9.

"You don't need to do this," Hermione found herself saying - for what felt like the hundredth time since she'd accidentally talked him into it.

Though, to be fair on her, she hadn't meant to do it.

When she had received the owl before she left the office, it had been the first thing that came to mind when he asked about her day.

Sure, she may have talked about it for almost ten minutes but she was excited.

This was one of the few things Hermione did that wasn't as outwardly affected by her token-status than anything she did in the courtrooms. It was one of the first, and only, things she had done with Ron and Harry after the War that actually seemed worth doing at the time.

Having to listen to testimonies from Death Eaters that showed no remorse for their crimes, still persisted in any ignorance of wrongdoing, or blamed it on an Imperius curse was the last thing on any of their minds.

They disagreed on what they could do after all, they couldn't just do nothing. The ragtag Ministry coalition, that had formed to help the wizarding community recover from the War, had impressed upon them the importance of being seen – of doing their part.

Ron had been angry; the wound of Fred's death still so fresh that he told them off for trying to use them when they'd already fought and won the fucking war for you bastards!

The worst part was that Ron saw through their manipulations so easily then, and she, even clouded with exhaustion, nightmares and raging PTSD, had persuaded him into compliance.

It delayed Harry running away – at least it had some merits – but the task they had decided on together, to head and to be seen being a part of, almost made it feel like they were actually contributing. It was cathartic getting to build something instead of breaking and, for a few months; Hermione almost felt like that this was how they were going to recover.

Life, however, worked out differently and the project which made every paper in Wizarding Britain grew smaller and smaller.

Ron left after the media coverage dwindled and Harry ran after one too many public appearances and political photographs. He was the Ministry's prized puppet until he'd had enough, and only Hermione remained, the metaphorical noose tightening around her neck as a result.

Still, she kept up the efforts, purely for her own sanity.

Bit by bit, year after year; and all the hard work was going to pay off. She was finally going to see something – pure and good and untainted by bad intentions reach its completion – and she helped make it happen.

Having their appearance there, where it all began, be their first public confirmation of them being a couple outside of their rendezvous in the shadows, just added to how right it felt.

That it happened to help achieve their aims too, was an added bonus.

Bertina had, with a gleam in her eye, given Hermione her totally unnecessary blessing to take some time from work to appear in the too-small-to-be-actually-called-an-event event.

She had, in fact, fully intended to go since its announcement – it had been penciled into her diary for months – making Draco's presence with her quite daring.

He had successfully avoided the public eye for years and, to show up to any event – however minuscule or poorly attended – would be huge.

It spoke highly of how important Hermione was to him and how much he was willing to risk to prove it - not just to her but to everyone else.

The small audience was perfect for the task as well; they'd get up close and personal with the fabled Youngest Death Eater of the Dark Lord and find he was nothing more than a man.

But how much of a man they would realize he was? That worried Hermione.

It didn't have to be this event he attended with her, anyway; it was an option, sure. She liked options and choices and – he didn't have to do this.

"Granger," he repeated patiently, "I know."

"I'm just saying," she knew she was rambling - her voice pitching to an over-excited chatter, "there's a small charity drive for S.P.E.W that Luna is running; we're knitting!"

"And you know I'd rather upend Theodore's box of toys on my head than do that," was his dry response.

She suppressed the wince. Any mention of his nephew was a definite no, then. "Fair point, but also -"

"Granger," he sighed. Perhaps that was a bit too strong of a response. "We're already here. What would be the point of turning back now?"

"Technically, we're standing outside my Floo so we could still turn back if you want to."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit. I may not be a Gryffindor but I'm not a total coward."

"There's nothing cowardly about not wanting to do this," she reminded him quietly, practically chewing off her bottom lip with the worry.

Sighing once more, he stopped and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "We're doing this." When she remained unconvinced, he added, "I'll be okay. You worry too much."

With a huff, blowing out her bangs in the process, Hermione grumbled, "Fine."

Grabbing his hand in hers, she matched his step and declared, "But you're holding my hand the whole time, Mister. No going down the dark and twisty road, you hear me?"

Dutifully, albeit with no small amount of sarcasm, he replied, "Yes ma'am."

As they stepped into the fireplace, he tightened his grasp on hers as she dropped the handful of Floo powder and announced, "Hogwarts."

.

Only seven other people were at the final tour of the rebuilt school: Daphne Greengrass, Katie Bell, Cho Chang, Ernie MacMillan, Seamus Finnegan, a sleepy-eyed reporter from the Wizard Daily, and an equally uninterested Witch Weekly intern who drew the short straw.

Their fellow students were frosty, to say the least, although Hermione still managed a cheery hello to all – despite her dwindling enthusiasm.

Professor McGonagall, whom she had written to the night before about whether or not Draco would be welcomed back into the hallowed halls of their school if he were to attend the small ceremony, was gracious as always and offered a smile to the stiff form of the former Slytherin at Hermione's side.

Besides their esteemed Professor – now Headmistress of their former school – only Daphne deigned to acknowledge Draco at all by nodding coolly in greeting.

Brushing that aside, the walk to the Astronomy Tower was…interesting, to say the least.

Katie and Cho, for whatever reason, had suddenly taken a great interest in the schematics of the Tower's reconstruction, speaking in sharp whispers to the headmistress who was leading the way. Ernie, on the other hand, made small talk with the no-longer-sleepy-eyed Wizard Daily reporter whilst maintaining the constant side glances they both cut towards Draco in open curiosity.

Seamus, in true brash Gryffindor fashion, was not so subtly retelling some of Draco's most impressionable years to the Witch Weekly intern who looked like she had hit the big time by landing this gig.

Hermione, more than willing to play Seamus' ill-advised game, was quick to tell Draco – and the Witch Weekly reporter – how often it was Seamus who was caught instigating altercations with the Slytherin Firsties and how his attempts at pranks had gotten house points docked so fast Fred and George had a sit down with him to tell him to knock it off.

At that, he finally found the brain cells to at least whisper his judgments after that.

Draco managed a slight smirk at the pointed recollection, telling her quietly that the Weasley twins carried quite a bit of respect from their rival house. "Cunning and clever; they'd have fit right in."

"No ambition though," Katie, who had been eavesdropping in front of them, commented before immediately stiffening at her mistake.

"Did you hear about their prank on Snape during their Potions exam?" Draco asked with his brow arched in aristocratic disapproval, causing Ernie to chortle in surprise. "They were in detention until Easter but, if attempting a combination of a Seventh Year charm and a Sixth Year potion at the same time during an exam isn't ambitious, I don't know what is."

Professor McGonagall huffed out a laugh of her own and shook her head.

The mood became less strained after that, and the not-so-sleepy-eyed reporter even ventured a question to Draco (which the Witch Weekly reporter seemed envious of since Seamus didn't seem to be anywhere near letting her off), "What brings you to today's occasion, Lord Malfoy?"

He exhaled quietly and informed, "Closure."

As they ascended the staircase, Draco let in a sharp intake of breath and Hermione tightened her fingers around his.

"Okay?"

His nod was slight. "Okay."

They found the space of the tower to be unchanged although Hermione could spot the obvious new additions in architecture and design, vaguely hearing the tail-end of Professor McGonagall's explanation of the tower's reconstruction efforts from her inspection.

"Why did it take so long?" the intern asked.

"We were actually looking for sponsors for a new scope for the tower," the Professor informed, "we didn't want to get the exact same one. There was nothing wrong with it but we wanted the rebuilding of the school to be more than just trying to make everything look the same. We were aiming to improve what came before it."

It was a good motto to have, Hermione noted, sharing a smile with her favorite Professor.

"I heard the goblins wouldn't even help to put it back together," Seamus sneered, "something about it being cursed."

"That would be inaccurate; goblins are impervious to wizarding curses," Daphne interjected, though she seemed decidedly less interested in the tower itself now that she'd seen it.

"Probably why you got your daddy to pay for a new scope, huh?"

The Professor didn't waste a second to shut her former charge up by sharply declaring, "If Miss Greengrass did sponsor it, we can only thank her."

"So it was a benefactor sponsor then?" the intern persisted. Professor McGonagall only made a slight smile in reply before moving on about the room – talking about this fixture and this use and that thing – which the intern insisted was not as important as who paid for the room's defining feature.

Despite the warm feeling that blossomed in her chest because what else was this man trying to fix? Hermione cast a worried glance his way and noted how he seemed to be blinking rapidly at nothing, his frighteningly still – as if he weren't breathing at all.

"Draco, are you okay?" she asked, keeping her voice low but it seemed that her former housemate wasn't quite done aggravating him for the day as Seamus snorted derisively.

"He's probably reliving his first murder."

.

"You can't use an Unforgivable if you don't know what it feels like, nephew."

It happened when they were still at school – the year Voldemort regained his strength and power within the walls of Draco's home – his ancestral home; the family seat of power.

Appearances were all Draco had left; he was a Malfoy for fuck's sake. Who was there for him to turn to? Who would believe him? Who would spare him? All he had left was the persona of Draco Malfoy: disdainful, haughty, and superior. But it was a miserable time regardless of how he acted to hide it and, on the night of the Yule Ball; he contemplated the window of the Astronomy Tower and wondered if everything would just go away should he take that one little step over the edge.

In his most fantastical of romantic ravings, he imagined that he'd join the constellations his family had always taken pride in naming themselves after; that he should find his way into the heavens now before he truly deserved his place in hell.

Imperio

Draco remembered pausing in his contemplations only because of the crying that was breaking his concentration; reminding him of what his mother would sound like if he did take that leap and of the choking noises his father would make at having to come to the school to identify his body. So he stepped away from the ledge.

At the darkest moment of his young life, Draco found his bit of grace.

Granger – in her periwinkle dress with her hair, once in ordered chaos atop her head, breaking free of their bindings and spilling down her back and across her shoulders – weeping on the steps.

She was mourning for her own childish innocence lost; a dress that wouldn't make her a princess and a crown of curls that wouldn't make her a queen in the eyes of some ungrateful boy who didn't deserve her.

She cried like a Gryffindor Draco remembered thinking; loud, unashamed, and feeling her hurt so completely that it physically shook her.

He envied her release; craved it, really.

Crucio

Before he could stop himself, he offered the handkerchief his mother always insisted he carried in his pocket – in case of emergencies, darling – and for a moment, Granger looked up and she fucking saw him.

His limbs still shaking and his eyes already haunted by what the future would have for him, she looked scared for a second; at the specter that had appeared before her.

Still, she-she stumbled to her feet to reach him, arms stretched out to touch him – hold him? – as her lips were forming the words, "What happened? Are you okay?"

The careless, almost instinctual, the sentiment was louder than the veiled pleas of his parents to stay strong, you're a Malfoy; you're our son, our only son. Don't get in the way, don't-don't try and fight them. Merlin, be smart and stay safe – as they shoved him onto the train as far away from Voldemort as they could manage.

But here was Granger – honest and good Granger – wanting to offer him comfort – wanting to show compassion –

And suddenly that persistent chill that had settled into his bones started to warm; tingling his singed nerves back to life and Draco had never felt more frightened – or alive.

Avada Kedavra

Her fingertips were warm against his cheeks, doe brown eyes staring into his intently as she took an exaggerated breathe – in – out – in – out –

He copied the rise and fall of her chest and was rewarded by the tangle of her fingers at the hair at the nape of his neck. Her rosebud lips puffed out a final exaggerated breath before she leaned forward to press their foreheads against one another, exhausted and relieved.

"Granger," he rasped.

"You're okay," she murmured back, by way of explanation, and he took an almost frantic stock of his surroundings.

The scent of parchment and ink lay heavy in the air, unsurprising with the walls covered inch by inch with books. Any open gaps the room had been tastefully filled with framed maps and diagrams whilst above shimmered with an illusion of the night sky embedded into the ceiling.

His eyes connected the dots on the front of the dipper before catching sight of his namesake curling between Ursa Major and Polaris; keeping guard over Granger's haven. He huffed out quietly, "We're in the library?"

"Ernie helped me take you to the Infirmary," she began, "but we had a particularly determined Witch Weekly intern on our hands so I decided to make an escape. I hope you don't mind."

He shook his head slightly. "How-"

Licking her lips anxiously, Hermione cut in, "You had a panic attack."

When he jerked at the words, she shushed him to calm, explaining, "Katie got rid of Seamus, and Professor McGonagall tried to help, but you started thrashing around and Ernie had to hold you-"

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, no; Daphne was pretty quick to get me away from you."

When he began to squirm, Hermione continued to soothe, "Draco-Draco, everything's okay now. I'm here, I've got you."

The look on her face seemed to ache with something and, when he finally stilled long enough to realize that she wanted him to, she wrapped her arms around him tight and the breath she released was shaky.

Eventually, he returned her embrace, wrapping his arm across her back. "I'm sorry I scared you," he mumbled into her shoulder.

Shaking her head vehemently, she only swallowed the growing lump in her throat. "I shouldn't have made you come here."

"You didn't make me do anything," he reminded.

"No, but I suggested, and then I didn't say no enough, and–"

"And I still would have insisted we come."

"You weren't ready, though," she burst, pulling away from him enough so he could see her flushed face and tear-stained cheeks. "I should have known and now I've hurt you."

"Granger." Pressing his hand against the back of her neck and bringing his lips against her forehead, he told her warily, "I don't think I'd ever be ready but I needed to come here."

"For closure?" she asked, her hand gripping the front of his robes.

Hermione knew, of course, that it wasn't him that killed Dumbledore – that it was the cursed ring and Snape – but he mumbled, "Yeah" and that was enough for her to peer up at him, her entire body growing painfully still as she asked, "Draco…what did you do?"

"It wasn't what I did – it was what I didn't."

Her strained gasp was her only reply and, for however long she had spent coaxing him back to reality by facing his demons and withstanding his terrors, he held her just as long, murmuring softly, "I'm sorry I never told you."

Thank you for helping me reach 500 follows. Special thanks to Rachel for making this possible – and legible.