to skin; his warmth filled her with bliss. Their lower part covered with a tangle of sheets, their thighs and legs wound with each other, their bodies pressed so close that there wasn't any more space to breathe. This was her bliss.
Slowly, she turned. His face shadowed by a few strands of his blond hair. There was a thin stubble growing around his jaw that itched whenever he kissed her; but she had never wanted him to shave it off. It was a feeling that she had never wanted to get rid of, a feeling that she wanted to feel forever.
"Stop staring, Hermione," he grunted, as his arm tightened its embrace around his naked waist. She didn't move away from him. She felt the underside of his chest breathing against hers. "I'm trying to sleep," and his lips grazed the edge of her shoulders.
"And that is you trying to sleep? Or trying to seduce me?"
"Is it working?" He cracked an eye open. His grey eye looking right at her, and she smiled. Right then, she decided that his were the only eyes she would look at. Once his fingers started tapping on her skin, tracing every inch, arousal began to climb up her skin again. "Is it working, Hermione?" He breathed on that spot, that tiny patch of skin behind her earlobe. She moaned, earning a smirk from him.
She sighed, "You know it works every time. Why do you have to ask?"
"Because I like to hear you say it."
"Say what?" His hand caressed from her waist to her inner thigh. She trapped her lower lip in between her teeth, humming. "Say what?" She repeated the question; yet, this time, it sounded as if there wasn't enough air to breathe.
"That," he hissed. His fingers reached against her damp folds. He opened it, and she buried her face deep against the pillow. He chuckled at how she tried to hide the redness of her cheek but failed when it began to spread to her neck. He placed soft kisses on her back as he lifted himself off the bed. She was dripping against his fingers. Merlin, his touch killed her. She longed for it. She missed it even if she had just wasted the entire evening with him.
"Do you want me to keep going?" He asked, his fingers unmoving. She nodded. "Say it, Hermione. I want to hear you say it—"
"I want—"
"Want what, love?"
Her eyes opened. She looked right at him; and for a split second, he was the only thing she could see. "You, Draco. I want you. All of you. Give me… you."
Without a second longer, his mouth collided with hers. Lips to lips. Tongue to tongue. Teeth to teeth. Her mouth was already open when he kissed it, inviting him to enter her without doubt, because she needed him to. She wanted him to. Together, their mouth explored each other's taste, defined by unspoken words that neither of them could ever express.
His hands traveled to her waist. On the curves of her breasts. Her flat stomach, rising high and low as her breathing accelerated. She found his hair filling the spaces between her fingers as she tried to hold his head steady. Slowly, he placed himself between her knees. His erection rubbing against her bundle of nerves—and Merlin's fucking beard, he was about to lose it.
Once his mouth left hers, it found its way to her neck. His teeth grinding on her earlobes, to her collarbone, to her jaw—everywhere. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she muttered, "Please, Draco. I want—" And he accepted it. He accepted her. The tip of his hardened member entered the opening of her walls, and she gasped. He kissed her again. Her breaths became one with his. He pushed in, and she moaned at his every move. When he filled her, she let out a groan with her head dropped onto the pillow. Her throat bobbing as she swallowed. He couldn't help but trail kisses along the tunnel of her neck and settled when his lips touched the edge of her chin.
"Draco, please move," she exhaled. She pushed her hips against his; but he stopped her, chuckling. Stopping, she looked at him and asked, "What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"
He shook his head. He smirked nervously.
"No, love. Nothing's wrong. You didn't—fuck, don't move, okay? Let me move. I won't last if you keep doing that," he said, out of breath, shaking. Her eyes softened after he let out an agitated laugh. She reached and kissed his cheek. His face flushed.
"Then, come for me, Draco," she said, biting her lip.
"Let me make it good for you. And I can't make it if you move like that," he replied.
"Don't worry about me. It'll be good, no matter what. What matters is that you're here with me," and she kissed him again. This time, his teeth found her lower lip. He tugged it before pressing for a harder kiss. She returned it with fervor. His tongue lavished hers with such intensity, reminding her of their first kiss, an accident, an impulsive reaction to an argument.
He moved. Slowly, and heightened his pace. He nuzzled his face on the curve of her neck while she sighed at his movements. He thrusted faster, deeper, harder. His hips slammed against hers rapidly but gently at the same time. Her walls began to tighten around his throbbing member. The tip hitting a sensitive spot somewhere inside that made her stomach squirm in ecstasy. His fingers found her clit again. He rubbed it slowly as he thrusted, and she bit her lip so hard that she feared it might bruise later, and he watched her.
She moaned. He grunted.
She gasped. He smirked.
She exhaled. He cursed.
Reaching their peak, he collapsed on top of her. Their perspired skin pressed together. She looked up right at him. She pushed the stray hair out of his forehead, glued with sweat, before kissing his mouth again. She bit her lip, and he groaned. She laughed as he hid his flushed face in her frizzy hair. "I love you, Draco. No matter what happens, okay? I love you," she whispered to his ear.
He nodded. He didn't have to tell her because she knew. He never was good at expressing his feelings into words. He always struggled to tell her things, which usually led to their arguments; but she knew. She saw it in his eyes. Things he felt, things he wanted to tell her but could never, things he saw in her. And it was alright.
.o.O.o.
Three.
Anger swelled in her chest.
Hermione twisted and paced inside her room—their room. She couldn't help but let her arms thrash into the air that she breathed while attempting to calm her nerves down. But how could she? No, she couldn't. Not like this.
Not when he forced her to leave the battle.
The coin in her hand had been drained of its energy to transport back to the Ministry. He threw it at her, and she caught it—not knowing what it was. The next moment was Hermione landing right into 12 Grimmauld Place. She tried to return to the battle but the anti-apparition wards had been activated, the front door was jammed, and there was nowhere for her to go other than the corners of this old house.
When the door opened, Draco Malfoy limped right in with a relieved look on his face. His blond hair had been ruffled into different directions. His cheeks were covered in dirt. His left hand shook after hours of dueling. Though he looked dead, his typical smirk laced with such insolence flashed in Hermione's eyes that only pushed her to slap him right there.
He recoiled in shock.
"What the fuck, Granger?" Malfoy hissed—hand pressed onto the cheek that had just been assaulted. He looked as though he wanted to barf.
She threw the coin at his face. It didn't hit his head as she planned but the coin landed between his fingers as he caught. Hermione turned her back to him. She couldn't let him see the tears that edged around her eyelids as emotions flooded her right there.
Malfoy let out an audible sigh, saying, "Are you mad because I sent you back here—" Hermione snorted at that, but he continued, "—Merlin, Granger! We were getting killed out there. There were hundreds of Death Eaters, and you want, what? To stay and fight? Are you daft?!"
Her head spun back faster than he blinked. The tears that she tried to hold back had fallen. Each drop was sliding down her cheeks. Her lips quivered in frustration. He stood there, unaware of what to do, and she sobbed, "YES! This is my fight too. This is my war. In case you need reminding, they're off killing Mudbloods, and if I don't fight, those deaths would've been for nothing—"
"—and I'm supposed to just let you die, is it?!"
"—I didn't say that! But I want to fight too. I can't stand here, doing nothing, while you lot go charge into a battle. I can't sit here and wait for someone to tell me you're dead when I should've been there fighting for you—"
That was when he kissed her.
She wasn't done talking yet; but it didn't matter at that moment when his hands wrapped around her arms to pull her in and his mouth moving over hers aggressively proving to her that she mattered—and everything else fell away.
Kissing him back hadn't been hard. Hermione had wondered about it for weeks now. How soft his mouth was. How sweet his tongue tasted. How good he was at this. Her reaction was a primitive thought. Almost instinctual as an animal's need for food. She followed the way that his lips enveloped hers into a wet and hot connection, and when his teeth would clamp onto her lower lip, and when she would tug his upper lip with her, and when their tongues would dance in synchronization, and when his hands tugged her thigh against his hip and pushed her onto the closet door, and when she gripped onto his hair, and when both of them were breathing hard—
"Hermione," he whispered. Her name dripping from his mouth like honey. Their eyes met as soon as they pulled back. She bit her lip, trying to keep the sweetness he coated her mouth with a little longer. "We have to stop—"
She panted, "Why?"
"Because I'm not sure if this is what you want…"
"Do you—"
Malfoy nuzzled his face against her thick curls with a nervous laugh. His arms snaked around her waist as though he needed to pull her closer. She could feel her own heart pummeling inside her chest while holding his head. Then he choked, "God, yes. I do. I've been dying to do that for months—"
Pulling back, Hermione saw his darkened eyes. Sad, and lost, and despaired. She saw him, but he wasn't seeing her. His gaze was focused somewhere around her neck but anywhere else other than her eyes. "Look at me, Draco, please…" He did, and she planted a gentler kiss on his lips. "I want this. I want you… Again, and again, and again. Always."
He sighed.
"—but you can't fight my battles for me, Draco. I have to do this, too. Not only for me, but for my family, and for our future—"
Malfoy looked up. His silvery glazed eyes searching hers for something. His mouth opened, but for about a minute, he managed to force out, "Our future…?"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh at how his voice croaked at that. But he didn't. Instead, he only watched her with amusement. He couldn't find the right words to say. So she nodded.
"Our future," said Hermione, before she bit her lower lip. He groaned. "What?"
"Don't do that," he sneered. "Please don't bite your lip." Teasing, Hermione gathered a thicker part of her lower lip to bite, and Malfoy let out a loud groan before capturing her mouth into another searing kiss. He gritted his teeth against the softness of her swollen mouth before muttering, "That's my job, Granger."
And so it was.
.o.O.o.
Four.
"Harry!" Hermione yelled as she ran down the stairs.
Her clavicle was shattered in one of their missions a few weeks back that forced her to sit this one out. And when she heard that they had returned, she ran to them. Reaching the front, she saw Harry cradling a limp boy in his arm. His other arm bled through the sleeve of his hoodie.
Molly Weasley forced her way through the crowd that formed in the hall. Her husband, Arthur, followed and reached out to the boy in Harry's arm. By the state of such pale blond hair, Hermione knew who it was at first look. His face was covered in mud, dirty as the word he used to call her back in Hogwarts, but as she looked at him, he didn't look like that boy.
He looked different. He didn't look like the boy who had everything handed to him on a silver platter. He didn't look like the boy who arrogantly, and stupidly, claimed that he was higher than her because he was a pureblood—and she rolled her eyes as though that still meant something now. But this boy, lying unconscious on the floor and bleeding all over, didn't look anything like that. He looked shattered. Body and soul. Scared, scarred, and scathed. All of his high glory stripped away when his parents invited a madman into their home as an indefinite house guest.
Harry began rambling, "We were in Hogsmeade when we triggered the alarm. There was an ambush. He was there, fighting, and at first I thought he was fighting us, but his curses were directed at the enemy. He even caught the Slicing Hex for Ron, and we all decided to leave… We were outnumbered—"
The Order members mumbled their speculations. Half-truths or nothing at all, Hermione focused on her friend leaning against the wall with a bleeding arm. Harry's hair looked unruly. Ginny Weasley rushed to tend to her boyfriend, both worry and relief painted all over her face.
"—could it be a trap?"
"—It's Malfoy! He doesn't care about anybody but himself—"
"—I say we throw him back out there again—"
Molly rose from where she kneeled and shrieked, "Nobody's throwing anybody out tonight!" The voices died down at the sound of her high pitched shrill. Their eyes looking at her, bemused, but she stood firm on her ground. "He's just a boy! And I won't have it that you lot turn into what we're all fighting against just because you think he made a mistake. He saved my Ron—"
She glanced. There he was, sitting on the ground, trying to catch a breath. Some strands of his flaming red hair fell onto his eyes. He cradled a broken wrist onto his lap. He looked close to death; but looking close to death always looked better than being actually dead. Next to him was his older brother, George, holding his shoulder in relief.
"—and you just believe that?! He killed my—"
"That was his father, you tosspot!" Ron bellowed in anger. Then he groaned when he put too much force into his broken wrist. "He fought that old prick earlier! Killed him when Lucius threw the Killing Curse toward Dean! Fuck! Even, Harry wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Malfoy! We all made it back because of him—"
"Enough!" Stepping forward, Remus cleared his throat and said, "Molly's right. We need all the help we can get. And we'll interrogate him when he wakes up. Kingsley and I could take a look at him in the morning. So since that's settled, why don't we rest for the night?" He turned to Molly with a nod before tapping Harry on the back. "Good job, Harry. Sleep—you deserve it…"
Remus left to join his young wife, Nymphadora, in the living room.
As the crowd dispersed, Hermione leaned against the staircase with a heavy heart. She hated to admit it—but Molly was right. If they threw Malfoy out and took away his chance at redemption, they would've just been like their enemies. Some people would argue that the means don't matter, but she didn't believe that. The means mattered as much as the consequences because it were what made the end be the end. Looking at Harry, he watched as Molly brushed a hair away from Malfoy's face and smile.
Molly said quietly, "You're safe now, son. Thank you for saving my boy."
.o.O.o.
Five.
Holding the boy's hand, Hermione pulled him up the graveyard hill. Her fingers curled around his palm as they reached higher. She tried to remember the last time she visited; but she couldn't. What she could remember was standing about ten gravestones away from his own because her feet felt as though they had sunken into the ground.
That was last year. His birthday.
Sighing, Hermione had managed to convince herself that tonight was different. Tonight would be a special night for her. For them. She glanced at the boy following behind her while he counted the headstones that they passed and smiled. She remembered how he used to tell her that he would've loved to see their children look like her; but when she first held onto the little boy in her arms, she laughed at how much he had looked like his father.
The little boy said, "Mummy? Are we there yet?"
"Almost there, baby. Just up the hill."
They climbed. The little boy kept following his mother until they reached a large headstone under a large Oak tree. Harry had asked her once where she wanted to bury him; but Hermione cried, and said, "Bury him someplace that gives life. He gave us life. He deserves as much…" So, the Order buried him under an old Oak tree at the far end of this cemetery while the rest of those who died at the war was buried next to each other.
"Mummy? Why is my Daddy's name on that?"
Hermione sighed. She fought her tears before kneeling in front of her son, her little boy, and said, "Because he saved us all. He gave his life so that you could live in a safe world, Scorpius. He saved Uncle Harry's life and Uncle Ron's and Aunt Ginny's… and mine." A tear slowly slid from her eyes. Scorpius lifted his own hand and ran the pad of his thumb against his mother's cheek to wipe the track of her tear. "He loved you as much as I love you. He would've been so happy to meet you. To see you right here."
"I love him too, Mummy," the little boy said.
Hermione smiled. Wider, this time. She slipped her hand into his tiny hand before facing the headstone again. She looked at his name engraved on the stone, the date of his birth and death, and the quote from Nietzsche that he so loved to read to her at night before they fell asleep. She remembered him. She would always remember him.
Suddenly, she felt her four-year-old son tug at her hand. She looked down and noticed that he was looking at something else. She hitched a deep breath as soon as she saw what he was looking at. An aging Narcissa Malfoy stood in the little patch of moonlight slipping from the holes of the treetop with the same expression in Hermione's face. The woman wore a long black robe that hid the clothes underneath it paired with black low-heeled shoes.
Narcissa stepped forward.
Scorpius hid behind his mother's legs as the old woman walked closer. But he heard his mother say, "It's okay, Scorpius. She won't harm us…"
The old woman halted. Hermione placed her hands onto her son's shoulders in assurance as she stared at the woman standing in front of her. She hadn't seen Narcissa Malfoy since the war. But she'd heard stories, of course. The Ministry had pardoned her for the crimes she had committed as per Draco's request before he died, and reduced her sentence into a three-year house arrest. Hermione wondered if this was the first time she visited Draco.
The woman spoke, "You named him after a constellation?"
Slowly, Hermione looked down at the boy hugging her legs. His tiny hands gripped onto her thigh as if he couldn't hold onto her tighter. Then Hermione glanced up to the woman again and said, "Yes. Draco had mentioned that it was a family tradition…"
Narcissa bent, leveling her eyes to meet the little boy's. The little boy cowered behind his mother but kept his head peeking at the side. "Hi, Scorpius. I'm… Narcissa. I'm happy to finally meet you," the old woman said with a warm smile.
"Say hi, Scorpius," Hermione said, nudging her boy to say something.
"Hi," the little boy mumbled sheepishly. Narcissa giggled in adoration as she heard the little boy's greeting for the very first time. Hermione looked away. She tried to breathe as her chest began to tighten again. She swallowed that lump in her throat that blocked her airway—
Narcissa sighed, "Ms. Granger, if you would allow me to reconnect with you and your son, I would be very delighted to take you out to dinner." A pause. When Hermione looked back, she met the woman's eyes—the same color as Draco's—and exhaled. "I love my son. And I know that you do too. For that I am eternally grateful. This child is the only family I have left in this world. Please don't take him away from me, too."
"He's not. I am too," Hermione said, her voice cracking with emotion. She held onto her son's small hand, pulling him from her legs, and told him: "Scorpius, this woman is your Daddy's mum. She's your grandmother, and she'd like to take us out to dinner. Would you like that?"
The little boy looked at Narcissa, then back to his mother, and whispered, "She looks exactly like Daddy from your photographs."
Hermione giggled with a nod, "She does, doesn't she? So how about it, then?" Scorpius turned toward the older woman—his grandmother—and extended his hand for her to hold. Narcissa took it in hers, clasping her fingers around his like how his own mother held him.
With a glance, Hermione gazed upon the large headstone planted under the tree. She gulped before a hand reached out to trace the engraved letters under her fingertips. She smiled, a genuine one, and whispered, "Thank you, Draco, for everything."
FIN