AN: Bonus chapter? You are welcome. Story ends Saturday. Grab your popcorn. I am doing a quick QA at the bottom since world building is mostly done. Ask your questions for tomorrow as well. I appreciate you all for walking this journey with me and I am happy to have this no longer rattling around in my head.
She had a few days head start on him. It was nothing. He could easily catch up with his resources. That fucking bitch! How dare she? He trusted her and she ripped through his memories like fucking tissue paper. He was going to murder her! After he screamed at her for hours. Maybe before too.
He finally collected himself, rising in a rage. He all but tore the door off his office as it slammed against the wall. He grabbed the nearby pot of floo powder throwing the whole thing in. How could she do that, just erase herself from his mind? Who was she to make that call? And why in the fuck didn't Blaise or Theo say anything? They were next on his list.
"Rowana's cell!" He shouted clearly. Nothing happened. He tried again in a more controlled manner. Still nothing. She cut off the floo connection. Even more incensed by the action he all but flew out of his front door apparating away with a thunderous crack into the alleyway below the loft. He stomped over to the wall, ready to shoulder the door open when it did not appear. He placed his hand on the wall, searching for a disillusioned knob. He semi-patiently tried a variety of revealing and unlocking spells in quick succession. Deciding she deserved the damage he elected to stand back and blew the brick away with a quick reductor curse, revealing a rickety looking staircase.
His first step up sent his foot shooting through the rotten wood causing him to stumble before he caught himself. With a hiss of pain at his ankle he cast a reinforcing charm, just enough to allow him to get upstairs before it faded away. The hidden panel at the top had turned to a nondescript door and he pushed through it anyway hearing the hinges creak against the frame.
"GRANGER!" His anger halted as he gazed around an empty room. The abandoned loft was nothing but dry rotted wood completely devoid of life. The floo off to the right was crumbling in on itself as if it hadn't seen care in 100 years. He stalked over to the bathroom, pulling on his hidden panel and ripping it from the wall with a dry snap. Nothing lay behind it other than now scarred plaster. Fear finally caught up with him as a cold draft blew through the room bitterly in spite of the spring weather. Her library was empty, the loft collapsed in on itself. The windows hung with rotted gray drapes, one had a crack in it.
Gone. The thought occurred to him instantly. She was gone. She and everything she owned. A flash of silver caught his eye, glittering in the afternoon sunlight. He all but dove over to the floo, the glimmer hidden in an abandoned rag on the mantle. His heart sank as he pulled out a childish charm bracelet, it's half of a heart catching the light as it turned.
The ghost of her magic filled the air, warm and familiar. He spun unsure if he was going to kiss her senseless or scream at her for scaring him. The result was neither as the chain hit the floor with a light tinkle. The only thing remaining in the workshop he had spent so much time in was sitting right where it always had been inviting him in. He rose numbly and wandered over to it, running his fingers along the raised texture of the fabric. By the time he collapsed onto his couch he had never felt so empty.
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The floo connection was dead. There was no trace of it ever having been there in the first place. Even if he could convince any of her contacts to talk to him he had no way to get a hold of them. He caught Longbottom the next day visiting his mother, only to come up empty other than a questioning glance as he disapparated. The only real additional effort he could manage to rile up was an inquiring owl to Charlie Weasley, poorly disguised subtext baring the brunt of his conscience. The reply was as useless as expected.
I am sorry Mr. Malfoy. We haven't spotted that breed in the area for months. Best of luck in your search.
At least it was something. After a few days of half-hearted searching he returned home and didn't move from his couch. He would stop searching, he had promised after all. Even if she didn't keep her own. Blaise somehow knew. He went back to his flat days later to a pile of scrolls left on his back patio. A majority from Blaise and Theo in increasing desperate inquiries on his health. A few from Pansy demanding to meet. He didn't bother more than skimming. The most recent one arrived just as he was about to apparate back.
She's gone isn't she? Sorry mate. I guess it's a bad time… but here.
Attached was a medium sized jewelry box he couldn't stand to open. It's black velvet lid was dusty and faded, every bit as old as the gift within. Not that it would have mattered anyway, she wasn't the sort of witch you could buy with presents, even the heartfelt kind.
And so Draco Malfoy's existence became pathetic. His days seemed to pass in a blur, night and day cycling together into a gray haze broken up by random bouts of sleep. He would head back to his flat every few days to clean himself, not that he really saw the point of it. While there he would sign whatever stack of forms Blaise had left and briefly check over his mail, just in case she sent anything. She never did. He fought down the urge to go find her, to raze the earth to rubble until she crawled out of whatever hole he had run off to. It was only the memory of her trembling against his chest the first time she saw Potter that kept him from leaving. He didn't ever want her to fear him like that. So he would obsess over her silently, floating in a world halfway between living and dead. At some point it would have to stop hurting. Right?
After what had been by his best guess a week and a half, the door to the stairs creaked open slowly. He may have dismissed it as the wind if it weren't for the quiet swear that followed. He couldn't even muster up the humor to smile at how terrible of a sneak Potter was.
"I knew it." He hissed as he strode into the room, his wand trained on Draco. Draco himself had curled into the window sill, perfectly miserable in the now empty archway. London had finally been greeted by some sun and the people swarmed the streets like ants to a sugar cube. "Where is she?"
From the lack of additional footsteps it sounded like he was alone. Draco was vaguely aware that a pissed off Potter with no leash was probably a deadly one but was all but resigned to death at this point. It seemed like a decent way to break up the monotony of life in any event.
"Tell me. I have no patience left for you." A blunted wand tip jabbed against his throat. With a great amount of effort he lolled his head to the side. Potter's eyes reflected some mix of anger and disgust. He was only briefly aware that he must look monstrous by this point.
"If I knew do you think I'd be here?" His own voice was weak and scratchy.
"I will make you show me."
"Go ahead then, Minister." He responded tiredly, bracing himself for the torture.
"Legilimens." He flinched as Potter threw himself at his memories. Draco's own walls had been peeled down ages ago, barring his traitorous memories to roam free. When he felt Potter attack he simply stepped aside, revealing the ruin of his mind.
He saw Potter eviscerate them, ravenous for information. The meeting in Delhi, the thunderstorm fiasco, the African sickness. He was still tearing through them when he came across the Sunday Draco had carelessly blasted into her home, firing a curse that, in hindsight, could have killed her. Potter seethed behind his wand, the hatred sending rolling waves of anxiety through Draco's own consciousness.
He moved on, bulldozing through treasured moments with a cruel and exacting precision. The next painful stab was at Christmas. He skidded to a halt long enough for this one to replay, the words hitting home twice.
"Why don't you talk to Potter anymore?"
"How do you know we don't talk anymore?"
"Ran into him at the ministry a couple month's back. Man is terrible at interrogation."
"He didn't-"
"Nothing official."
"Thank you." While he could not visualize the glare from the other wizard Draco certainly could feel it. Regardless the memory played on.
"You know how you're not okay and I'm not okay? Harry, Harry is okay. He's got a wife and a career and a cute little dog named Lolo… We weren't the same anymore… So we just… drifted… I always intended to go back... I just..."
He let the other wizards fury wash over him until it settled to a cold realization. The next set of images was flickered through quickly. Christmas. Lazy afternoon's brewing. Lying in a field at Neville and Luna's. He flinched when Potter examined the memory of that time he had called her a mudblood, but didn't really mean it. The rage he felt, which she returned with kindness and patience. Draco's own shame overwhelmed any immediate reaction. Potter kept his judgments to himself and kept moving. Draco heart ached as the night with the fae played out, the light jokes, the objectively hilarious situation she had gotten them into. He flickered through her part in Blaise's story choosing instead to settle on a familiar memory at the Menagerie. Finally he reached the most recent memories of Germany. When he settled on the day of that second morning, Draco actually stirred. A small part of him wanted to tear the wizard form his mind, not letting him see what small pieces Draco had left. However, Harry was still too deep, all but sliding around his poorly constructed barrier with ease. He forced Draco to relive every moment, every night settled, every careful delicate touch. He had to close his eyes trying to block out his part of the viewing. It was no use, he saw the very moment she had realized he loved her, laying in the grass, soaked to the bone. Her eyes tear stained and contemplative before they burst with a soft emotion, welling into the irises like a billowing sheet of silk.
With his last vestige of power Draco blocked off the conversation they had in his kitchen, it felt like such a small thing to do for her. He dragged it down next to him, all but hiding it behind his back. None the wiser Harry plowed onwards, pulling violently away from the memory with the fireflies and the resulting night.
"Shite. You love her don't you?"
"Of course I do! Now tell me how fix it?"
Draco felt only the slightest bit of shame as Harry audibly scoffed, but it was half-hearted. Finally the picture show came to an end as he landed on the memory of their last real conversation.
"Promise me you won't leave me behind. I will not force myself upon you like Potter has but you have to promise not to just disappear again." His own voice sounded so sure, as if the statement had ever held any weight, like he ever had the right to demand it. He was a fool. Her eyes were so trusting, in that moment she had not lied. They were soft and forgiving, touched by the sentiment. His heart ached at what might have been. He was such a fool.
"I promise."
Harry pulled away with a gasp, grasping his head even though Draco hadn't put up a fight. For his part Draco just sat on the sill staring at the boy come Minster, fighting to keep his composure. When he finally looked up Harry's face was stony.
"She lied." He delivered, devoid of emotion. Draco nodded slowly. Pity flashed behind emerald eyes. Something she would have never stood for. She hated pity.
Without another word, Potter apparated away and Draco continued to stare out onto the streets of London.
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As it turned out, it didn't stop hurting. The little rook found him in her old workshop some time later, the days having slipped from the cautious optimism of spring to the impending heat of summer. It had landed so lightly in the rafters he barely noticed it. He wasn't sure the thing had a message with how long it remained silent. He stared at the feathery form as her halting voice began before freezing and starting again. Finally a weak sound, so unlike the Hermione he knew whispered into the empty room.
"Pray for me won't you."
The bird faded quickly, leaving just the impression of a weak sunbeam before falling away into nothingness. It suited her that even in her worst hour Hermione couldn't just send anyone a message, it had to be a riddle. He apparated home without a word and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the slowly emptying jar on the mantle. He would need to refill it soon he would need to repair his wards at some point as well. He had put off so much for so long, he wasn't really sure he could be qualified as a person anymore. He ran his hand through his hair. She had never gotten the chance to cut it and it fell past his shoulders now. He considered leaving it be on the principal on the matter.
A flash of green landed him in Zurich just long enough for him to step out of the ministries floo before apparating northward. He appeared in a familiar clearing, glancing at the fallen stones. He set off silently for the ruins of the church, still standing stalwartly among the waving green of the stone wall that edged along the road seemed so broken down and crumbled now. The dirt path underneath his shoes, too hard.
Even as he glanced at the church doors flung open as he neared them he felt no rush of relief. No great joy or peace. He marched forward angling his body into the archway and forcing himself to look up.
It was so reminiscent of the last time he found her here. One of the stained glass shutters had blown out leaving the mosaic of colors void and empty. Everything seemed so much paler without it. She seemed thinner too, her hair less like a wild and untamed thicket and more like a knot of straw. She was looking straight forward this time, jumping when she heard him arrive. He stared at the scene before him wondering what life he was bound for if he stepped in. He could never be with her even if he could convince her to return. She would hate it, and she would resent him for it. He could run with her he supposed. He could see it now, learning to cook in a far off country, living well below his means but marveling in the fact they were together. She would teach him new things happily, even while calling him a posh may even start a family full of lineage shattering half-bloods that he would lord over his father's grave for the rest of his life. They would grow old tied together in some far off world where he wasn't Draco Malfoy, she wasn't Hermione Granger, there was no war and they were nothing but two wizards madly and hopelessly in love.
He took the small velvet box out of his pocket and placed it on the nearby sill. With a shaky hand he unlatched her watch from his wrist and placed it next to it's twin. With one last look he took her in, not a princess or a damsel. Just a girl who fought a war that hadn't really ended yet. It took every bit of him to turn around and apparate away.
Questions with Om
How did Draco know where to go?
A: Of course the first thing Hermione did was look up questions to where they had been. It was discovered to be a mining town that broke apart in the mid 1800s.
Does Ron know what is going on?
A: Nope. He has taken what Draco has said at face value since their meet up. (Mostly due to the ridiculous nature of it.) Reading his mind only confirmed it.
Harry is the villain?
A:Negative. I have addressed this since the very first Harry meeting. He is in no way evil or dangerous. He just had a friend close in on themselves and disappear completely from the world. I would be worried, wouldn't you?
Sequal? Future stories? Rewrites?
A: No sequel. Maybe an epilogue to deal with some loose ends eventually. It is half written in my drafts, I just don't really feel the motivation to finish since this story is about Hermione and Draco and it is done. I may go back and rewrite the first few chapters. They feel a bit weak and stats show people bailing at chapter 3-4 when it doesn't get good until chapter 6ish. No future stories for now, I am writing a shitty fantasy romance novel I hope to self publish but if that fails (likely) I will be back with my ideas.
I want to talk about it!
A: Please. Please. PLEASE message or review with your long winded thoughts and rants. There are some majorly subtle ideas and some beautiful lines I gave way too much attention to that I would loveee to talk about. Message me and we can go back and forth for hours obsessing about your favorite line. (What is your favorite line?) I only wish that FFN had a IM chat.