The light was much more painful than I had expected. Actually, I don't know what I was expecting, but listening to the blathering of Harry Potter definitely wasn't it. I supposed one could say my peaceful reprieve had come to a succinct conclusion.
I wasn't angry about it. I was quite exhilarated really. I was also terrified and I'm not afraid to admit it either. It was all very confusing and conflicting and everything you'd imagine it would be.
I didn't open my eyes. I contemplated it, but in the end, I decided against it. I had my reasons. I simply wasn't ready at that moment to face the world.
I could hear subdued murmurings around me and even felt the soft breeze of someone stepping too closely to my position on the floor. I assumed it was the floor. I assumed I was laid in the very same spot where Harry Potter struck my body with the Killing Curse, but I couldn't be sure.
"We should move him," The Minister for Magic grunted.
"Are you positive he's—" I didn't recognise the voice and I listened carefully as the half question hung in the air.
"It was the Killing Curse. Harry Potter is the only wizard to have survived it," The Minister's words were terse and he sounded angry, yet it was also subtle.
"Minister?" Harry Potter wasn't the snivelling child I remembered. His voice was strong and rung out with an echo in the room. "I'd like to do it."
I couldn't move, I knew that much. My entire body ached from the top of my head to the very tips of my toes. A convalescence period my arse, I was going to be laid up for months and without proper care, I might never regain of my limbs. There was a fleeting moment when I actually hated my godfather, but it passed just as quickly when Harry Potter harshly pressed his fingers against my throat.
"Are you trying to kill me again?" I scoffed and was thankful my voice portrayed the venom I felt.
"Clear the room!" The Minister for Magic's Sonorus Charm was earsplitting, to say the least, but there was a fair amount of shuffling before there was nothing more than the sound of breaths.
"Malfoy?"
Potter poked me with his wand and had I been at full capacity, I probably would have hexed him. Instead, I had to make do with yet another thinly veiled, sarcastic retort.
"Were you always this stupid?" My eyes rolled behind my lids and the temptation to open them was great.
"I can't believe it," Shacklebolt gasped beside me and I ever so slowly turned my head in his direction.
"Can we gush over the magical miracle of magic later and get me off the fucking floor?" I coughed and I felt as though my chest seized.
I felt droplets of liquid escape my lips and I would have wiped them away. While I was eerily conscious of my limbs, they refused to bend to my commands. I was at the mercy of my one-time sworn enemy and a man I barely knew.
"What do you think it was? Where should we move him?"
I was startled to hear the Minister deferring to Potter, but I suppose when you're the wizard who disposed of the Dark Lord, such things happen. I grunted my displeasure, but there was nothing more I could do. This predicament was going to grow old fairly quickly, of that, I was certain.
"The tunnels," I managed to croak.
I was in desperate need of water as well as medical attention. I wasn't used to relying on others to aid me. I am a Malfoy. I was always a Malfoy and while I was suffering from a horrifically debilitating bout of self-deprecation, it was over now. I was ready to fucking live.
"The Aurors haven't cleared the tunnels, Malfoy, that's out of the question," Potter scoffed at me and I promised myself I would punch him one day.
"Cleared them from what, Potter? Voldefuck is dead and his last remaining Death Eaters were so bloody pathetic Longbottom could have rounded them up himself." I whimpered in pain when the hard edge of a shoe struck my side.
"Neville's dead," Potter whispered and I would have felt bad if I wasn't in so much fucking pain.
"I'm sure that's horrible for you, but I'm not and I'd really appreciate a Healer or at the very least some Potions and something to drink."
I listened to the sound of footsteps walking around me until I grew dizzy from the mere sound of it. I supposed they were ruminating on the situation rather than dealing with it. I don't know why Potter wasted his time with so much thinking. Everyone knew Granger was the brain behind the Golden Boy.
"Why aren't you getting up?"'
"Obviously I am incapable, Potter," I grit my teeth together and listened to them crunch as I muttered one of the most difficult acknowledgements of my life.
"Should I get Hermione?"
Fuck, I didn't know how to answer that. I wanted to see her. I wanted to really see her. I wanted to hold her in my arms and never let go, but there was one glaringly obvious issue. My arms didn't work. My body didn't respond. I couldn't hold her. I couldn't touch her. I couldn't do anything other than be a burden and that wasn't fair to her. The soft handkerchief gently wiping my cheek was my first inclination that I was silently crying and I hated it.
"No, please don't. Not, not like this."
"All right," Potter whispered.
I couldn't see his green eyes, but I knew they studied me curiously. I could feel. I could feel everything and nothing, which is impossible to properly convey. My body was on fire with pinpricks of constant pain, but my heart was empty until the darkness consumed me once more.
Potter and Shacklebolt were especially helpful when it came to my accommodations. They didn't put up a fuss in the least and I appreciated that. I didn't want to step foot into the Manor again and I don't think anyone could blame me for that.
"Why here, Malfoy?" Potter was uncomfortably kind and I didn't know what to make of it.
The things I didn't know were really beginning to accumulate. It was terribly frustrating, but I knew if I pressed forward with all the questions I had, I would wish to seek out Granger. I couldn't do that, not yet. I needed to be more. I needed to be better. I needed to be many things and I was none of them.
"I can feel her here, Potter. Does that fact please you? This is the last niche in the tunnel before she emerged into the world. She ate at that table. She sat in that chair. She laid her head upon this feather tick. The last traces of her magic are here before they're lost on the wings of freedom."
Potter snorted and I knew I was perhaps slightly sentimental but was it truly necessary to mock me? Perhaps it was retribution for, well many things, but I wasn't about to ask. I was healing, yet my limitations were many.
It was a constant influx of Potions. They made me tired. They made my voice raspy. They made me dream in ways I'd never dreamed before, but I had the use of my arms again. It was worth it.
"Why do you want the Minister to meet us here?"
I listened to the singular chair scrape against the harsh stone and cringed. Over the course of years, my other senses had been heightened significantly. Potter once commented on a newer Potion enhancing everything in order to aid in my recovery. I didn't believe him until everything around me was achingly loud.
"I don't trust either of you, obviously," I tented my fingers and tapped them against each other incessantly. "I'm going to require more than your word."
"I'm not making an Unbreakable, Malfoy," I'm fairly certain Potter dropped his wand as the distinctive sound of wood clattering and rolling drowned out everything else.
My leg jerked and my eyelids fluttered. I almost broke my promise to myself in my excitement, yet in the last second, I held fast. It was frustrating to be confined to bed and brought memories to the surface that I'd rather forget.
"Mr Malfoy, you've requested my presence?"
Kingsley Shacklebolt's booming voice forced my hands to cover my ears and wait for the reverberations to end. My limbs were trembling and I was completely overwhelmed by the influx of sensations. I had lived in proverbial silence for seven years, which was just another reason to wait until I was better before seeing Granger.
"Minister, you've uhm, sorry I don't mean to overstep, but Malfoy here is on some very powerful Potions. They just so happen to—"
"Thank you, Mr Potter."
I exhaled a gust of relief upon his significantly lowered voice. My leg spasmed again and I think I might have smiled. I actually touched the corner of my mouth and it was slightly upturned.
"There's someone in the tunnel," My hoarse whisper broke the uncomfortable stillness around us.
"Impossible."
I imagined Shacklebolt puffed out his chest and looked down on me, but I wasn't wrong. I could hear slippery footfalls and grunts. I could hear harsh breaths and even muted squeals of terror. There was definitely someone in the tunnels and they didn't belong there.
"Fine, believe what you like," I scoffed. "I've requested your presence as I desire to procure a bond stronger than your word."
"What sort of bond, Mr Malfoy?"
"There's no need to have a hippogriff, Minister. I assure you, I would never present a nefarious scheme after the life I've lived. I simply wish to secure something with a little weight behind it. Perhaps a Wizard's Oath with a stipulation," I waved my hand and winced as the bumbling bloke in the darkened tunnels crashed into a nearby wall.
"Shh, I hear something."
"I told you there was someone in the tunnels," I pursed my lips and waited.
Potter shuffled his cumbersome feet and stepped out of the niche. I wager he didn't venture far and I was correct in my assumptions. He quickly shuffled back and I swore I could hear his ridiculous hair waving as he shook his head.
"No, there's nothing," Potter quipped with arrogance.
"Thank heavens Harry Potter is here to protect me."
"I didn't mean to frighten you," The Minister whispered and it was difficult to keep my biting retort contained. "We should transport you elsewhere."
"I'm not leaving the protections—"
"I don't care about the magicks. You've got to—"
"I don't have to do anything, Minister. You'd be hard-pressed to remove me from my family's estate without issue."
Potter remained silent while the Minister and I hissed at each other. I appreciated that and also despised the fact there was yet another moment of gratitude wasted on the man. He might not fully comprehend the Blood Magicks of Purebloods, but the Minister for Magic should have known better.
"Fine, I'm not going to argue with you. It's your life," Shacklebolt snarled.
His anger and powerlessness amused me. I might not have been remotely near my best, but I still wielded power. I must say I liked that. I also knew Granger wouldn't be impressed, but I tried not to dwell on her too much.
"About that Oath, Minister—"
Every single step I took was utter agony. It was too soon. I knew it was too soon, but I was always an impatient man. I was tired of the darkness. I needed the light. I needed Hermione.
There was only so much a Rejuvenation Potion could do. I needed something stronger, but requesting items had become a difficult subject. I hadn't enough knowledge of the deaths during the War. I couldn't ask mind you, and the information was never offered. I had quickly learned to avoid mentioning anyone on the off chance they were dead.
"The Murtlap Essence seems to have worked for you, Malfoy," Potter was being cocky again, but he was also testing me.
"Come now, Potter. It's going to take more than Murtlap Essence carefully combined with a Replenishing Potion to stump me," I had grown to enjoy our little sessions, not that I would admit to that or anything. I'm still a Malfoy.
"No wonder you were Snape's favourite. I always thought it was House loyalties, but you're actually quite adept at Potions. The Ministry could use a Master Potioneer—"
"Shut it. I can't even pretend to contemplate the idea of aiding the Ministry," My ankle twisted and I stumbled into the unforgiving stone with a low groan. "I live in darkness, Potter. I live in a damp cave rather than return to my family's home. I keep my eyes tightly screwed shut in order to protect myself and you want me to entertain the idea of brewing complicated Potions? I can't fucking walk properly for fuck's sake."
Potter didn't offer me a hand. He didn't utter an encouraging word. He did nothing and I liked that. It caused me to focus and I needed that. It was terribly easy to become overwhelmed by the influx of sensations, sounds, and even emotions.
"It's nearly time, Malfoy," Potter didn't say anything more, but I knew what he meant.
I listened to the Potion bottles clink together as he set them on the table. I held my breath as I heard the steady sound of his steps retreating. I exhaled slowly and sunk onto the feather tick where I convinced myself it smelled of her.
When I woke, I was alone. I spent most of my time alone. It gave me time to analyse myself more than anything else. I was still plagued by scarring memories. Half the time, I woke soaked in sweat with a lingering scream on my lips.
My thoughts always strayed to Granger in the moments when I first woke. After I wiped the spittle from my lips and used the corner of the tatty sheet to dry my face, it was always filled with her. I hated sleeping alone, she had ruined me.
There were moments when I nearly convinced myself she was there. Of course, it was nothing more than a damp quilt, but for those few seconds, it was her. Those moments kept me going as stupid as it sounds.
I wanted her, but it was more than that. I needed her and I really hated needing anyone. Hermione Granger reminded me what it was like to feel, what it was like to live. Fuck, I missed her and it hurt. I didn't think it would hurt. I knew she had to be hurting and I wanted to fix it, but what if she never forgave me? What if she decided her life was better without me in it? What if she was happy and then I turn up and ruin everything?
Potter and I had quite the row. I'm sure he told you all about it. I wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong. There was no wrong, but there wasn't right either. Everything was muddled shades of grey and I was afraid.
My head pounded with every breath. Hermione Granger had my son. She'd given birth. She'd survived. She'd done nearly everything I wished for her, except find happiness.
I wanted that for her. I wanted that and so much more, but from the way Potter talked about her, she was stagnant. I didn't know how to properly mourn anyone, but it had been six months. It should have been better by then, shouldn't it?
I didn't want to think anymore and quickly fell asleep. It was a restless slumber and I woke many times. I kept expecting Potter to return and shout at me, but instead, there was a lingering scent I didn't recognise. It wasn't Granger's. It wasn't feminine, at least I didn't believe it was. I didn't hear anything, but my nostrils were filled with stale firewhiskey.
"I'm not supposed to be here," The voice was low and pain-filled.
My heart clenched in my chest. My hands curled into fists. I wondered how long it would take. I wondered how he would bypass Potter and the Ministry. I had my answer. It took him one hundred and fifty-three days.
"Zabini," I croaked.
I cleared my throat and tossed the damp quilt off my legs. I didn't know how I looked so it's not as though I could gauge his reaction, but I did hear a sharp burst escape his lips. The cotton trousers I pulled over my hips were not my usual wear, but I wasn't particular while living below ground like a heathen.
"I suspected," Blaise spat as he stepped closer. "It took me longer to piece everything together because of all the spirits. When I decided to pay the tunnels a visit, I was fairly certain something was amiss when Potter nearly lost his mind. I would have been here sooner, but I've been preoccupied with Hermione."
My breaths were ragged and despite the fact it was cool, I felt hot. I don't know when I had left the feather tick, but my back was pressed against the wall. I was comforted by the corner and slowly slid down the slick stone until I hit the ground. My knees were drawn to my chest and my arms hugged them quickly. It kept me whole.
"I brought you something," I flinched as metal bounced on the small wooden table. "You don't deserve it, but I'm not doing it for you."
"What is it?" My voice trembled and I'm fairly certain it cracked as well. That wasn't the question I wanted to ask, but I was terrified the truth would break my heart.
"I'm sure Potter's already informed you Hermione had the baby. I was there. Did you know that? No, I wager you didn't. She shouted at your mother. I wish I had seen it, but I heard it was bloody fantastic. What the fuck, Malfoy?"
I didn't know what to say to him, but I knew I had to say something. I also knew I was going to have to place my delicate ego to the wayside and confront my fears. I scrubbed my face with my palms and my chin jutted forward.
"You're in love with her, aren't you?" I really tried to keep my tone even, but the acrimony was palpable.
"Maybe I am," Zabini snarled. "It wouldn't matter if I did anyway. You're it for her. She'll never move forward. She'll wander through life doing what she aught with dead eyes and it'll be your selfish fucking fault."
He was towering over me and I was suddenly angry. I wasn't positive that's what I felt, but then I felt my cheeks heat and knew. I hadn't felt anything beyond despondence and agony for months. I liked the way the fire coursed through me and I uncurled my weakened body and stood in a fluid motion.
"From the stench of it, I imagine your conversation with Potter didn't segue beyond your ability to keep your cock in your trousers and your sobriety in check. If you had bothered to have your head, you would have thought to fucking ask him why I stayed away, but no, you'd much rather paint me the villain," I poked his chest with my forefinger and felt vindication when he back stepped.
"I fucking couldn't, you wanker! Potter threatened me, therefore I lied. I lied to him. I lied to myself. I lied to her. It nearly fucking killing me, but I did it," Zabini's spittle struck my cheek and his foul firewhiskey breath wash over my face. "I held her as she sobbed into my chest. I couldn't tell her what I suspected. If I was wrong—" Blaise choked on his words and suddenly I felt awful about everything.
"I couldn't move. I knew I could see, but anything more than that was impossible," The explanations fell from my lips because he deserved them nearly as much as Granger did. "I could speak, but I couldn't even flex my fingers."
The words continued to fall from my lips and Zabini just listened. He grunted a few times and it was a signal to continue and I talked until I couldn't speak any longer. There was nothing left to say. There was no more to confess and I felt lighter, freer even.
"Let's go, Malfoy," Blaise yanked me to my feet and before I knew it, we were shuffling down the bloody tunnel.
"Wait, what are you doing? I can't leave, I'm not ready and—"
"Shut up. You're as ready as you're going to get," Blaise snorted.
He fumbled with his pockets and I wanted to struggle, but it was pointless. He was larger and stronger than I. It was easier to allow him to propel me along.
When the fresh air hit my face, I shied away from it. I was used to the dankness of my dark space. I didn't hate the freshness, but I didn't love it either.
"Where are we going?"
"I've procured a flat in Muggle London. I like it out there. No one bothers me. I'm taking you home with me, Malfoy. I'm going to fix you up right good. Then, we're going to see about getting you to Granger."
Granger. It was a whisper set to repeat. Granger. It was the anxious patter of my heart. Granger. It was freedom. I could do this. I would do this. She deserved that much.
"This smells like shit," I grumbled.
It didn't matter how many times I'd informed him, the response never varied. I for one believed he'd grow tired of my constant complaints, but nothing seemed to faze him at all. It was absolutely infuriating.
"I don't care if it smells like centaur dung, rub it in good," Blaise chuckled. "We haven't got all day. You've got to get a move on."
"Whoever thought to combine Star Grass Salve and Strengthening Solution should really consider working on their scents. No one wants to walk around smelling like the arse end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt," I did as I was told, but it wasn't enjoyable.
I didn't know my way around Zabini's flat and he liked to move things. I think part of it was he wished me to open my eyes, but I refused to yield. He would let me mark his walls and I wouldn't open my eyes. It was a delightfully frustrating arrangement.
"It's nearly your birthday," Blaise began and I felt a wave of apprehension. "Granger sent me an owl. Apparently, she's planning on visiting you. Don't scowl at me like that. I mean to say, she plans on visiting your gravesite."
I didn't waver on my feet. It was progress. Instead, I paused and dried my hair vigorously. It gave me time to gather my thoughts. Zabini never spoke without forethought, unless he was pissed and he definitely wasn't pissed.
"You're going to make me do this, aren't you?"
I made my way to the desk Blaise had shoved into the corner of the great room and toyed with the drawers. I knew there were parchment and quills. Even Blaise Zabini wouldn't be the sort to forego the necessities.
"You're going to do it because you know it's the right thing to do. You're going to do it because you know it's been long enough. You're healed enough. I'll go with you. I'll fucking Disillusion myself and stay by your side, but you've got to," Blaise sighed.
I heard the tinkling of glass and knew he was pouring himself a drink. I couldn't even object. I needed a drink as well, but spirits didn't mix well with my cocktail of Potions. I didn't need nearly as many as I did before, which was progress. I was nearly done with my regime and Blaise was right. There wasn't a need to prolong the inevitable. It was time to face Hermione.
"Did you send your owl? Have you got your wand? Now, it's normal to be nervous—"
Blaise Zabini was an overbearing mother if there ever was one. Of course, I wasn't half fool enough to actually utter such words and simply nodded. It didn't matter what I said anyway, he wasn't listening.
I knew from his movements he was flitting about his flat looking for his waistcoat. It wasn't hidden or anything of the like. He was simply nervous and couldn't see it lying beside me on the settee. I could have informed him, but what fun would that be?
My hands were clammy. My knees felt incredibly weak. I swallowed more times than was normal, but I was ready. I could do this.
"There's an owl pecking at your window," I calmly sipped my tea, though my insides churned with anxiety.
"Potter's out of sorts. Granger refused to hear him out and he's off to see your mum. We've got to go," He slammed his teacup into the sink basin and I waited for the shattering of glass that didn't come.
Zabini held my arm so tightly, I lost circulation. I swear I did. It tingled and ached, but the pressure of his iron grip was also comforting. It made me cognizant of the fact I wasn't alone, despite feeling that way for most of my life.
The harsh pull of Apparition made my head spin and I can't begin to express my gratitude for sticking with tea rather than a full breakfast. Zabini, on the other hand, was nursing yet another pounding headache from an overindulgence of spirits and Muggle women. He gagged a few times and I distanced myself.
"How close to the Manor are we?" I fingered the rough bark of a nearby oak, but it was impossible to place. It was only a tree.
"It's a short walk to the mausoleum, Malfoy," Zabini's voice was terribly soft, quiet even, and it concerned me. "You really should open your eyes."
"I don't, I don't think I should, not yet," I cleared my throat lightly and yanked at the stupid tie Blaise had insisted I wear.
"She's here."
My eyes flew open and that was a mistake. I shut them immediately and reeled from the piercing light and the sharp pain encompassing my head. I tried again, slowly with quickened breaths. It was difficult to focus, but through the milky haze of fresh eyes, I saw her.
She was walking slowly as if every step was torture. She paid careful attention to the bundle in her arms and leant down often to inhale. I could hear him fussing, my son and my feet began to move of their own volition.
I didn't hear Zabini's footsteps beside me, but I was only focused on her. Nothing else mattered. I watched her pause in order to admire the carvings on the stone and I smirked. She wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she didn't inspect everything she ever encountered in her entire life.
I frowned and stepped lightly on the grasses as I drew closer. Why she would pause at my father's resting place was beyond me. She'd never liked the man and the same could be said for him until I heard her speak.
"I didn't come here for this, but I realise now he's important as well. Lucius Malfoy was the bravest man I ever knew. Without him, you wouldn't exist…and it's strange to admit it when I know part of him detested me. It doesn't make him less brave. He was…exceedingly brave. I almost named you after him, but then I realised he wouldn't have liked that. Some would say there were braver men, but I have to disagree, for your sake. I'm sure you understand. He truly was the bravest man I ever knew."
I had words. I had beautiful words planned to say to her. I had gone over them so many times. They were perfect, but that's not what happened. It wasn't some sort of fairytale where the princess runs to the prince and everyone is surrounded by fairies or some such rot.
"That's absolutely ridiculous, Granger," I crossed my arms and smirked. "My father was the bravest man you ever knew? That's just as bad as Potter laying claim that Dumbledick and Severus were the bravest men in existence. I beg to differ."
I strode toward her then, with purpose. I didn't wait for her to acknowledge me. I didn't wait for Blaise to soften the blow. I didn't care. She was here. She was in front of me and it was long since time to hold her tight.
Granger didn't turn. She just sort of stood there and her breaths were short staccato gasps. My hands shook and they were fucking freezing, but I set them on her shoulders anyway. I inhaled against her curls and wondered if her hair was always a menagerie of browns.
"You're not real. You can't be real. You're a figment of my imagination, that's all there is to it," She whispered and clutched the baby to her chest.
Granger was trembling and I knew it couldn't be from the chill in the air. Ever so carefully, I applied pressure to her shoulders and turned her around. Her head remained down and I just wanted to see her eyes. I hadn't seen Hermione Granger in years, not with my eyes. I had seen her with my ears, with my hands, with my heart, but my eyes were something new.
I stroked her cheek with my fingertips as she held her breath. She still didn't look up at me. I was forced to tap beneath her chin and then finally, finally she raised her face.
"It feels pretty fucking real to me, Granger," I chuckled lightly and there she was.
Her lips were blush. Her cheeks gently flushed. Her hair, not quite as long as it had been when we were children, but much longer than the last time I felt her. Her eyes, her big brown eyes were wide with trepidation that then segued into utter and complete astonishment.
"Draco," She breathed and my name never sounded so fucking sweet.
The baby fussed and I wanted to gaze at him. I wanted to hold him, hold her, and never let go. I also didn't want to break the tenuous glance between us.
I stepped closer to her and Granger didn't move. She didn't speak. She just stared up at her with her lips slightly parted. Her eyelids fluttered when I cupped her cheek and fuck, I was so nervous I didn't know what I was supposed to do.
I expected her to either rain violence upon my head, or snog me senseless. I didn't know what to do with stunned silences. Therefore, I lowered my forehead to hers and we just breathed. Isn't that silly? After all the time that had passed and all the words that desperately needed to be said, we simply stood there and stared at each other.
The baby let loose with a hearty squall and I couldn't resist any longer. He was beautiful. Gods, he was beautiful. The downy blond hair smattered across his pale head was mine. His button nose was Granger's, and fuck, he even had her lips. He was perfect and I had missed too much. I couldn't miss any more.
"Is this?" I faltered and wiped the tears from his damp cheek. "Is this our…son?"
"I'm dreaming, aren't I? I mean, you're not really here. You can't really be here, can you? I don't understand, I don't, but I heard and Harry said—"
"Granger, I'll explain everything. You'll get angry with me. You'll shout at me a bit. You'll be ridiculously angry with Potter and probably the Minister as well, but it won't matter because I'm fucking here. Now please tell me, is this our…child?" I wanted to kiss her, desperately, but I didn't.
"Of course, yes, I mean, his name is Henry," Granger patted his bottom and bounced him lightly and I was entranced. "Henry Eltanin Malfoy."
She remembered. She fucking remembered. I don't know why that surprised me. She's Hermione Granger and she's probably never forgotten anything in her entire life, but the fact that she remembered an infinitesimal fact for me, was mind-boggling.
"I should have told you, Granger. I'm sorry I didn't. I've regretted it for every moment we've been apart. I don't want to be presumptuous, but if you still feel the way you did for me, I'd rather not be parted again," I licked my lips and gulped.
"Told me what? Told me you weren't dead?" Hermione frowned and I hated the way it looked on her face. I didn't want her displeased with me. I wanted her to understand.
I wasn't the sort of man, the sort of Wizard to simply spill forth every thought or every emotion I'd ever experienced. I wasn't raised to be forthcoming, but she deserved to know the truth. She deserved everything I could give her and I could give her plenty, but she was worth more than galleons.
"You asked me to tell you when I had Blaise take you away, but I couldn't," Fuck this was much more difficult than I thought it would be, "I honestly didn't think I was going to make it out of there alive, and I nearly didn't. I didn't want to tell you the truth because I didn't want you to hold onto it for the rest of your life. I wanted you to be happy, Granger," I finally managed to hold her face in my hands and our lips were a hairsbreadth apart. "I love you. Please don't cry, love."
It wasn't as if I'd never seen her cry before, but this was so very different. This wasn't under the cover of darkness with silent shaking as I held her. This wasn't soothing whispers that segued into writhing and moans of ecstasy.
This was downcast eyes and shoulders shaking. This was burnt sienna curls that stuck to dampened cheeks. This was fingers that trembled as they tucked the blanket around my whimpering son and I couldn't take it.
"Zabini? Are you, are you still here? I don't know what to do," I squinted over my shoulder and then he was there.
I ignored the way his fists twisted against his eyes as he strode forward. He wrenched off his ascot and shoved it into my hands. I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it, but he bumped my shoulder with more force than I thought was necessary.
"Dry her eyes, say words, and make it stop!" Blaise attempted to lift my son from her arms, but she twisted away from the gesture.
Blaise never handled female upset well. I definitely didn't hate the idea of drying her tears, but I wanted more. I wanted so much more, so I kissed her.
My fingers tangled in her twisted curls as I held her head in place. I wanted to feel her body against mine, but I wasn't about to risk my child. Instead, I delicately brushed behind his head and ignored the irritating pops of Apparition. Granger's lips softened beneath mine and yet her shoulders shook harder. I was so fucking confused.
"Malfoy, hang on," Zabini wrapped his arms around us and just as my insides were squeezed with the force of Side-Along Apparition, I saw my mother.
Her blonde hair was blowing in the cool breeze and her lips were parted. I watched her grow hazy as we disappeared and hoped she wasn't alone. I wanted to see her, but I had to tend to my family first.
We definitely didn't land in Zabini's flat. In fact, I recognised nothing. It was easy to deduce it was Granger's home, but only from the baby items scattered about. There wasn't a bit of personality anywhere and that troubled me.
"Say something," I implored her.
"What the hell, Blaise," Hermione huffed angrily and completely ignored me.
She sat on a hideous green settee and bared her breast. I was instantly angry until I heard the telltale sounds of an infant suckling and at least Zabini had enough sense to avert his eyes. I was flabbergasted and mesmerised by the sight. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
"You two are going to work out your fucking issues. I can't take it anymore!" Blaise literally stamped his foot. "I've listened to your laments for months, be happy! Hell, be angry with him, just be something. I'm at my wit's end with your dead eyes and silences. He's here. He's alive. He's a wanker, yes. He kept things from you, yes. It was for your own good! What did you expect him to do? He couldn't even fucking move! Was he just supposed to have Potter Apparate him to the Burrow of all places and declare himself alive? He was supposed to rely on you to hold his cock while he pissed into a jar?"
I felt sort of vindicated that Zabini was properly stating the facts. I liked to see the disbelief wash across her face as she eyes flicked back and forth. She was ruminating on his words and then she looked at me. She studied me and I wondered if she could see the fear in my eyes. I wondered if she could see the blotches on my cheeks, the bags beneath my eyes and the obvious loss of muscle in my limbs.
"It's true, isn't it?" Hermione's eyes narrowed, yet she wasn't terse with me. "You look awful, you best sit before you crumple."
She might have gestured toward the armchair, but I definitely sat beside her on the settee. I had gone too long without her. I had been stubborn and prideful and I wasn't going to allow her to escape my grasp. I didn't care if she didn't want me any longer, I was fairly certain I could convince her if given enough time.
"You might not trust me to tell you the truth, but Zabini wouldn't lie to you, not about that," I risked her ire and dropped my arm across the back of the settee. "Could I, I mean would you let me—"
Gods, I wanted to hold him. I was also afraid I would break him. He was so small. He was so new. He was part of me. He was part of Granger. He was us and that was precious.
Hermione didn't say a word. Instead, she sighed and nodded her head. I held my breath as she detached him from her breast and wiped the thin milk from the corner of his slack lips. My fingers grazed across her shoulders as I removed my arm, but she didn't stiffen or draw away from me.
"Be careful with his head," She whispered as she set him in my arms and I fell in love.
I watched Henry breathe and found myself holding my breath as I did so. I uncovered his tiny little hands and counted his fingers, carefully, so as not to wake him. I resisted the urge to do the same with his toes, but it was difficult and I could feel Hermione's eyes on me as I held him.
"I'm so glad you didn't name him Scorpius. He doesn't look like a Scorpius at all."
I leant down and my nose touched his forehead as I inhaled. I don't know why I did that, but I'm so glad I did. There was something remarkably soothing, comforting even, when it came to holding him close. It was better than chocolate and my anxiety lifted.
"Your mother was quite insistent. I didn't want to share his name until I visited you and I put it off. I didn't want to accept what I believed was the truth of the matter," She smoothed his blonde hair and Henry squirmed in his sleep. "I knew something was wrong. I knew Harry wasn't being forthcoming with me. I knew Blaise had lied, but I never thought it would be this."
"I am sorry," I tore my eyes from my son and continued to be struck by her beauty. Perhaps she was always beautiful and I hadn't realised. Perhaps she was beautiful because I loved her. Perhaps it didn't matter at all. "I'm sorry I hurt you when I sent you away. I'm sorry you continued to hurt afterwards. I'm sorry you had to do this alone. I'll make it up to you, if you let me."
Hermione bit the corner of her bottom lip then. I'd like to say I knew I had her, but I couldn't. I didn't. I wasn't sure and I didn't want to be filled with elation just to have it stripped from me.
She carefully took Henry from my arms and I didn't want to let him go. I was riveted by his every movement and I hoped she understood. My heart caught in my throat when she stood and I steeled myself for the empty space that didn't come.
Instead, she patted his back until he gurgled a bit and set him in the cot furthest from the small window in her sitting room. Hermione looked to Blaise and I was jealous. Of course, it went to reason they would forge some sort of friendship, a bond even, but I wanted her to choose me.
"Malfoy, you need your Potion," Blaise thrust a small amber bottle into my open hand and I sighed as I downed the contents.
"What, what is that? What does he need? What's wrong with him?"
Under different circumstances, Hermione's growing hysteria would have warmed my heart. It probably would have amused me as well, but it wasn't the time to needle her. She cared about me. She must in order to have that shrieking sort of quality to her voice.
"Granger, he was struck with the Killing Curse. He's not Potter. There's only so much a body can take, even if they are magical," Blaise rolled his dark eyes heavenward and searched the room desperately for spirits. "Look, I need a drink. You haven't got any drinks. Are you going to forgive him and shag him senseless or are you going to hex him and force me to whisk him away? I really need you to make up your mind."
I couldn't help myself. I laughed. It wasn't long or particularly loud before I choked it off, but it was long enough for Granger to shoot me a particularly scathing glower. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot and gods, I had missed her.
"I'm not going to hex him. There's a pub in town. You don't look well," Hermione's arms wrapped around her torso and I remembered the gesture well.
"Malfoy?" It was kind of him to pretend to ask me, but he was already edging toward the door.
"She said she wouldn't hex me, Zabini. I'll be fine."
He nodded quickly and mumbled something about returning in the morning, but I couldn't be sure. The instant he was gone the air between us was heavy with tension and I hated it. It reminded me of the beginning. It reminded me of the first few days Hermione had spent in my cell as she held my hand. I didn't want to recall those moments. It hurt to remember.
"I am so angry with you," Hermione snapped. "Do you have any idea what I went through? I've been a mess. I shouted at your mother."
She covered her face with her hands and I couldn't bear it any longer. I leapt off the settee and crossed the room faster than she could blink. I grasped her shoulders and yanked her into my chest. Hermione struggled, but I refused to yield. I wasn't going to let her go.
I dragged her toward the settee and settled her on my lap, despite her obvious ire. I buried my face in the curls that had settled near her throat and pretended I couldn't feel her breasts flattened against my chest. She gasped when I placed my lips beneath the delicate bit of skin below her ear and I could feel her heart pounding furiously.
When I kissed her, it was different than what was shared over my faux resting place. It was filled with desperation and mingled with tears. Her lips tasted just as sweet as I remembered and I wanted all of her.
"What do you want from me, Draco?" Hermione's salty tears ran between our lips and I held her tighter. "I mourned for you and now you're just here. You're alive. Blaise knew it. Harry knew it, but I didn't know. No one bothered to tell me and I don't know what I'm supposed to do about any of this. You know much I hate not having the answers!"
Her blouse was gaping open and I was afforded a delectable view of her milky breasts spilling over her brassiere. I probably shouldn't have scraped my fingernails along her spine until she gasped. I probably shouldn't have unclasped her bra and pushed her blouse from her shoulders, but she didn't resist my overtures.
In fact, her fingers were hard at work on the buttons of my shirt and I sighed to feel her tiny hands against my skin. I hastily shoved her skirt up her thighs and dug my fingers into her ample arse cheeks in order to press her against my throbbing erection.
"I need you," I growled in her ear and I heard her breathy little gasp before she muffled it against my lips. "I love you. Tell me you still love me, Granger. Tell me."
This wasn't what I had planned. I had many, many dreams of taking Granger, and none of them included shamelessly rutting against her on a settee. I wasn't going to complain about it. I wasn't a complete idiot.
Hermione pushed at my shoulders and my eyes widened with alarm until she pushed me over. Her franticness was contagious and our clothes easily fell to the wayside. I paused for a moment and revelled in the feel of her against me. My throat was suddenly scratchy and I was overwhelmed with emotion.
Her body was softer than I remembered and I liked it. She felt healthy rather than the skin and bones I remembered. Her breasts were fuller and much more responsive than I remembered. At least, it seemed that way as I hefted them in my hands and she moaned low and long.
"I need you," She crooned as her hair fell into my eyes. "You're here. You're really here. I'm not dreaming."
"I'm here. I'm never leaving you again," The promise was in my words and I prayed she believed me.
I was hesitant as my fingers dallied on her thighs. Hermione straddled me then and every sound that escaped my lips was a jumbled gargle of ecstasy. When I caressed her folds, her hips jerked against my movements.
I stared up at her and it was everything. I didn't regret my decision to wait. My first memory of renewed eyesight would always be of her. The vision of her naked and trembling on top of me would be etched into my memory always.
I wanted to pay homage to every nook and cranny. I wanted to cover every inch of her skin with sloppy wet kisses. I wanted to snog her until our lips ached, but I couldn't wait any longer and from the looks of it, neither could she. Hermione wrenched my hand away from the delightfulness of her arousal soaked lips and sunk onto my cock.
I knew I wasn't going to last. It would have been impossible. I could see her. I could feel her. It was sensory overload at it's finest and I was absolutely determined that she would be satisfied. My ego demanded it. She deserved it.
I had never witnessed Hermione Granger coming undone with my own eyes. It was a magnificent sight to behold. Her lightly tanned skin smattered with the lightest of freckles along her shoulders was covered in a flush that gave her a glow reminiscent of sunset. Her amber curls were damp ringlets that kissed her shoulder blades. Her pink lips were puffed, swollen, and parted while the guttural moans that filled the air drove me closer to the edge.
"What do you want from me?" Hermione pleaded with me between hungry kisses after she collapsed on my chest and finally, finally I had the answer.
Her thick lashes fluttered and I knew she was utterly exhausted. I wasn't ready for her to sleep. I wasn't ready for the day to end. I was ready for my life to start.
"Tell me you love me," I grunted as my softened cock slipped from her and I adjusted our position on the narrow settee.
Hermione's knobby chin poked my chest bone and she blinked up at me lazily. Her head tilted to the side and despite the fact there were dried tears on her cheeks, the fire of her anger was gone. The corner of her lips twitched and I waited.
"You can't ever leave me again, Malfoy," She began. "I couldn't bear it. It isn't remotely logical to love someone as much as I love you. I just—"
I leant up and kissed her. It was just a gentle sweeping of my lips against her, but it held more emotion than I'm capable of expressing. Hermione smiled then, but there was trepidation lingering in the set of her shoulders and the tenseness of her body.
My thumbs brushed over her cheeks and pecked her lips once more. I could do this. The thought had never entered my mind in the before. I was fairly certain I would not, could not survive and yet there I was. There wasn't a need to waste any more time.
With my forehead pressed against hers and our naked bodies nearly one, my lips parted, and the words simply spilt forth. "Marry me."