CHAPTER 12

September 3rd 2001

Hermione Granger moaned as she rolled over at the sound of the alarm on her nightstand. Using her wand she silenced the item before putting her head back into the pillow. The last weekend had been dreadfully long, between fighting assassins and shopping endlessly with her sister in law, there was not a moment to rest. Monday morning had slapped her in the face with exhaustion.

Sitting up on the side of her bed, Hermione sighed looking over at her bedside table. On top sat a framed picture of her and Ron the day that they got engaged. The two people looking back at her had smiles on their faces that made true love seem possible for the loneliest of souls. Hermione remembered that day well, only the story of her betrothal was much sadder than what the framed memory illustrated…

"It is not that hard, Ron!" She shrieked across the bedroom at her boyfriend.

"If it is so bloody easy why the hell don't you do it then!" He bellowed back. Fists thrashing about above his head in a rage.

The two had been fighting over smaller inconveniences for a matter of months now. Whether it came to picking up clothes off the floor, or forgetting to book a dinner reservation, an argument could be triggered at any moment.

"I did not do it myself because I had asked you to help out, that is what a boyfriend does, they help out when their girlfriends are stressed from work."

"Well, did you ever stop and think that I was stressed from work as well?" The red-head accused. The words stung in Hermione's heart. Ron was so shallow minded that he had not even cared that her werewolf case was slowly dying from lack of evidence.

She was so tired from fighting all of the time. It consumed her.

"Why do we have to argue over everything?" She sighed, sitting on the edge of her unmade mattress. Earlier in the day she had asked her boyfriend to make the bed while she went out for lunch with a woman who had possessed a werewolf bite and struggled to get work.

"I don't know." Ron exhaled, sitting beside her. "I thought our bickering would stop after a few years."

"So did I." Hermione agreed, saddened by the state of her relationship.

"What if we got married?" He asked proudly.

"Married?" She barked, shocked at the sudden proposition.

"Yeah, like husband and wife. Do you reckon you could spend the rest of your life with me?"

"Well I-uh-I believe so."

"You believe so?"

"I have practically lived with you since we were 11, Ronald. Spending my life with you would be no different."

"Would you be happy?" Ron's voice was hoarse from all the yelling. It was questions like this that Hermione knew that he was only asking because he doubted that she loved him. Growing up he had felt like the unwanted child, and the early set insecurities often reappeared within their relationship.

"Of course I would be happy, I love you." She reassured him.

"And I love you. So let's do it, let's get married." His hands grabbed hers and squeezed tightly.

There was a glimmer in his eyes that resembled hope, like everything he doubted would just fade away if they bound their lives together. In a way, this was him testing how deep her love for him truly ran.

Hermione did love Ron. She loved his courage, his loyalty, his passion… She had slowly learned to love him ever since she first met him. The war was what really brought them together, and the heat of knowing that you could die at any moment intertwined them. He was her best friend, and getting married made sense for where their relationship stood. So for the sake of love she said.

"Okay. Let's get married."

Ron grabbed her frame and embraced her so tightly she couldn't even lift her arms to hug him back. Hermione nervously laughed at the gesture, but more so over what she had just said yes to. Letting her go, Ron stood from the bed and walked out of the room. A few seconds later he returned with a navy blue jewelry box.

"I got this a few months ago when I saw it in the window. I thought you might like it." He quivered happily before bending down on one knee and opening the box. Inside sat a gold band with a simple square white diamond the size of a sugar cube.

"It is very beautiful." She gasped.

"Here let me put it on." Ron insisted as he grabbed her left palm with shaky hands and slipped the ring onto her finger.

Hermione cupped his face and pulled him into a deep kiss. This was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of her life, so she figured she had to embrace it. His lips were slightly dry and cracked from all the shouting before, but she ignored it and leant into her now fiance. Ron pulled away and smiled with his teeth showing, pressing their foreheads together.

"So… that's it then, we're engaged." He breathed against her mouth.

"Wow, just like that."

Hermione sat in the exact spot on the mattress she had been that day. Over the months Ron had improved in his behaviour, starting to pick up after himself, cook dinner, and even ask her about her job. A part of the witch felt like the illusion would drop at any moment and he would go back to his sloppy ways, like it was all just a ruse to get her down the aisle. Although their arguing had never stopped. Hermione chose to count her blessings instead of dwelling on her disasters.

A tapping on her window broke her train of thought. An owl perched itself on her windowsill with the Daily Prophet rolled within its claws. Hermione opened the framework of glass and took the paper, rubbing the bird's head in thanks.

Needing a tea to start her day, she took the parchment and tossed it onto her dining table. Moments later she returned with a warm cup in her hands. Unrolling the newest edition of the paper she saw a picture of Lucius Malfoy on the cover from his glory days of fresh pressed clothes and an evil glimmer to his eye. The front heading reading,

LUCIUS MALFOY DEAD

DEATH EATER PASSES AWAY FROM DARK CURSE SIDE EFFECTS
WITHIN OWN MANOR

Hermione threw her hand to her mouth in shock. Heart beating at a pace that made her chest feel like it was imploding, she sensed a surge of nausea rush through her. Continuing down the page she read,

'LUCIUS MALFOY, the death eater and prisoner died last night at home after being taken ill. The 47 year old prisoner was found unconscious at the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, south-west England. He was unable to be revived by St Mungos healers, and had been reported to be suffering from preprecutions of being the victim of numerous dark curses performed by Voldemort. The former ministry influencer leaves behind his wife, Narcissa Malfoy, and only heir, Draco Malfoy. Neither witch nor wizard has commented on the sudden passing of their head of house.'

A mixture of emotions swelled through Hermione's mind. First was anger at the man for having the audacity to die before he could meet his own justice, second was confusion over how he had inevitably passed from his ongoing illness, and thirdly was grief for her friend's father's death. While she understood that the younger Malfoy did not get along with his senior, every child still loved their parents, and the passing of one would be heart wrenching. Knowing what it felt like to have to obliviate her own mother and father, and then sending them to Australia nearly killed Hermione. But Hermione could not even imagine what her co-worker must be going through right now.

Draco Malfoy stood with his hands in his pockets at the centre of the west-wing hallway of his family home. His eyes were cast upon a family portrait that was painted several years ago before the return of the Dark Lord. His mother was portrayed to have softer cheekbones than she did in real life and was given longer white blond hair, both made her look more youthful. Draco himself had his own hair pushed back with an overuse of product, and a smirk that matched his fathers. The senior wizard had a stance of dominance over his family, one hand on his infamous cane and the other on his wife's shoulder. They looked powerful, he could not deny that, but more importantly they looked like they loathed one another.

Howling from his mother's mourning echoed throughout the cold halls. The sudden passing of her husband was a breaking point for the fragile woman. Draco did not know if they had ever truly been in love with one another, but he thought that she must have seen something in the psychopath in order for her to stick by his side over the years.

The papers have reported that Lucius Malfoy had died due to the side effects of 'being the victim of numerous dark curses performed by Voldevort'. Victim was a lack of a better word to describe a failing slave. In truth, Draco had hired a man named Mr Crawford to kill his father, finally putting an end to their ongoing feud.

Turning away from the highly strung oil painting, he followed the sound of the cries to find his progenitor sitting on the lounge in the office of his late father. Her handkerchief was to her nose as she wept for her husband. Guilt swam its way through to Draco's heart. Seeing his mother like that made him question if he had made the right decision to have Lucius killed.

"Mother," he sighed entering the room, "What are you doing in here?"

Narcissa hiccuped as she swung her puffy eyes to her son.

"I j-just wanted to be near h-him." She cried. The widow held her hand up for Draco to come and pull her up for a hug. He was not really one for such an intimate gesture, but if there was ever going to be a time for him to let his guard down, this would be it.

"I didn't even remember the last words I said to him." Draco heard her murmur into his chest.

"Everything will be okay, mother." He soothed, brushing his hand along her hair that spread down her shoulders.

"What am I going to do without him?" She whispered, pulling out of her son's embrace.

That was the question of the hour. Draco had paid a lot of money to ensure that his life could persevere without the cold hand of his father holding him hostage. There was a world of endless possibilities at his feet, so many forks in the road he couldn't decide between. Yet, he felt sorry for the woman that raised him. She had lost one of the two things that kept her heart beating, and to her it probably felt like she was in a world with no possibilities.

Looked into the blue orbs below him, Draco searched for the right answer to give them. Holding Narcissa by the jaw crevice near her ears, he kissed her forehead softly.

"You can do whatever you have wanted to do. There is nothing holding you back anymore." Draco encouraged.

"I lost sight of things outside the world of this family a long time ago, my son. You are all I have left." Narcissa exhaled, having finally calmed herself of her sorrow.

"Do not worry about me, mother. I will not stray from you."

Draco led his mother back to the couch of the office and sat beside her on the leather material. She rested her head against his shoulder as he clasped their hands together on her lap.

Looking around at the room they were in, Draco reminisced on the childhood memories he had of running into his father each summer, to complain about all the people that had wronged him throughout his schooling year. Potter, Weasley and Granger were almost always on top of that list. The youngest Malfoy laughed to himself at the turning of tables that had occurred without him noticing. Now he complained about his father to the woman he used to whinge about the most.

Draco was relieved to finally have to stop fighting so hard to keep her in his life, and to keep her alive. Now that Lucius was gone for good, Granger could go back to living her stupidly bland life at peace with the Weasel. But the wizard's heart ached at the idea of her life moving on without him.

"What are you thinking about, my sweet prince?" Narcissa interrupted his thought pattern.

"I am thinking about what Granger would be thinking, now that the man who worked endlessly to end her had fallen to his own demise." Draco confessed, unashamed at his crass wording or mention of the muggle-born in front of his mother.

"You should not be thinking about that mudblood at a time like this, my son." She spoke with a hint of anger in her voice.

"I don't think I've ever stopped thinking about her for a long time." He admitted without giving himself permission to do so.

Narcissa exhaled and ignored his reply. She was choosing to be ignorant towards her son's feelings, knowing that it would lead down a rabbit hole that neither of them wanted to go down.

"I remember the day that your father and I brought you home from the hospital," his mother began, "You were so small, and I begged Lucius to be careful with you. He refused to let go of you unless you needed feeding. So proud to hold his son in his hands. He walked around the manor showing you family heirlooms all day until I found you both asleep on our bed."

The thought of being anything but a disappointment to his father was astonishing to Draco. He had worked so hard to earn the love of Lucius Malfoy, but no matter what he did, he drew further away from his grasp.

"I had not heard that story before."

"That is because your father would have killed me if I had told you he had a heart at some point in his life. That man in the memory was who I fell in love with. Voldemort took that away from our family. I live with a broken heart everyday knowing that you did not get the father that you deserved. And that Lucius never got to be the father he wanted to be."

"What happened to make him hate me so much?" Draco croaked.

"He never hated you, my sweet." Narcissa squeezed his hand tight. "He simply tried to mould you into a man that would be able to withstand the return and rule of the Dark Lord. Unfortunately that meant sacrificing your soft heart for thick skin."

Unsure of how to process the emotions that were brewing inside of him, Draco changed the subject to logistics.

"How did you find him, mother? Father, how did you find him?"

"I had been out shopping during the day and returned very late after a lengthy dinner with a friend of mine. His body lay unconscious on the floor of our bedroom. I tried to shake him awake but-" her voice cracked as she pushed back tears, "but he was already gone. The house elves called the healers that carried him out. He was gone within ten minutes, and now I will never see him again."

Draco tightened his grip on his mothers hands and kissed the top of her head that still lay on his shoulder. Knowing that illness was not the real cause of death, he pondered on what Crawford had done to ensure that the body had appeared to wither away from natural causes. The man was a professional killer, so he must have known what he was doing.

Standing up from the leathered couch, Draco pulled his mother up as well and encouraged her to go and have a bath. He promised after she rested they would dine together at supper.

The only heir of the Malfoy wealth sauntered to the other side of the manor to his beloved library. It was in that room he went to seek peace and quiet. The aftermath of the death of Lucius Malfoy was soon to stampede upon him, but not before he had a moment to himself to gather his plan.

Draco ran his fingers along the thick paperbacks of books filed by genre and alphabetical order, just the way he liked it. He longed for a book that would meet his need for escapism, a world in which he could be absorbed into.

Just as he walked past the biographies, a loud knock reaped at the entrance door. Unsure of who could know he was in here, he carefully turned over to pull the handle and swing the door open. No one was in his frontal sight, but a cough from below made him look down and see Dippy's tennis ball eyes looking back up at him.

"Dippy why the fuck are you coming through the door?" He laughed.

"Sir was asking Dippy to not scare him last week, sir. Dippy used the door like she was asked." The elf whimpered, terrified that he was going to punish her.

"Oh that is right. Well done, Dippy. What is your reason for being here?"

"Dippy is delivering a letter to Mastor Draco from a ministry owl, sir." Draco reached down and took the envelope from the elf's boney fingers. It was definitely addressed to him. Assuming it was from Kingsley to confirm his request to take time off to 'grieve', he thanked Dippy and closed the door.

Tearing the letter open, he was startled by the lack of ministry letter template. This meant that it was a personal note. Unfolding the light brown parchment, notoriously neat handwriting read,

'I am terribly sorry for your loss, Malfoy. If you need anything at all, I am only a floo away.

Yours,

Hermione'

"Yours." Draco read out loud for a second time. That was certainly not true.

A smile crept over his cheeks as he looked over her letter again, feeling giddy at her immediate rush to write to him. But as the butterflies settled in his stomach, Draco slapped his own face.

"Get the fuck together, you self entitled bastard." He insulted himself. What the fuck was he doing?

Crumpling up the piece of paper, Draco stuffed it into his pocket with intentions to chuck it out at a later time. He also stuffed his ever growing feelings for the witch back inside as well. She needed to hurry up and get married so that all his worries would go away and he would stop fantasising about her.

Yes, that would be the solution to all his remaining issues, Granger marrying the Weasel.

Yes. Granger.