Back. Added to the end, if you care to read.
"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind."
William Shakespeare
A Midsummer Night's Dream
The fact that Hermione's name was uncommon was due to the fact that her parents had a fondness for Shakespeare. It was not in fact based after the Hermione from Ancient Greek stories.
Though Hermione was unlike her namesake, in most manners, she loved reading Shakespeare. The worn pages of an old book had been her friend for such a long time - ever since she was little, and she would never get tired of the fact that Shakespeare could express himself in such a beautiful manner.
Hermione, though many things, was not a poet. Still, she sat at the bedside of the man she loved, holding his pale hand in both of her own. And her lips began to form the words that were sincere, and quiet.
"I love you. I don't know when it happened. I honestly love you. It's strange, isn't it? All those years spent hating you, that seemed to melt before our very eyes." A wry laugh sparked from the lips of the brunette, who sat by the man's bedside. Her laughter quietened as she stroked his almost white hair back off his face.
His manner of ease in sleep resembled a cherub - or an angel of sorts, and she sucked in her breath as she admired his Adonis-like beauty. Her head lowered to kiss his forehead, her breathing got louder - the frequency of each breath increasing.
He's wearing a hospital blue gown - the generic ones that are backless. On most anyone, it would have been trauma-inducing, but on Draco, it simply makes his sculpted body more obvious.
"I will always wonder if we were meant to be, or if all this is just because of the curse, you know." She said as she slowly lifted herself up from the leaning position she had been in.
"Do me a favour, Draco. Wake up." She laughed dryly at herself for a moment. As if he could even hear her - as if he could do what she asked. "I'll do anything."
She paused, taking a deep breath. She rolled her shoulders, remembering that she too had been in pain hours ago, and should indeed be resting. Her hands found her lightly bruised skin, as she turned to Draco again.
"Even that mating."
She closed her eyes. A moment later, a series of beeps filled the air. She looked up - the magically enhanced heart rate monitor was going crazy. He was waking up.
She is whispering to him, and he's laughing at her, as her hair sways at him. His almost-white hair is flying in the wind, though it's not long enough to whip either of them in the face. He imagines that he looks good almost model-like and this is only confirmed when she smiles at him.
She's running and her hair seems to float in the air as she laughs, her head turning to look back, only after a long distance. And she's calling him. She's screaming his name.
He's asking her to stop, so he can catch up, but she's too busy laughing. He's running.
He knows it's a dream.
But he's happy for a moment, and she's running back. And she's whispering his name. Draco. Draco. Draco. In a sort of monotonous pattern, she speaks his name - he cannot help but smile.
Then suddenly it's all black, and he can just here her words.
Wake up. I'll do anything. Even that mating.
Even blind, he can feel her around him. Her voice is filled with a desperation that hurts him. He caused that. Somewhere deep inside him, he's glad. He feels satisfied that he has escaped that. That she feels that for him.
A sense of drowning fills him.
He's awake.
"Move. Everyone, move out of the way." A harsh voice is speaking, and there's a bubble of laughter, before the voice speaks louder. "Move."
A series of beeps fill the air, that are the tell tale sounds of the heart rate monitor. And in the chaos, a voice speaks louder telling everyone to move. All the people in the room feel rushed, and chaotic.
"Move, move, move. " The voices are more urgent. And it's obvious that it's not just one harsh voice now, but a series of people all speaking in unison. Another eruption of abrupt orders are quick to succeed the rough noise caused by the movement, in compliance to the orders barked out.
A series of gentlemen and women too, in their pale blue hospital robes are all surrounding the bed. And one other woman, who doesn't seem to be hearing the orders that are being yelled.
The latter woman is easily recognised by most everyone in the room; she is, after all, a third of the golden trio - a half, considering that the trio is no longer one, but rather a duo.
The man's eyes flicker, and he sits up. His eyes hit the woman in the centre of the room, and suddenly it feels like all the nurses and doctors are intruding on an intimate moment.
"Hermione." Says he, and she smiles.
Two men are in a dark room.
One has shaggy jet black hair, and flashing green eyes - that are comfortably framed with a pair of round spectacles. His most prominent, and distinguishing feature however is neither of the two features aforementioned, but rather a pale, fading scar mildly highlighted on his forehead.
Anyone in the Wizarding world would easily have been able to tell who he was, because of this scar.
The other man, too, was remarkably well-known. And specifically in connection to the Order of the Phoenix. His name was Kingsley Shacklebolt and he was the Minister of Magic.
The connection between the two men was obvious, and it was evident that Kingsley and Harry were friends beyond their working lives. But anyone who saw the men could also tell that tension hung high in between them as they stood.
"She did it in self defence. Argue that." Harry's voice was definite.
It was with a subdued voice that Kingsley answered.
"Be that as it may, someone fired a killing curse. And it seems to be Hermione. Her wand was lifted."
A flash of anger filled Harry that was visible to Kingsley - his temper was one thing that had not changed, nor matured over the years. The teenager still resided in Harry as a constant reminder that they had been forced to mature too quickly, and this was never good. Kingsley tried to be rational, as did Harry but one was protecting his 'sister', and the other his job.
As it was, they continued to face each other, their muscles tense and firm.
"Are you really going to ruin it over her?" Kingsley's voice was soft, but his words were cutting - and Harry tensed further.
"She's my sister, she would never do that." Harry's voice seemed to be injected with a desperation that seemed even more damaging than Kingsley's words. But it was so that friendship was being ruined.
"Minister? Your 3 O'clock is here." The gentle voice of a secretary drifted into the room, making both the men start. As Kingsley turned to face the door, mentally preparing himself for his next appointment, Harry's voice pleaded once more.
"Please. Please. She's my sister." By the time, Kingsley turned to face Harry, he had already apparated out.
Narcissa Malfoy seemed to objectify grace, and dignity. Yet, when the news reached her that her son was up, she rushed to the room. If God was something that the wizarding society actively believed in, she would have thanked God. As it was she neither believed in God, nor knew who God was, so she simply thanked the doctors and nurses.
If she had seen Hermione on the way to Draco's room, she would have thanked her too;it was something she had said that had made Draco wake up, of that Narcissa was sure.
She rushed into the room, and her eyes widened as they fell on how the nurses and doctors had seemed to turn away from the couple sitting together on the bed, so as to give them privacy. Even Narcissa felt as if she was being intrusive.
She let out the breath, which she hadn't realised she had held. The couple turned at the sound of her exhaling, and both pairs of eyes glistened with tears. Draco in his weak state leaned on Hermione, who gently held him upright.
They showed all the 'experience' of a couple of 20 years.
And Narcissa fought the battle within herself, knowing that she was no longer the first woman in her son's life.
