Chapter Twenty-One

The clouds were silver gray, the same color as Draco's eyes. They were Azkaban's overcast. On the tiny island where sea wind blew like a creature of its own, there was no sunshine. Somehow, she could easily see how the gloom could be Draco's home.

With her hair pinned in a low bun, the hood of her billowing cloak low over her head, she walked off the boat and onto the island of Azkaban. The sea was geared by the wind and the sea rocked the boat and she felt sick, her cheeks tinged with green. Even the steady land felt as though it was moving. The large pebbles underfoot that set her balance more off kilter didn't help

"Ms. Granger?" A stocky man with a cut lip approached her. He wore a heavy-duty black cloak with the stitching of his station. He was the head guard of the prison. "I'm Mr. Spence. I was told that you'd be here by Mr. Harry Potter," he explained.

"Yes, I'm here to see Mr. Draco Malfoy."

He walked ahead, past the clusters towers that shielded them from the harsh sea winds. He took her to the only rectangle building there was. It set low and dull and somehow more forbidding than the towers that held the prisoners. One of those prisons that held Draco.

Mr. Spence held the door open for her and she stepped into the oddly stifling room that looked much smaller than it appeared on the outside. Half of the room was divided by bars with no door. On the other side there were a line of guards, their wands at their side. Mr. Spence motioned with a nod to the bars as he stayed by the door, his short wand out as well, arms cross, tapping it against his elbow in boredom.

She pulled her hood down, waiting away from the bars. None of the guards wore an expression and none of them would meet her eye. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and she wondered if she had done the right thing. Harry said that Draco may not have wanted to see her.

Last night with Harry had been the best nights in her life. It was a new start for them; they could begin their lives together right. Only, there was talking with Draco, and that was what caused the weight of her heart that day. Even through the eggs and bacon that Harry cooked for her when they woke didn't have the same flavor. Harry held her hand, feeling the hills of her knuckles, silently assuring her that all would be okay. He was right, it would, because they were together.

The door behind the bars clanged open. In came Draco in a black suit, a band on his wrist to prevent his use of magic. He looked sick and cold, bags under his eyes, his skin placid.

They took gradual steps to the bars, in an almost shy manner. As if they didn't know where to start... Hermione didn't have the words to say what she felt, because what she felt was garbled in confusion. Where they started to the end of their path together. This was a goodbye, and how did one say goodbye? With a kiss? A hug? There was no way to keep yourself intact.

"You're worth paying the price, Hermione," Draco said simply.

It was important, more important than ever that he knew. "I wouldn't have charged you -"

"I know."

She inhaled shakily. Her whole body trembled. "I'll put in a favor -"

"No." He met her eyes, his stormy grays and her melting brown. "I have to do this. I can't hurt you and the world for what I want." He gripped the bars, resting his forehead against it. "I poisoned you. You could've died. I'm selfish and reckless - always have been." He breathed slowly, "he loves you. He's waited years for you and didn't even know it."

There was not a proper response to that. She thought the same of herself, that there was a part that waited for Harry or waited for a time when they could start. There were the problems of the worlds upon their shoulders. It may have been the right time, but all she cared about was that they got through alive. Together.

"I forgive you," she said.

"I know that, too," he responded, pulling her by the front of her robes to the bars, and lightly touched her lips with his. They were hardly met, the bars in their way, pressing into her hips and her shoulders.

They parted, Hermione touching her lips in thought. It was their last kiss. How did one process that? She was aching, it stealing all the things she wanted to tell him.

"Two minutes," one of the guards called out to the walls.

The bars were cursed to keep her apart. He wanted to feel her fully against him, he wanted all of her, at least one more time. There was no way he could be with her, her last encounter with Harry, his last act of almost murdering her.

Suddenly he couldn't look into her watery eyes, to see the damage he stored there to slowly kill the only person he could love so completely. There was not enough good in him to replace the hurt. He was destroyed. He was nothing, and she was everything.

"Draco?" The tips of her fingers grazed the stubble on his cheek. Her dewy palms held the sides of his face as he had held hers. "Look at me, please, Draco."

He did. He cried as she wrapped her arms so tightly around him he felt that he would never breathe again.

I forgive you. Who knew that three words could be the end of someone? That was what it felt like, to feel the weight of remorse like a giant on your chest, to have someone give their last strength to save you, and tell you that it was okay to not be scared anymore. It was too much, and he feared he would bruise her hands. Could she feel it? The tremble that went through his body?

"I love you," he breathed.

"Time's up!"

"Take Bandy home with you," he told her in a hurry. "She doesn't have anyone else. Take care of her."

She nodded.

"Ten seconds to leave," the guard bellowed.

It would be five years. Five whole years until he would see her face again. It didn't matter. Hermione had already moved on, he knew, because her hair had the scent of Harry's shampoo.

He exited out the door, not looking back although, like a fire, he could feel her gaze on his back. Outside he was escorted to his tower. Nothing felt real, not the frigid air and the pebbles under his bare feet. There was no color, not in the skies or in the sea. He was surrounded by dreary gray.

The clanging of his iron tower door shattered him to his knees. He kept the happiness in his head, the real feel of Hermione's hands and how her hair - despite being clipped up was still wild and beautiful; how the curve of her lips enticed his.

Those thoughts weren't strong enough to stop the thought of who she would see soon. The idea of Harry by her, smiling, touching her, and how easily it happened before. It was bound to happen again and Draco could never stop it. A force beyond his control.

He was going to go slowly insane, he was sure. His mistakes and the knowledge that he would be nowhere when he returned to the Wizarding world sent him into despair.

To nothing and no one that could possibly hear him, a message that would never get through, he pleaded, "take care of her, Harry."

Hermione leaned over the side of the boat, her hands gripping the slick railing, her feet shoulders-width apart to keep her balance, her hood whipped off her head and flying behind her. She did not bother to keep it on or control the strands of her hair that escaped her clip. They whipped about her face, a few stuck to her wet cheeks.

In an hour she would be Floo'ing home. The idea of the warm flames she would be encountering should have been calming her, but she was like the unsettling sea in the currents of winds they were in. She was leaving without Draco. Somehow she didn't think of having to leave without him and how much it would hurt. It was constricting, like being in a confined space, unable to stretch out.

The sea and its spikes rolled her stomach but icy sprays kept her focused on reality and helped keep her emotions.

"Take care of him, God."