A/N: This is a short chapter to set the stage for our next adventure. I've decided to label who is talking since we will be adding Hermione's POV into the mix. Our main characters have different dialects, but I don't want to risk taxing your brains while enjoying fluff, dear readers. If the labels get distracting, please let me know in a PM and I'll remove them. I'm going to endeavour to keep the beginning A/N's to a minimum.
Enjoy!
Vine
xoXOXox
Luna
The party ended and life began again.
The spring air is fresh and clean, the jasmine growing wild in the garden sending a softly perfumed breeze through the open windows. We moved all of our belongings from Mrs Tonks' house in one trip. Cleaning out my house is a different challenge altogether.
It looks the same as it always has for the most part. My childhood bedroom is still painted with pictures of Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ginny above the bed. Dad's things are still stacked to the ceiling. We have piles of mess to sort through and rearrange, sell and exchange. Draco managed to convince me to give Blaise the Erumpent horn to sell. I know it meant a lot to Dad, but it's just too dangerous to keep, especially with Hermione being around so much. Plus, we could always use the money. What we have leftover from the sale of the carpet won't last always - or much longer I'm afraid - after the Ministry's fines are paid off. Not to mention trying to salvage the family business.
Luckily, Draco picked up a thing or two from his father about hiring people and such has a list of potential editors lined up to fill Dad's role until he gets better. He's making progress in his healing, so I'm sure he will be along one day soon. Until then, we have moved the enormous printing press to the main Quibbler building to make the sitting room into our main bedroom.
Hermione's been sleeping in my old room. I think having Harry's picture there to watch over her brings her comfort. He's been gone so much with Auror training that she's taken to staying with us on most nights as her pregnancy progresses. We make sure she has plenty of pillows underneath her belly and beside her where Harry would usually lay. It's much better for her than being surrounded by wrackspurts at Grimmauld all of the time.
I've found out she was right, she doesn't scream at night. Instead, she freezes - getting lost in the darkness of her mind as cold sweat drips down her neck. One night I heard her bed squeak and rattle while she tossed and turned, so I went to check on her. I found her clutching her scarred bicep mouthing something that looked a lot like "Draco". She's the opposite of an occlumens; I can read her mind by her face alone. Even in sleep, her brows were pursed in thought, trying desperately to solve a riddle that's been completed for ages now. I woke her gently, casting a cooling charm over her to whisk away the sweat. After ensuring her that all of us were indeed alive and safe, I wiped her eyes that were watering from the cool air and sang her back to sleep. She's been waking up refreshed ever since.
We meet in the wreck of a kitchen every day to take tea together in the mornings. It's still full of the bright colours and paintings I made as a little girl with my mum. It used to make me feel better to remember her by looking at them, but I think it's time to memorialize her differently now. I've decided to tend to her garden that Dad let grow over after she passed. All of her plants are still blooming there, and I'd rather have the lives she created than decorations that chip and fade as the years go by.
It's a bonus that Draco enjoys working in the garden too. I've fashioned him a large canopy so he can stay out there as long as he likes. Being outside seems to keep him away from his occluding room. Every so often he still falls into the dark place, but I stay patient and coax him out gently, just as I always have. He's managed to clear away a large patch of weeds to plant some clippings from his mother's roses. They should grow well in the shade.
I was afraid he would have difficulty adjusting to such a small space after growing up in a home so large, but he doesn't seem to mind it much. Every so often he will close his eyes in a dizzy spell from the loudness of the kitchen, but I think he'll be okay once most of the clutter is cleared away. I've come to realize in the past few months he's not nearly as messy as me, and I don't like having anywhere near as many possessions as he does, so it all works out for us.
He signed up to take his N.E.W.T.s first since it will take him less time to prepare than me. He's always done well in school, absorbing new information like a dry sponge. I, on the other hand, have a hard time concentrating on things I don't care much for, so I know my Potions exam will probably be the last one I take. I'm fairly sure I could pass the rest of my exams now, but I'd rather be absolutely certain than fairly sure. In the meantime, I've been volunteering at St. Mungo's in the children's wing, caring for sick babies in between watching Teddy grow larger with each passing week.
All in all, it's a comfortable life, if a busy one. It's the start of a new foundation, one to build our stronghold above as life tries to break our safe places.
I wink at Abraxas's portrait as I stroll out the front door to greet my love.
xoXOXox
Draco
I've come to enjoy living in a home with so many narrow stairs. Each squeak beneath my boots reminds me to place one foot in front of the other carefully, to only land in one place at a time, and to cherish each mundane step. There are times when I wish to ride my broom to circumvent them all, only to remember each landing is purposeful, a deliberate charge towards the firm stability awaiting me at the top.
I kiss my wife as I do each day, gifting her a bouquet of the myriad wildflowers growing ravenous and free about our front lawn. Today they're French lavender and honeysuckle, vines that do well climbing up dark boundaries and narrow paths. How appropriate that they will sit in our kitchen window. This one barely gets kissed by the light, but manages to bless us with a glorious splay of sunshine across the most depressing place in our home with the sunrise each morning.
"They're beautiful," she trills, running her gentle hand through my hair in a gesture of appreciation. "I'll set them with the others."
She intertwines our fingers to lead me into the garish space that's packed to the brim with odd colourings and mismatched drawings. It's a fright to view, but if I concentrate on the floral arrangements in the sill of the square window, I can imagine it will be alright one day.
If I'm ever able to catch Mother when she's not consulting the warders at the Ministry or working on her clientele list, perhaps she would lend her services to redecorate this monstrosity of a dining space. I'll have to owl her tonight to see to it. She's been forever engaged since the end of the war - since father passed, truly. She begrudgingly set to work for the Ministry to recoup some of the losses she sustained on my account. Keeping me from the Dementor's Kiss was a costly endeavour indeed. Never one to kneel to any master, Mother finds herself plagued with reinstating our wealth by exploiting the deficiencies inherent in government functions while building herself a private warding business. She has no time to think of anything but galleons these days, putting up her stone mask of complacency as she toils for the degrading gains of others. I'm afraid when she finally lets herself free of her occluding room she'll be a different woman entirely. I suppose I inherited her prowess, after all.
Aunt Andi stops by weekly to leave Teddy in Luna's capable hands. It gets more painful each time, watching her with him, cooing softly and fussing over his nourishment like he could be our son. Sometimes it tries my patience to remember that he isn't, that the seven jars of mashed fruits and vegetables she has crafted for him will only sit there for a day, that we won't have to refill them when he inevitably spits out six, and we won't be forced to listen to Mimsy's tirades for cleaning up purple jam off the floor always. We have an endless plethora of steps to take before that can be our reality. Perhaps the fabled "one-day" will never come to fruition.
For this moment, he is hers, sitting in his specially made chair not eating his custom assortment of produce.
"Well, you don't like dirigible plum, let's try the Japanese variety, yes?" Luna coaxes, wiping a gory pink mess from her shoulder as she speaks.
The baby for his part laughs with a full-fledged smile stained with pink and purple slosh. I would bet my galleons he will be placed in Slytherin house when the time comes.
xoXOXox
Hermione
Life has fallen into a cadence after the end of the war. Numbered lists and structured routines have always given me a feeling of control. Now, I find them to be a need, a craving more dangerous than any I've previously felt.
In the morning, I get up, make tea, kiss Harry goodbye. Then exercise, read about the care and wellbeing of children, breakfast. Draco arrives, and every muscle in my body relaxes, all the way down my aching back, even my swollen feet.
I never thought his presence would bring me relief, but he does wonders for my whirring anxiety. The man functions like a Muggle clock. Exactly five minutes to situate himself, forty minutes of study, fifteen for a break, repeat three times with three different subjects. No wonder he made such high marks in school. Then we have lunch for exactly one hour, do another round of study, and he goes home.
I hate to admit how much it stings every time he leaves. Not that we have many conversations outside of N.E.W.T. subjects and memory charms, but the silence is perfect. There is no tension, nothing misunderstood between us, only comfortable, blissful quietness. The stillness is deafening as soon as the door clicks shut behind him.
Quiet moments with Harry are not like this. Our silences irritate me now more than usual, itching a place I can never seem to scratch. It feels like there is something we should be saying but can't put words to. "I'm sorry" doesn't make up for anything. "It's only temporary," does nothing to soothe my overworn nerves. It helps that he isn't around often enough to be silent with or to fill the void with rambles. He's been working around the clock, taking on the extra shifts and irregular duties expected of all new recruits who want to prove themselves worthy of risking their lives for the safety of others. I've taken to sleeping at Luna and Draco's so I don't have to be alone with my thoughts.
I'll admit in the safety of my mind I don't know how long I can keep this up. Stressing about my exams, about my parents, about the life I'll be bringing into this world in less than half a year. The thoughts overwhelm me when I'm alone, spiralling into every dark crevice, every unexplored territory in my mind. If only I had someone to talk to, to vent with - someone who understood any of this mess I've made of the Brightest Witch of Her Age - I might come to the conclusion I can handle what dreams and nightmares may come. Alone, it all seems bleak and weary, the weight of the world pushing my muscles to burn, causing my soul to catch fire from the inside out.
With this thought in mind, I take a break from reading "Things to Never Say to Your Child" to summon a quill and parchment. It's time to swallow my pride and give a thorough apology to someone who may be able to guide me out of the murky greyness of my mind - if only to fall into an abysmal, black reality.
My tight hands grip fortuitously around the quill as I take my time to ensure the perfection of each letter:
"Professor Severus Snape,
I'm sorry..."
Credits: "Flying Without Wings" is the title of one of my all-time favourite songs, by the artist Rueben Studdard. "What Dreams May Come" is a book title by Richard Matheson.