They left the Ministry in the evening, when the sun had crept its way into the earth. Leaving them with quiet twilight streaming through the windows at Hermione's flat. She hadn't said anything — anything other than to recount what had happened to Robards and the rest of them. There was a blankness to her face that anyone else would have mistaken for calm. For neutral. It said, "I'm fine, thank you," just as she'd said when anyone asked how she was doing after everything.
But it wasn't real. Draco knew it wasn't. Couldn't be. Because he knew her better. This was the face she wore when people looked at her on the street and in the halls of the Ministry. The one that kept questions at bay and allowed her to slink back to her work. To keep her worries inside. But she'd let him see her, and he wanted to see all of her.
"You're allowed to be angry," he said.
She paced her living room. Hand sliding down her side to her pocket then moving abruptly away. The cat had destroyed the sofa again but he didn't want to fix it. To use his wand when she had none. It wasn't fair.
"Granger." He stilled her with a hand over her forearm.
"It's fine," she said, tilting her chin.
"It really isn't."
The cat sauntered into the room and rubbed against her ankles. She stooped to pick him up, resting her cheek against the orange fur atop its head until it made a noise and demanded to be put down.
He tried again. "You're allowed to be angry. It's alright."
"I'm not angry I'm…" she stared at the sofa. The bits of stuffing poking through the torn upholstery. With a shutter, she took in a breath and closed her eyes. "I'm angry."
"Tell me about it," he said.
"What's there to tell? My wand survived Snatchers and torture and—and—an entire war. I used it every day—every hour. For over ten years. Of course I'm angry but I can't be angry. It's—what's the point? Anger doesn't solve anything."
The pacing continued and her hands shook. When she spoke again it was soft. "It was a part of me and now it's gone."
"We can get a new wand—"
"I don't know who I am without it."
Draco pulled her into his arms and held her, running a soothing hand over her hair and down her back. Speaking gently into her ear. "You're still you, I promise. It might not feel like it but you are. Someday you'll start to feel it again yourself."
Tears stained his shirt and he held her tighter, swaying slightly. Wanting to absorb the hurt from her. To take it in and smother it.
"I feel—" she moved just enough to look up at him. "I feel like I'm always mourning something. This was supposed to be after. How can it be after if things are still taken from me?"
He ran his thumb over her cheek, clearing the tear stains and relishing the feeling of her skin warm beneath his touch. "Granger, I'm not the best at this but I'm going to try. Sometimes we lose things. Things we don't think about or even remember. Things—people we love. We lose things we don't need, too. And we find things that we do."
The wool of her jumper bunched beneath his hand when he pressed her closer.
"A wand is replaceable. I know you were fond of yours but we can get another. People aren't replaceable. Our feelings, our memories. Those are ours. That's what we get to keep."
She looked up at him, cupping his face in her hand. Running her thumb over his lips and back to rest on the side of his face. "You always sell yourself short, you know."
His brow furrowed. "I do not."
"You do. For someone who had an ego the size of a Ukranian Ironbelly at school you sure lost your confidence."
"It's not missed. Look how much trouble it got me into."
"I'll help you find it. I think you're brilliant, and everyone else will know it someday soon."
"A valiant effort to change the subject. We're not talking about me right now we're talking about you—"
"And I'm yours, and you're mine. And this," she stroked his cheek, "it's ours. If I lose anything else, I know I found you in between the rubble."
"Do you need to yell anymore?"
Hermione laughed and shook her head. "No, I'll be alright."
"Good," he said, pressing a light kiss on her lips. "Good."
It was a slow kiss. Steady and gentle. Full of longing and apology and promise. Her hands in his hair and his in hers. Trailing down her nape to her spine. The slide of her tongue on his lower lip, tugging it between her teeth and releasing it. A groan, smothered.
"Hermione?"
She yelped and turned toward the floo, and Potter's head in the flames, sputtering.
"Oh, sorry, I just thought that—"
"No! Harry, it's fine—"
Draco pressed Granger's back against his front, one hand curled against her stomach and the other holding her hip. "It's most certainly not, fine, Potter. One of us still has a working wand and quick reflexes for intruders and serial interrupters."
"Theo says you routinely break into his flat. A floo call is hardly intruding," Potter said.
"Harry, can you just come through or tell me what you need?" Granger said, pushing at Draco's hands and sighing when he refused to move them. Eventually settling for resting her own atop them.
"I was asked to invite you both to Theo's for dinner. My appetite is compromised, however—"
There was a muffled sound and Potter's head disappeared, replaced by Theo's. "Sorry about that, I told him a Patronus would be better but he has yet to understand that adrenaline helps set the mood—"
"Theo," a voice called.
"Harry," he tossed over his shoulder. "Regardless, I'm making ratatouille and opened a rather expensive bottle of wine. Dinner will be on the table in twenty minutes. We're celebrating and your presence is mandatory."
"We'll be there in half an hour," Draco said, and closed the floo. Tucking his wand in his pocket and spinning the witch in his arms to finish what they'd started. Nipping at her throat and roaming his hands over her curves.
"Draco," she squeezed his shoulder. "We should get ready."
"Thirsty minutes is barely enough time as it is, Granger," he replied. "Wasting it by talking."
She squeezed tighter when he traced her pulse with his tongue. "Bargain," she breathed, and he loosened his grip enough to look at her with a grin.
"What's that?"
"I want to make a bargain," she said.
"Hmm," he moved his lips over her ear and his hands under hems and into waistbands. "What are your terms?"
"My…" She breathed heavily.
"Your terms, Granger." He touched her waist, the tips of his fingers hot on her skin. "Twenty-nine minutes. Perhaps twenty-eight, now. I'm not good at timekeeping. Best be quick about it."
"Shower," she said, squirming until she slipped away from him, moving down the short hall to her bathroom. Shedding layers on the way.
He had just removed his own jumper when she called, "Twenty-seven!"
And he laughed, picking up the pace.
Steam clouded the mirror in her small bathroom. Shampoo already in her hair — the sweet, minty scent in his nose.
"I believe we're at twenty-five, now," she teased. Soap bubbles floating down her body to swirl in the drain. He stepped into the shower and turned them so that he could wet his hair, quickly washing it while she conditioned her curls.
"Twenty-three?" He estimated and she laughed. Her soap smelled like roses, and he lathered it over both of their bodies. Letting the hot water clear the suds.
"Maybe twenty, now," she said, kissing him beneath the streaming water.
Hands became more exploratory and kissing turned dizzying and heated. When she moaned, rocking against his hand, he pulled back long enough to reach for his wand on the sink.
Enjoyable shower sex required a spell to prevent slipping. One that floated around the Slytherin dorms, handed down from older students like the most prized wisdom. And they had a point, Draco thought. It was a useful bit of magic. He pressed her against the tiles, letting a sticking charm help him keep her hands steady against them. Leaning over her shoulder to kiss her more, until she arched her back.
The water flowed over them, skating across their skin. He licked a river from her shoulder to her collarbone. Pressing his hardness against her soft, round behind. Circling her clit with his fingers before dipping inside of her cunt.
"Draco, please," she whimpered, "We can go slow later."
"What if I lost track of time?" He said, replacing his fingers with his cock.
Hermione gasped and leaned further against the wall of the shower. "Theo…will say it's rude."
"Don't talk about him right now," he said in her ear, thrusting his hips faster and digging his fingers into her hips harder with each motion. "We only have ten minutes and there are other things I want to hear from your mouth."
The acoustics were exquisite. Every gasp and moan sounded more beautiful than the last, echoing off of the tiles and the glass. A song he'd sing in his memories.
The wine was a bold red poured into thin crystal glasses. Theo had found a recent determination to master the fine art of entertaining and that included cooking without the use of magic. This celebratory dinner was the first of these attempts that Draco had tasted, sure that he would have to hide a grimace and feign compliments. But the food was nearly as good as the hors d'ouvres he'd sampled before they'd arrived. Only ten minutes late but still damp from their shower. Potter wouldn't meet their eyes and Theo's sparkled at their rumpled appearance before declaring stasis charms a wonderful invention to accommodate rudely late friends. But it hadn't mattered because just as they'd stepped through the floo Hermione stretched on her toes to whisper in his ear about having dessert at home. If he was lucky he'd taste his favorite—
"Malfoy, what do you think?"
"Hmm?"
"Harry was just telling us about proposing a new training program," Hermione said, her hand squeezing his under the table. "On potions."
"Can't have too much, I suppose," he replied and reached for his wine. "Would be helpful if half the department understood the rate of conduction between different cauldron metals."
Conversation flowed and he found himself less distracted, They laughed together and finished a few bottles. Talking of work and the cleanup at Forsyth Road. Granger was looking forward to analyzing some of the objects recovered from the wreckage.
"It reminded me of Grimmauld Place, in a way," she said. One of her hands in his beneath the table while the other circled the rim of her wine glass, lost in thought. "When we first lived there. Random little things in cupboards that are more than they seem. All the doxies and torn furniture and dust."
"It's not much better now, if I'm being honest. I'm rarely there these days," Potter said. "Can redecorate and clean but the memories…It's not exactly a place I want to spend time at or invite my boyfriend to."
Theo's glass slipped from his hand, landing with a thunk. He looked at Potter, then muttered a cleaning spell to remove the spilt Bordeaux from the table.
Draco looked at Granger, who raised her eyebrows just so—
"Right," Theo said, clearing his throat. He downed the rest of his wine and pushed his chair back. "You are on your own for a dessert course. Sorry."
Everyone stood and exchanged glances.
"You two," Theo pointed at Draco and Granger, "out of my house. Immediately. Come on."
He ushered them towards the stairs, summoning their cloaks.
"Theo, this is rather uncouth behavior," Draco drawled, helping Granger with her scarf.
"Thank you for coming," Theo said, and all but shoved him down the stairs. "My boyfriend and I have a dining table to defile."
As Draco hustled Hermione out the door he couldn't help but grin. "Guess you have a bit of the sight, Granger."
She shut the door behind her and Draco warded it, sure that Theo was otherwise occupied but would want the privacy. "Really? Why's that?"
"You said we'd have dessert at home and now we've been unceremoniously thrown out of our dinner party before the crème brûlée. A real shame, too, it's my favorite."
"I think I have some ice cream in my freezer. Can't say when I bought it but it might do."
"Think I'll pass on that. What else are you offering, Granger?"
Her smile was just a little bit wicked as she held his arm and he apparated them back to her flat for the evening. And despite the day they'd had, he felt more at peace than he had in a long time.
They both were given the day off after their ordeal in Essex. It gave Draco hope for a lie in, but Hermione had other plans.
Plans that involved tugging him through Diagon Alley just after the shops had opened for the day. The narrow street was quiet. The air still bitter cold. First she wanted to have a coffee and he indulged her, ordering for them both and taking a guess at her favorite pastry. He'd just checked over his shoulder, ready to lean in and help take care of the chocolate at the corner of her mouth when she clasped his wrist and led him to a large, black door.
"Granger," he said, digging in his heels, "I can't."
"Draco, you can and you will."
He tried to extricate himself from her grip but she held tighter. "The man was kept prisoner in my home. Tormented, just like you were, and I didn't—"
"Stop," she said, placing a hand on his cheek. Forcing him to look at her. "You were a teenager. Those who harmed him were adults and they're gone now. He's rebuilt his shop and we're going in there together."
"I've never apologized to him. I'm not sure I even know where to begin."
The door opened, and Mr. Ollivander held it until they crossed the threshold. "You do not owe me an apology. Your parents, yes, they could do with a letter expressing regret for their actions, but as Miss Granger said, you were not the cause of my nightmares in that house."
Garrick Ollivander was less the gaunt man kept in chains in the dungeon who haunted his darker thoughts and more a curious old man, with eyes that were bright and hair that was unkempt.
"And I keep up with the papers," he continued, returning to his spot behind the counter where the Prophet lay open. The headline read, Miracle antidote saves Muggleborns! Daily Prophet Exclusive Ollivander pointed to it as it scrambled once more, revealing a smaller subheading. Minister Shacklebolt credits Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger for ingenuity and bravery. "It is our actions that matter, Mr. Malfoy."
"At least allow me to apologize on my family's behalf, Mr. Ollivander. I'm sorry for what happened to you at Malfoy Manor." Draco said. His throat was dry despite the large coffee. When he swallowed, it stuck in his throat.
"Shall we begin?" Ollivander asked.
They'd taken a special portkey back to the Ministry the previous afternoon, prepared to give a full report. The auror team took the stunned and unconscious Flint to a holding cell in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Potter brought them to a conference room, the path familiar, where they spoke to Robards briefly. Their tale a shorter one to tell, this time.
"I'd like to give a report to the Prophet, if you'd all be willing," the Head Auror had said. "It's time to let the public know what's been happening and to assure them that we've taken all of the ink that Marcus Flint helped to create into evidence so that no other Muggleborns need worry."
Draco glanced at Granger, who looked at her clasped hands beneath the table. "I'm not sure I need to be interviewed," she said, "I don't work for the department and it's probably best if it comes from you, sir. You have our reports."
"I want there to be no question as to who was responsible for apprehending the culprit and for creating the antidote that healed those who'd been poisoned. That's the two of you. Three, if we include Auror Potter—"
"I didn't do much of anything, sir," Potter started, but Robards waved a hand.
"You recommended Malfoy for the case and consistently ensured the rest of the department that he and Miss Granger would succeed. You're a good friend and a good Auror. Trust isn't something we can teach. It's earned. And it's also shared. The world trusts you, Harry Potter, and that is why you're in this room."
"Alright," Potter said, clearly uncomfortable. "Who are we speaking to?"
A knock announced the reporter for the Prophet. The sound of expensive shoes on the polished Ministry floor. Draco was relieved to see Pansy Parkinson for the second time that day.
"Are we early?" She said, entering the room with Dennis Creevey at her heels, a camera in one hand.
"Right on time," Robards said. "I'll leave you to it. Excellent work." He clapped Draco on the shoulder on his way out. "Miss Parkinson, the Minister will expect you in an hour for his statement."
When he shut the door Pansy smiled. "Shall we begin?"
Now, standing in the wand shop surrounded by hundreds of narrow boxes, Draco wondered if this would be another beginning.
"Your wand was vine, was it not?" Ollivander said, pulling a few boxes and and lining them up on the counter. He asked questions of both of them. Placing more and more boxes into two distinct sections. Questions about spells they favored, techniques they preferred.
They were there for at least an hour, swishing and flicking different woods of different lengths. Until Hermione's face lit up the moment she wrapped her fingers around one of them. Casting a beautiful spell that resembled calm waves. The kind that would send a boat out to the horizon.
"Curious," Ollivander said, his chuckle almost menacing.
"What's curious about it?" Granger asked, running her hand over the smooth wood. It had an interesting pattern to it. No carvings other than at the handle, where little diamonds made a sort of scaled effect.
"Once again a dragon heartstring core, and the same exact length as your previous wand, down to the millimeter."
"And what of the wood?" Draco asked.
"Snakewood," he replied. "The piece you sent me just last week, in fact. My very first and likely only snakewood wand. A hard wood to come by."
Granger blushed and handed it to Draco. "Granger, no, it's clearly yours—"
"I expected it to go to you," she said. "At least try it. Maybe you'll have an even stronger reaction to it."
He rolled his eyes. "Why, because I was a Slytherin?" He said, and gave it a wave. While the results were somewhat favorable, it was nothing like the connection to her magic. She almost greedily took it back. Testing other little charms and smiling all the while.
"If I may make another suggestion," Ollivander said, climbing up the ladder behind the counter. To the very top. Pulling a slim, pale blue box from atop a tall tower. "Tell me what you liked about your old wand. The one you purchased here, not the one in your pocket."
"It felt…consistent. More than the one I've been using."
"That is because of its core. Unicorn hair — very interesting that someone of your heritage would favor a unicorn hair core."
Because it was difficult to produce dark magic with it, he knew. And that wasn't the only reason he'd struggled with the dark arts.
"Here," Ollivander said, handing him the periwinkle box. A familiar color.
Inside was an elegant wand, longer than his hawthorn had been. Like Granger's, it had a subtle diamond pattern on the handle that reminded him of dragon scales. The two wands didn't match, but they complimented each other somehow.
"That's willow. With a unicorn hair core. Bit longer than your previous, which makes sense as you've grown since then," Ollivander continued.
It was a pale wood, almost unremarkable compared to the reddish tint and intricate woodgrain pattern of Granger's wand. But Draco found it more beautiful than any of the others he'd tried. When he twirled a shape into the air, it made waves. Gentle and calming.
"A good wand for healing," Ollivander said. "Excellent for a potioneer like yourself. The wand chooses the wizard, after all."
"It chose a good one," Hermione said. And Draco knew she didn't have to think twice about things.
They thanked the wandmaker for his time and stepped into the street. New wands in their pockets. With her hand in his he knew it was time to begin.
So sorry this is posting a couple days late - I uploaded the doc on Saturday as usual and somehow forgot to add the chapter to the story.
The final chapter will post next weekend. Thank you so much for reading. xx Lu