The right choices are often the hardest ones to make. Hermione was no stranger to making tough decisions to protect those she loved. Draco always told her that her fight for justice would get her killed, and she supposed, on this one occasion, he had been right.
The choice to keep herself hidden, well beyond the end of the battles with the Undead, had been one of the hardest yet. Faking her death in the labor ward of St. Mungo's, and subsequently going undercover to infiltrate a coven of vampires, had been a particularly arduous decision. She'd left her whole world—Draco and their precious baby—to serve the greater good.
She'd made the choice—or rather, Kingsley Shacklebolt had made it for her—to remain hidden even after the war's end to dissuade any potential retribution from the tamed coven. But it was days like this one where she desperately wished she knew how to make wrong choices.
She was banned from using magic unless faced with a life or death situation, lest some nosy individual at the Ministry (Harry or Ron) find her magical footprint leaving tracks in her stead. Draco had been advised to take their son—whom he had named Scorpius after family tradition—and run. To find them, Hermione had spent far more hours than she was willing to admit stalking Narcissa Malfoy. She knew Draco could never sever the relationship with his ailing mother and was pleased to discover she was right.
Her efforts had landed her in a quaint area of Brittany in France. Her weekends were spent in the town, blending in with other relaxation-seeking tourists. Saturdays were Draco and Scorpius' day to run errands, and she enjoyed watching them from a distance. Her features were always altered as much as a magic-less witch could manage, and she stayed far enough away to be inconspicuous.
Hermione was delighted to find that Scorpius enjoyed the library quite a bit, as that was always the first stop of the morning. After spending hours hidden between the stacks, their next adventure was to go to the small café at the end of the road. Scorpius always had a chocolate-filled croissant and fresh squeezed juice, while Draco enjoyed a café au lait and a plum-filled pastry. Hermione sat across from the café at a public bench and pretended to read the newspaper.
The sun was warm and high, a gentle breeze blowing about the skirt of her sundress as she observed her abandoned family. Scorpius was talking animatedly, his tiny four-year-old body moving about as he used his hands to gesticulate and drive home his point. Draco watched him, his brow raised in amusement as he cut the croissant into smaller pieces. If she closed her eyes, Hermione could hear bits and pieces of the conversation, relishing the sound of her son's voice as she did.
Watching him interact with Scorpius, it was easy for Hermione to recall why she had fallen in love with Draco so quickly and completely. He was intelligent, caring, handsome, and quick-witted. It pained her to think that she had left him alone, a widower and new father, to figure out life for himself and their child. She had been actively fighting the battles when Scorpius was still a baby. She'd missed observing the most crucial moments of their beginning as a family of two.
Hermione often wondered if Draco had cried—over her loss, yes—but more importantly, over the life he would be forced into without her. The thought of him trying to get a newborn baby into nappies without the use of magic, of humming until the little one fell asleep, made her eyes well with tears. She laughed when she thought of Draco's sudden introduction to electricity. There were so many firsts in her boys' lives that she had missed.
Shacklebolt had forbidden her to contact Draco. Vampires were a proud bunch, and the idea that they had been deceived by her staged death was enough for them to break the Treaty and retaliate. Hermione had offered to go on the run with them, to settle down with her family in a country far from England's borders. Shacklebolt had reminded her, not so gently, of the slaughter that waited should her secret be revealed.
Looking across the stone road to little Scorpius, so full of life, it sickened her to think of him as a feast for a vengeful vampire. I made the right choice.
Hermione heaved a deep breath, filling her lungs with all the air of France, before she blew it slowly through parted lips. Merlin, she wished she could run her fingers through Scorpius' hair just the once. To kiss the soft skin of Draco's lips, if only for a brief moment—a wish granted.
Instead, abiding by the rules she agreed to for the good of all magical beings, she sat firmly on her bench. Her body was made heavier by her somber attitude and sodden heart, a listless effigy against the backdrop.
As she uncrossed her legs, her foot tapped the wheel of a bicycle. The elderly man on the bike wiggled from side to side, his balance off kilter as Hermione stood abruptly to catch him. The coffee in his takeaway cup splashed over the front of her dress as she steadied the handlebars, scalding hot. "Pardon!" she pled, to which the man responded with a string of what she imagined were awfully colorful words.
Through the commotion, the breeze lifted her hat away from her head and carried it down the pavement. She watched helplessly as it skittered away, the old curmudgeon's voice echoing in her ear. Hermione turned to look toward Draco, her face burning as the wind blew her short curls from their barrettes. She prayed he hadn't noticed the commotion, but to no avail.
He was standing at the table, looking as though he had been prepared to approach and assuage the impending argument. Instead he was still as a statue, his jaw loose and his eyes wide. Even from where she stood, frantically trying to apologize in broken French and collect her belongings, she could see that Draco's hands were shaking.
Fuck. Apologizing one final time to the man, Hermione turned on heel and began sprinting in the opposite direction.
Her heart felt as though it were tearing to absolute shreds to hear his voice—the voice that she knew only in her dreams now—calling her name. He was frantic; she could hear it in his tone. Rounding the corner, she retrieved the wand from her bag and spun to Apparate away.
Hermione landed in her living room, breathing rapidly. She collapsed onto her knees, overcome with the weight of what happened. She had really fucked up royally now. Used magic. Been recognized by the one person who she was supposed to keep away from. It was only a matter of time before Kingsley would be at her door, rattling it off the hinges in anger.
Dropping her face into her hands, Hermione allowed the tears to flow freely. All the while, Draco's voice reverberating in her head. "Hermione! HERMIONE! Stop! I know it's you!"
o-o-o
A/N: This is a little scene that popped into my head when I read The Best of Me by MrsRen. Not exactly the same, but I still credit her for giving me this idea. This has not been beta'ed.
I'd love some feedback, so please review! And sorry about the issues earlier. i don't know what happened.
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