Chapter 3:

Harry's funeral had been on the day when the first Quidditch game of the season at Hogwarts was traditionally played. He was buried near his parents' graves at Godric's Hollow. Many came to pay their respects. Draco noted, somewhat surprised but immensely pleased, that more of his former house showed up than Gryffindor's. Whatever else their faults, Slytherins were devoted friends. Whether their attendance had to do with their commitment to him or their friendship with the Potters, Draco didn't know and didn't particularly care. That they were there to honor Harry was what was important to him.

Hermione surprised everyone when she asked Minerva McGonagall to give the eulogy instead of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Draco wholeheartedly approved the decision. He distrusted the government; although his father had had no room to talk, he'd warned Draco to never rely on those whose convictions blew with the prevailing winds. Draco had seen firsthand how the ministry treated Harry after Lucius' generous donation to the minister's re-election campaign. He had heard about Percy Weasley's defection from his family when offered a raise. Undeserving git...no loyalty at all, just like the rest of his kin. Thank goodness none of them had showed up for the funeral. At least they'd not pretended to mourn Harry. Draco was relieved. The last thing Hermione needed was redheads littering the cemetery.

Minerva's words had been tender and warmhearted. At times, amusing. She didn't glorify Harry as a saint; rather she painted a truer portrait of the young man. She talked about his prowess at Quidditch; then she switched and reminisced over the instances she'd had to correct him over some transfiguring gone wrong. Those in attendance chuckled when she told them of the time Harry botched a lesson. He'd mispronounced the incantation and instead of the white onion becoming a china plate, it had burst forth into an albino pygmy puff with a bad case of gas.

Then her stories changed to more tender ones. Those that honored the relationship between Harry and his future wife. He and Hermione, when they'd battled the troll in the girl's bathroom. When Hermione had helped Harry study for the Triwizard tournament. When she'd obliviated her parents so she could go with him to find and destroy Voldemort's horcruxes.

Minerva paused and spoke to Hermione directly. "I'm so glad circumstances brought the two of you together. You enriched his life. Harry experienced true love because of you. I'm…..proud of you both and so happy he gave you a son to help remember him by."

Hermione hugged James while her tears flowed listening to her favorite professor's words.

"And you….Mr. Malfoy," Minerva continued, moving her gaze to Draco, "you've overcome so much and shown your true mettle. I know Harry was honored to count you as his best friend."

Draco looked up, surprised at her words. Nodding her head, she said, "Yes…..Harry told me. He would come to visit from time to time, you know, and he never failed to talk about the ones he loved. Including you."

Minerva watched as Hermione sought Draco's hand. She paused, marveling at the sight. If anyone had told her years ago that Draco Malfoy would be the one Hermione Granger would turn to in time of need, she would have thought them crazy. Yet, there it was. She wished Albus had lived to see it. It gave the older witch confidence for the future.

She continued to watch the pair as they made their way over to Harry's coffin for one last viewing before the releasing. Hermione leaned over to give her dead husband a kiss on the cheek and held James while he did the same. Draco put his hand on Harry's head, an affectionate gesture that had become common to them both when Harry had been alive.

Bending low, he whispered, "I've done what you asked. And I'll continue to keep my promise, Harry."

Then he pulled out from his coat pocket the snitch Harry had caught in his first game on that very day so many years ago and put it into his dead friend's hands. Draco's heart ached when the snitch no longer fluttered in recognition at Harry's touch. Apparently, the little golden orb needed a heartbeat, the rush of blood, the intake of breath to recognize a being. It had none of those here. Flesh memory only worked on living tissue.

A touch on his arm reminded Draco it was time for the unbinding ceremony. The three who loved Harry best moved back to let magic take its place. Minerva walked over to where the coffin stood. She gazed down, smiling sadly at Harry's still face, a lone tear making its way down her weathered cheek.

"Goodbye, Potter," she murmured affectionately. "It was good to see you one last time."

Then raising her hands, the aged professor called forth the Powers. "May the name of Harry James Potter be remembered."

Those present answered, "So mote it be."

A sudden strong breeze whipped through the graveyard.

"May his many acts of valor henceforth inspire our own."

"So mote it be."

A ray of sunshine broke through the autumn gloom to fall across the fallen wizard.

"And may the love he bore be forever felt in those who knew him best."

"So mote it be."

A heavy presence filled the air; anticipations rose. Then a lone woodlark began to twitter and chirp, its piercing, sweet birdsong chasing away the silence.

It was time. With a flick of her wand, Minerva uttered, "Relashio."

Hermione knew what was coming, but still gasped when she saw a vortex of what looked like sparkling diamonds rise up from Harry's body. Minerva had released Harry's magic from the lifeless vessel that could no longer serve it. Now it would rise free again. Draco swallowed hard, not caring if others saw him emotional at witnessing the beautiful manifestation of Harry's essence. It rushed out, powerful yet friendly. It made its way first to Hermione. As it swirled around her, Draco could see the glimmering diamonds take on the haunting, wistful color of Heliotrope, little purple and pinkish glints twinkling spontaneously to form what looked like a glittering cloud around his beloved. A concentration of sparkles could be seen hovering around her mouth. Draco heard Hermione sigh in bliss; her eyes had closed and she smiled as if feeling the touch of one last kiss. Then Harry's magic released its hold on her, little streams of shining air caressing her hair as if reluctant to let go before it moved on to their son.

With James, Harry's magic became the color and smell of crisp green apples, his son's favorite fruit. His magic began to spiral so fast around the little boy, James' curls were flattened against his forehead. But rather than being frightened of the motion, James began to giggle. It was the first time he'd laughed since being told of Harry's death. Tears came to Draco's eyes knowing Harry was leaving his family with as much love and joy as was possible.

He held his breath when he realized he was next. Harry's magic paused before it began to circle around him. Draco's robes billowed from the strength of it. A whiff of salty sea air filled his senses, and an inexplicable knowing that all would be well settled deep in his heart.

Afterwards, the wind about him moved back to just above the coffin; then with a mighty surge, Harry's magic revealed its full power, momentarily blinding those in attendance. It shot upward toward the clouds to be seen and felt no more.

For a moment afterward, everyone sat as if in a daze. Slowly, they began to rouse.

Minerva nodded to the workers waiting at the coffin. With their wands they sealed the coffin, levitated it to right above the grave, then gently lowered it into the ground to be covered with fresh-turned dirt.

"Deep peace of the Quiet Earth to you. Deep peace of the Shining Stars to you," Minerva said in benediction. "Thank you for coming. This service is now concluded."

Draco put his arm around Hermione. "I just saw Mother leave…..would you like to go now, or is there anyone you would like to speak to?"

"The others are coming, right?"

"Yes, Pansy said they would follow shortly."

She laid her head against Draco's shoulder. "Then let's go."

With a twist, Draco apparated the three of them back to Wiltshire.

Neither he nor Hermione had seen the flash of red stepping out from behind one of the larger tombstones.

Ron Weasley had lied to his family about where he was headed when he left them that afternoon. Instead of visiting the pub at Ottery St. Catchpole, he'd come to witness the farewell of his onetime best friend. Ron had thought himself hidden from all there, but Harry's magic had detected him. During the time the mourners were seeing nothing but spots from the brilliance of Harry's light, Ron saw shimmers of deep purple that left behind the fragrance of hyacinths.

Ron's face crumpled in guilt and remorse. He could no more stop his tears than he could stop his heart from beating. He knew what that color and smell meant. The declaration had been cast and affirmed. Those who knew Harry best would forever after feel his love. Even those who had turned their backs on it.

It was the worst sort of punishment.


000

Months later….

Time was funny, thought Hermione. It walked in its steady linear way. Sixty seconds always made up one minute; sixty minutes always made up one hour. So how then could time seem to drag at one moment and at other times fly by? The days right after Harry's funeral were the longest Hermione had ever experienced in her life. Especially the nights. The dark seemed to delight in torturing her with memories of her husband. Those were the nights Draco would come. He would quietly open her bedroom door to find her on the floor, face down, crying her heart out. He never scolded her for being weak. He would lift her up off the ground and put her back to bed as if she was a child who needed comfort after a nightmare. Which in a way, she was. Then he would sit beside her until she would go back to sleep. Except…..for one time when, after a particularly brutal dream that had Voldemort slowly torturing Harry, she'd clung tightly to Draco's neck and begged him to sleep with her. Draco hadn't reacted the way she thought he would. He'd cupped her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing it.

"Are you sure?" He suddenly seemed breathless. Although hesitant, a cautious hope shined in his eyes. "You want…..that?"

"Please Draco," she begged, too caught up in the after-effects of her nightmare to notice anything else. "I…..I….every time I close my eyes I see it happening. I'm...scared to be alone."

"Oh…..."

He gave her an apologetic half-smile, which she didn't understand, but didn't have the presence of mind to wonder about. He pulled back the covers and got in. Spooning her from behind, he wrapped her in his arms. Hermione sighed. It was just what she needed. Feeling protected and safe, she'd immediately gone back to sleep. When she woke up the next morning from the best sleep she'd had since Harry died, she'd expected Draco to be beside her. But he wasn't. That was the last time he'd joined her in bed, although he would still sit with her if she asked. Which she tried very hard not to do from then on.

Christmas that year was a struggle. Thankfully, Narcissa opted not to have her annual yuletide party. On Christmas eve, they'd had a private dinner, inviting only their closest friends. Theo came, loaded with Christmas crackers to share with James, Pansy and Neville of course, were there and Luna with Blaise, who was still recuperating from his brush with death, had come back from Italy just to be with them. The latter couple was expecting their first child. Draco watched the two, secretly jealous. He kept looking back and forth between them and Hermione. Would he ever have a similiar Christmas with her when he would get to see her round and lovely with his child? Right then and there, he made himself a resolution. He'd do whatever it took to win her love. Harry's magic had convinced him a happy future could be had. And by Merlin, he would have it.

Hermione made a resolution for herself at New Year's. She quit her job at the Ministry. She'd only been working part-time anyway since the birth of James and didn't have the heart to face the condolences of those who didn't mean them. Draco encouraged her to take a break from it all and to stay at the Manor while she figured it out. That was seven months ago. Seven months, and she still was at the Manor. She'd given up the lease on her and Harry's flat and had moved what she didn't need to Grimmauld Place. The rest she had brought back with her to the Manor. The wizarding gossip grapevine had always wondered why she and Harry had not lived in Sirius' family home; now, they were abuzz with why she had moved herself and her son to Wiltshire. Some of the reports that came out were ridiculous. There wasn't a week that went by where some columnist wasn't suggesting that the reason Hermione had fled to Wiltshire was to stay hidden from the public while she carried the love child of Draco Malfoy. Or that she was a shrewd, calculating black widow who had caught her next victim in much the same tradition as Blaise's sensational mother. But Hermione had gotten to the point where she honestly didn't care what the gossips thought. The Malfoy property was beautiful. Its serenity was soothing. Besides, James loved it there. He loved the gardens, he loved the woods, he loved the fish pond….he especially loved the peacocks that roamed about. Sometimes he would try to chase them, giving Hermione a much needed laugh before she would call out for him to stop. Sometimes they would let him feed them.

Then there was Narcissa. The older witch had become part mother, part girlfriend to the lonely widow. She would often take Hermione shopping just to get her out of the house. Often it would be to exotic locales. One time, Narcissa had gotten a portkey to Tel Aviv. When Hermione wondered aloud if the area was safe, Narcissa brushed off her concerns and assured her the wizarding section was as peaceful and safe as Diagon Alley. After that, they had roamed the streets of the old city of Jaffa. Like young girls, they'd gone through the market, sampling the different street vendor's food, trying on scarves and purchasing trinkets before heading out to walk at sunset along the beach of the ancient seaport.

When she wasn't gadding about with Narcissa, Hermione was with Draco. Declaring to him she needed to do something to feel productive, he invited her to help him in his shop. During the cold winter months Hermione stayed busy, often finding herself over a cauldron, counting her stirs or over at the table, concentrating on the precise slicing of certain ingredients. Those were the times when she and Draco would have long conversations. No topic was off-limits. Deep long discussions on philosophy and faith or conversely, silly little chats involving favorite puns. His opinion on whether muggles really had been to the moon. Her fear of ants. How he despised milk. When warmer weather once again graced England, they talked of other things. Draco confessing he'd never learned to swim; Hermione admitting she had been chosen as May Queen once; it had been the year before she'd found out she was a witch.

On one very warm day, they'd taken a break from their work and had gone outside, seeking a respite from standing over steaming cauldrons all day. Together, they sat on the stoop overlooking the small back yard behind Draco's shop.

"I love this time of the year," he confessed.

She bumped his shoulder in a playful way. "Why is that?"

Draco smiled, as if recalling a treasured secret. "Because…..everything is alive. Everywhere one looks, there's growth. Or at least, the potential for it."

Gazing admiringly at the blooming jasmine that was growing along the wall of a nearby store, Hermione admitted to her love of gardening and of getting her hands in dirt. She glanced over to see Draco looking at her thoughtfully. She was just about to ask him what was on his mind when he surprised her by pulling her out into the yard. Once there, he made a hole in the ground with his wand.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Patience, love. You'll see."

Kneeling down, he tugged at her until she was down on her knees beside him. Then he placed her hands in the hole and gently patted the loose dirt over her hands.

Giving her a look that begged for understanding, he said, "There. Now both of us can have what we want."

She looked down at her buried hands. "Have you lost the plot? What is this about?"

"Can't you guess?"

She thought for a moment, but came up clueless. Shaking her head, she said, "Nope. Sorry."

Draco's eyes shined like silver pools in the daylight. She couldn't decide if it made him look like an angel or a madman.

But all he said was, "You love to garden. I love to see things grow."

Hermione laughed. "So…..you decided to plant me?"

His expression changed to one of raw yearning. "Yes. I've planted myself a Hermione tree. I've been caring for it in the hopes that one day it might bear fruit."

Hermione's heart, still and dormant since Harry died, began to beat madly at that moment. She knew Draco's words had a deeper meaning. Right then it suddenly occurred to her that a lot of Draco's words and actions had had deeper meanings. She felt a strange tingling, but it was not unwelcome. Actually, it felt wonderful. It was as if a tight band that had been restricting her heart had snapped. Feeling was returning to all her numb places.

She knew she had to ask. "What kind of fruit do you want your tree to bear?"

Draco seemed surprised at the question. Then the look in his eyes turned to something deeper. Infinitely warmer. As if he'd suddenly let down a barrier Hermione hadn't known was there. Smoothing her hair with his palm, he whispered, "That will be up to my little tree, won't it?"

Hermione gulped. She watched, trembling, as his eyes looked down to her mouth.

Is he thinking of kissing me?

Did she want him to kiss her? She didn't know. All she knew was that the closer he moved toward her, the harder her heart beat. She could hear his heavy breathing, as if his heart was racing, too. His breath smelled of cinnamon and cloves. Hermione instinctively lifted her face to his. Just when his lips had reached their goal, the back door to the shop opened. Theo was back from playing babysitter.

"Oi! Just how long am I supposed to keep the midget?" he called out.

Draco reluctantly raised his head from hers. His guard was down; Hermione's breath caught at the depth of feeling plainly showing on his face. It made shivers run all the way down her spine.

"Uh-oh…...did I interrupt something?" their friend grinned mischievously.

Draco cupped Hermione's cheek and kissed it, his mouth lingering on her soft skin.

"We are not finished here," he promised.

Hermione nodded. "Later."

He smiled tenderly at her. "Later."

"It's about time you made a move," Theo said as Draco walked up to him. "I swear, you're slower than a Hogwarts' broom."

"You're such a prat, Theodore," Draco huffed. "And don't call our James a midget."

"Ooh….I know I'm in trouble when you use my big boy name," Theo teased.

Hermione sat there transfixed. What just happened? The way Draco had looked at her…..the way he'd touched her as if she was the most precious thing in his world…..their barely-begun kiss….and right then, he'd called James his. Hermione watched him as he thumped his friend good-naturedly on the head before holding out his arms for her son. James jumped up in them, hugging Draco the way he used to hug Harry when he'd come home from an assignment. Hermione's eyes welled up with tears.

Was she ready for this?

She loved Harry. She always would.

But in that part of her heart where she'd already begun to heal, a name kept being whispered, a repeating echo playing in her mind.

Draco.

She knew she would eventually have to listen. Then she looked down to see her hands still buried in the soil.

Let's see how this little tree grows.


000

AN: There were so many conflicting sources regarding color symbols / flower symbols, I basically just picked one and hoped for the best:

Heliotrope: purplish flower denoting eternal love

Purple Hyacinth: sorrow

How ironic that the two who were Harry's best friends growing up both saw purple…..but with such different meanings.

Now, tell me: Is Hermione moving on too fast? Or is true love too tempting to resist? How would you react if you were her? I would love to hear your thoughts.