The Revenant by Atalanta84

by Skyec20

I DID NOT WRITE THIS STORY. I have been a massive fan of this fanfiction for over a decade, but it was lost when all the Dramione sites began getting shut down. I found it in an obscure archive and could not contact the author, so I'm simply giving it a new home. All credit goes to Atalanta84

6. Chapter 6

The Revenant (Part 6)

The room was completely silent. Harry was pacing restlessly back and forth, his black hair a mess from all the times he had raked his fingers through it. Ron was sitting next to Hermione, and his face was so pale, it made his freckles stand out even more than usual. Dennis Creevey and the other Aurors sat around the table, their faces bearing expressions of grief, anger, and disbelief. Meanwhile, Draco stood alone in the back of the room, with his arms folded across his chest, as his grey eyes tracked Harry's movements. Finally, Harry ceased his pacing and faced his fellow Aurors.

"I refuse to believe it was Seamus that killed Goyle!" he exclaimed. "I've known him for almost seventeen years. He's not a murderer!"

"Potter," said Draco, "you heard what my father said –"

"I don't give a damn what your father said, Malfoy. Am I supposed to take the word of a former Death Eater over that of a friend I've known and trusted since I was eleven years old?"

Draco's jaw muscles twitched with suppressed anger, but he managed to keep his temper in check.

"Harry, as much as it sickens me to say it, all the signs point to Seamus being the killer," Ron said sadly. "As far as we know, he was the last person to see Goyle alive. He was the last person to handle the Veritaserum you gave Meachim. And he ran away. Why would he run away if he wasn't guilty?"

"Ron, this is Seamus we're talking about here. Seamus who we shared a dormitory with for six years. Seamus who never had a mean thing to say about anyone. He was a Gryffindor. You honestly think he was capable of murder?"

"Wormtail was a Gryffindor, too, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Harry said, nodding his head grimly at the memory of the man who betrayed his parents. He turned to face Hermione.

"What do you think?" he asked her. She chewed her lower lip nervously, as her gaze flitted between the three men.

"I agree with you, Harry." They all looked at her in surprise as she went on to explain. "Seamus couldn't possibly be the brains behind the operation. He was smart, but not that smart. Remember, the murderer was capable of inventing a new illicit potion, and brewing the Aufero Spiritus poison. Seamus couldn't have brewed such a complex potion if his life depended on it."

"Hermione, that doesn't necessarily mean…" Draco began, but Hermione spoke over him.

"Draco, you yourself said that it looked like the killer was out for revenge. What reason would Seamus have for getting revenge on former Death Eaters? As far as I know, all of his family and close friends survived the war with Voldemort. Maybe Seamus did attack Dennis and put the poison in the Veritaserum. Maybe he even lured Goyle to Knockturn Alley the night he was murdered. But if he did those things, I think someone forced him to do it. Maybe he had money problems like Goyle, and got in over his head."

Harry shook his head.

"I'm pretty sure Seamus wasn't in any trouble financially." Then his eyes widened as a new idea struck him. He turned to address Dennis Creevey. "Dennis, you're the best man I've got when it comes to gathering evidence. Would there be any way to prove that Seamus was under the Imperius Curse?"

"No, Harry," Dennis said sadly, shaking his head. "That's the problem with the Unforgivables – they don't leave a mark. At least, not in most cases," he added, with a glance at Harry's scar. "If Seamus really was cursed, the only way to prove it would be to find the person who placed the curse on Seamus, and cast Priori Incantatum on their wand."

"So that's it then?" Harry said to no one in particular. "We just give up and let Seamus take all the blame?" He looked more despondent than Hermione had seen him in a long time.

"We'll hardly give up, Harry," she said. She rose to her feet and gripped his arm reassuringly. "There are still a lot of loose ends left to pursue. We'll question Seamus's parents, and try to find eyewitnesses from that night in Knockturn Alley…whatever it takes. But Seamus was a friend to all of us, and whether he was guilty or not, we lost him today. I think everyone should have the night off to grieve that loss."

Harry glanced around the room, taking in the sight of his exhausted and disheartened Aurors, and nodded.

"All right, everyone, you're dismissed for the evening. But I expect all of you back here bright and early tomorrow morning so we can finally close this case."

Hermione hugged Harry and Ron goodbye, and then followed the rest of the crowd out the door. However, she had no intention of going home just yet. The last thing she wanted to do right now was face Draco – not after that intense moment they had shared just a few hours before. That kiss had been wrong and inappropriate; a mistake. There were a million such adjectives to describe it. But it had also been amazing and wonderful and…what had she been thinking? Even now, as she wandered aimlessly through the corridors of the Ministry, she could still taste him on her lips, and feel the burn of his mouth against hers. Looking back, she was relieved that Harry had interrupted when he did, because otherwise, who knew where things would have led? Actually, she knew exactly where things would have led, and the frightening thing was that a part of her secretly wished that Harry had not interrupted after all…

Hermione looked up and realized where she had wandered off to while she was deep in thought. She was standing outside of the evidence room, where Seamus's body was being kept until arrangements were made to send him to a local Wizarding morgue. She paused outside the doorway, and then walked in to find the room empty. Seamus's body was laid out in one corner of the room, with everything but his face covered by a white sheet. As she approached, she could feel the cooling charms that had been cast around him for preservation purposes, and it raised goose bumps on her exposed skin. Soon, she was standing beside him, looking down on a face that seemed deceptively peaceful in death. But she could only imagine how tumultuous his thoughts must have been in the moments before taking his own life.

"Oh Seamus," she murmured, as fresh tears pricked her eyes. She couldn't help feeling guilty about how everything had turned out. It was just yesterday that she seen his visibly anxious reaction to giving Harry the Veritaserum. Why hadn't she questioned him further? Why hadn't she listened to her instincts, warning her that something was amiss?

"Hermione, are you all right?"

Hermione jumped in surprise and clasped her hand to her heart, whirling to face the newcomer.

"Dennis, you startled me!" she admonished.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I was just coming to put away some of my supplies before I went home, and I heard someone crying…"

He awkwardly scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor. It was clear to Hermione that he was embarrassed about discovering her in such an emotional state, but concerned for her as well.

"It's okay," she said. "I just…wanted to see him one last time, before his parents have his body moved tomorrow."

"Yeah," Dennis replied with a shake of his head. "It really was a shock, wasn't it? I still can't believe it myself."

Hermione nodded and wiped the tears off of her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"I guess sometimes people aren't what they seem. For years, we fought to destroy Voldemort, and then track down all of his followers. What was the point of it all? All we managed to do was pave the way for a new type of evil. Maybe it was all for nothing."

"All for nothing?" Dennis repeated in disbelief. "Hermione, how can you say that? Defeating Voldemort and his Death Eaters made all the difference in the world. Did I…did I ever tell you what Colin told me, before he snuck back into Hogwarts on the night of the battle?"

Hermione mutely shook her head.

"I tried to stop him. I told him not to go." Dennis's eyes became distant and unfocused as he remembered the night his brother was killed. "But he told me he had to go back and fight. He told me that even if he wasn't the smartest wizard, or the most talented, the one thing he could do was fight for what he believed in…"

Dennis's voice broke and Hermione gave him a small smile as she rested one hand on his shoulder.

"Colin would be so proud of you, Dennis. He would be so proud of how you've become an Auror, and of all the inventions you've created to help make our job safer and easier. Half the Death Eaters we have in Azkaban wouldn't be there if it wasn't for you."

"Well, you get half the credit for the anti-Kedavra suit. I never would have figured out how to weave the Patronus Spell into the material if it weren't for your help."

Hermione laughed.

"We still don't know if it will work, Dennis. And I doubt we're going to find anyone who's willing to put it on and let someone fire Killing Curses at them to test its effectiveness at blocking them."

"I suppose you're right," Dennis said with a grin. Then he sobered and looked her directly in the eyes. "Hermione, I know it's heartbreaking to lose Seamus this way, but don't give up. Like Colin said, all we can do now is keep fighting for what we believe in."

Hermione glanced down at the engagement ring that still sparkled on her right hand, as she thought of the commitment she had made to Anthony. Then she thought of the impassioned kiss she had shared with Draco, and the commitment they had made to each other nearly five years ago. She let out a defeated sigh.

"That's the problem, Dennis. I don't know what I believe in anymore."

Hermione sat for a long time staring at the two objects she had sitting on her desk. One was a stack of divorce papers, neatly organized with sticky tabs where she and Draco were supposed to sign; the other was the ornate gold box that she kept in her desk drawer – a gift from Draco on their one year wedding anniversary. It was a beautiful box with the Malfoy crest and the monogrammed "M" on the lid. Slowly, she traced the lid with her finger and thought about the decision she had before her.

A few days earlier, the decision would have been easy and clear-cut. She was in love with Anthony (or so she had believed), and she had not seen Draco in nearly three years. She had been ready to let him go forever and move on with her life. But in three days, everything had changed. While she still cared for Anthony, she wasn't sure that the feelings she had for him were strong enough to build a marriage upon. And Draco added a whole new level of complexity to the situation.

It was surprising, and almost frightening, how quickly their present relationship had evolved from bitter and distrustful, to passionate and loving. When they had shared that kiss in the window seat earlier that day, it had brought back a rush of emotions that she thought had been lost long ago. Some of them had been pleasant emotions, and memories of all the good times they had shared together during their brief marriage. But not all of the memories were pleasant ones.

She recalled the morning after he left, when she had lain in bed and refused to get out of it, because then it would make it real. Then she would have to get up and find the flat empty, and know that he had truly gone. She remembered how she had hidden in her flat for weeks, barely eating or sleeping, until Harry and Ron had finally forced their way inside and taken her to her parents' house to recover. She recalled how she had stayed with her parents for a few weeks, but when she found their attention too smothering to tolerate any longer, she had escaped to Grimmauld Place to stay with Harry and Ginny. It was a full month until she was able to go back to her and Draco's flat, and face the reality of living alone again. It was a full year until she was finally able to face the reality of living in a world without Draco in it.

Hermione toyed with the lid of the box until finally, she decided to open it and look at its contents for approximately the hundredth time in the past three years. But before she could do so, there was a sharp knock on the door. Quickly, she thrust both the box and the divorce papers back into the top drawer of her desk, just in time for her office door to creak open.

"How did I know I'd find you here?" Draco said with a smirk as he entered the room and shut the door behind him. He brandished a bag of Chinese takeout, and the delicious scent of the food wafted throughout Hermione's office, making her stomach growl. "It's seven o'clock, love. Perhaps you superheroes don't know this, but mere mortals have usually eaten a dinner by now."

"Oh, I…was getting caught up on all my work for the Wizengamot and must have forgotten to eat. Thank you for bringing me something."

"Who says any of this is for you?" Draco said archly as he pulled an egg roll out of the bag and bit into it. Then he relented and tossed the bag onto her desk. "I got you your favorite – Kung Pao Chicken." He raised his eyebrows. "Unless that's also changed in the last three years?"

Hermione shook her head.

"No, it hasn't." She pulled the food out of the bag and ripped the chopsticks out of their paper package. But her fingers were trembling too hard for her to keep the utensils steady as she ate, and more rice landed on top of her desk than in her mouth. Draco noticed her shaky hands and sighed.

"Hermione, we need to talk."

"Yes, we do," she said, laying her chopsticks down.

"That kiss –"

"Should never have happened," she finished. Draco frowned and sat on the edge of her desk. Hermione slid her chair further back, feeling uncomfortable about how his position further emphasized the height discrepancy that already existed between them.

"Are you sure about that, Hermione? Because you certainly didn't seem to mind it too much at the time."

"I didn't. I mean…not at the time, like you said. But Draco, I'm engaged to someone else and –"

"Oh please!" he hissed, rising to his feet. He began to pace back and forth, just as Harry had done not long before. "We both know your engagement to Goldstein is nothing more than a joke at this point. You don't love him, Hermione. Or if you do, you don't love him enough. If you were truly committed to the man you would've never let me kiss you, and you wouldn't have responded as enthusiastically as you did, either. Admit it - you still have feelings for me."

"Maybe I do," Hermione said quietly, staring down at her hands. "But I don't see how this changes anything. It doesn't change the fact that you left. It doesn't change the fact that you stopped loving me." He paused and stared at her.

"My God, Hermione. Can you truly be that blind? Or that stupid?"

Her eyes snapped back up to his face.

"How dare you –"

"Of course I still love you! I've loved you this whole time, just as much as I ever did. Maybe I love you even more now, if that's possible."

All of the breath left Hermione's lungs in one whooshing gasp, almost as if someone had kicked her in the chest.

"You still love me?" she whispered.

"Yes," Draco replied, and an expression of shame and guilt fell over his features. "Hermione, what I did was unforgivable, I know. But I did it because I love you. I left because what happened to you and the baby was my fault. Rodolphus captured you because of me; because of my perceived betrayal against the Pureblood race. And now it's happening all over again. Someone's looking for revenge on former Death Eaters, and it's only a matter of time before they figure out how to use you to get to me. As long as I'm near you, I'm a danger to you."

"It wasn't your decision to make!" Hermione shouted, leaping to her feet so that they were closer to eye-level. "You never even asked my opinion on the matter. Draco, what happened to me three years ago wasn't your fault. But you never talked to me about your feelings. You closed off and distanced yourself from me, and then one morning you weren't even there anymore. What was I supposed to think?"

"I knew if I brought it up, you'd try to talk me out of leaving. And Merlin knows you probably would have succeeded, too. I couldn't do it, Hermione. I couldn't stay and wait for something else horrible to happen to you because of me. I couldn't face the thought of losing you again."

"Well, you did lose me, Draco," Hermione said tearfully. Draco hung his head, and his fine blond hair, which had grown to nearly shoulder-length, swept forward, partially hiding his face from view.

"So where does this leave us?" he asked. "What do we do next?"

Hermione hesitated. She closed her eyes and thought about her options, and once she did, she was immediately caught up in a battle between what her heart desired, and what her mind told her was the logical choice. This time, her mind won out. She opened her desk drawer once more and reached inside. Her fingertips brushed tantalizingly close to the decorative box, but it was the divorce papers that she seized and laid out on the desk top. Feeling as if she was having an out-of-body experience, watching her own actions from a great distance, she picked up a quill and began signing the papers, one by one, where the Wizarding Attorney had indicated. Draco kept his head turned the entire time, as if by not looking at what she was doing, he could avoid acknowledging it. When she was done, she laid her quill gently on top of the small pile of papers and slid them across the desk in his direction.

"Draco, what we had together…" She choked, and had to swallow hard to regain her composure. "What we had was wonderful, while it lasted. But we both know that it wouldn't have lasted forever, regardless of what happened. Our relationship was a fight from the beginning; we had to fight against our shared history, our friends' and families' disapproval… Look, in hotel rooms in exotic corners of the world, when our backs were against the wall and the adrenaline was high, everything was perfect. But in the real world… I-I think you and I both know that it would be best if we cut our losses and go our separate ways."

Finally, Draco turned to face her again, and the look in his eyes made her heart throb painfully.

"You really think this is the best decision?"

"You've already made the decision for us, Draco. Now, all you have to do is finalize it. You can drop off the papers at the flat when you're done signing them. I'll have your things packed and ready for you to take with you when you leave."

Draco let out a defeated sigh, and she could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes, but she didn't allow herself to look that closely. In three brisk strides, she crossed the room and prepared to leave.

"Do you ever imagine what our life would have been like if he had survived?" he asked suddenly. "If we had survived."

Hermione paused with her back to Draco and one hand on the door handle.

"All the time," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"I already told you, what happened to me and the baby wasn't your fault, Draco."

"No, but it's my fault you had to mourn him alone for all these years."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and she realized she couldn't take anymore of this. Without turning to face him, she fled from her office, letting the door slam shut behind her. To her relief, she managed to make it to the Atrium, through the Floo, and back to her flat without breaking down. Once she arrived home, she went directly to the guest room to gather Draco's luggage. He had been as organized as usual, and all of his belongings were neatly folded in his battered leather suitcase. She closed up the suitcase and tried to lug it out to the living room, but the latch on the bag broke, and his luggage went tumbling to the bedroom floor.

As tears streamed down her face, Hermione blindly picked up Draco's clothes and toiletries and began shoving them back into the bag. Suddenly, she encountered a large, rectangular object buried beneath one of his cloaks. When she lifted the cloak to reveal what it was, she gasped in surprise.

Laying there amongst Draco's things was a tattered, old, leather-bound book, with the gold gilt worn off the edges of the pages. Gently, she gathered the book into her arms and flipped open the cover to read the inscription inside: Property of Hermione Jean Granger. It was written in her own elegant script from when her parents had given it to her for her fifteenth birthday. It was her "Complete Works of William Shakespeare", which had gone missing three years before. She had thought she had lost it, or accidentally thrown it away while she was cleaning out the flat, but it had been in Draco's possession the entire time.

Hermione hugged the book to her chest and sobbed. She knew this was the final piece of evidence that proved Draco still cared for her. And a part of her had known it all along, too. She had suspected that he left out of guilt, or out of a desire to protect her from further harm, but for some reason, it had been easier to convince herself that he left because he no longer loved her. It was easier to be angry with him, rather than longing for him to return. She thought about all the things she had done, and all the changes she had made, in order to move on. She had changed careers and she had tried to find a new man to fill the void Draco had left in her life (although now, looking back, she realized that Anthony had never truly filled that void, but merely distracted her from its continued existence).

She had done everything she possibly could to push Draco out of her heart forever, but it had all been for naught. Because she knew, with a fierce certainty, that despite all they had been through, and all the time they had spent apart, she still loved him. Could she really throw it all away, now that she had finally found that love again?

Hermione took a deep breath and returned the book to Draco's luggage, closed it, and repaired the broken latch. She knew what she had to do next: she had to talk to Anthony. It would not be an easy conversation to have, but it was a necessary one. He was a good man, and he deserved to know the truth. She only hoped that he had it in his heart to forgive her.

Draco sat staring down at the divorce papers with Hermione's quill in his hand, but he was unable to bring himself to sign them. Most of his adult life had been fraught with death and loss, and in its own way, this also felt like a death. He felt as if, by signing these papers, he was killing something that had barely had a chance to live.

He had never been any good at murder. It was why he had failed at his task to kill Professor Dumbledore when he was sixteen years old. With death, there were no take-backs, no do-overs, and the finality of the whole thing had frightened him to the point of lowering his wand and preparing to admit defeat.

Years later, he had once more attempted to end someone's life, but this time out of revenge. But even then, Draco had failed. He had learned that revenge, even when it is deserved, is not as easy as people make it out to be…

The narrow corridors were dark and damp, with tiny puddles where rain and seawater seeped in through cracks in the ceiling. The air was rank with sweat and despair, and Draco could hear the feeble cries of the prisoners. He did not pause to study the emaciated bodies that sat curled up in the corners of their cells, or paced restlessly back and forth behind the iron bars. Even without the Dementors, Azkaban was still a horrifying place, and Draco had no desire to be there any longer than necessary.

The guard who was escorting Draco eyed him nervously, and Draco knew that he was wondering what had motivated him to make this visit. He knew the man had misgivings about letting him into the prison, however, despite the odds, Draco had achieved hero status in the Wizarding World. He was no Harry Potter, to be sure, but he was still well-known enough to wield his influence – even here in this half-forgotten prison on a desolate island in the middle of the North Sea.

"Here we are, sir," the guard said as he unlocked and opened a heavy, barred door leading to another corridor. Draco knew it was the high-security wing of Azkaban. This was the place where they kept the most dangerous prisoners. This was where they kept the Death Eaters.

"Thank you," said Draco. Then he whipped out his wand and pointed it at the man's grizzly face. The guard also went for his wand, but he was not fast enough for a trained Auror. In a heartbeat, Draco had Stunned him, and the man fell to the floor, where he lay unmoving.

As Draco stepped over the guard's prostate form, a few of the nearest prisoners cheered raucously. He ignored them. With steady steps, he made his way down the row of jail cells, looking for a familiar face. The prisoner he was searching for was at the very end of the row, standing in the middle of his cell with his arms folded across his chest. Waiting. When Draco stopped outside the prisoner's cell, the man smirked back at him.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to work up the nerve to come here."

"Hello, Uncle," Draco responded coldly. His eyes wandered over the cramped stone interior of Rodolphus Lestrange's jail cell. "I hope you're enjoying your new accommodations."

"Nothing I haven't had to live with before, boy." Rodolphus's lips spread into a feral grin, exposing his rotted teeth. He stepped closer and leaned against the bars of his cell, so that his scraggly hair fell forward to frame his gaunt face. He gazed back at Draco with disdain. "How's your Mudblood wife? That is why you came here, isn't it? To avenge her?"

Draco gripped his wand more tightly.

"Why Hermione?"

"Because someone had to pay for your betrayal, Draco. Bella taught you everything she could to ensure that you would serve our lord well. She sacrificed her life for our cause. And what happens the moment the Dark Lord falls? You turn to the other side. You become an Auror and marry a Mudblood." Rodolphus paused to spit on the ground at Draco's feet. "You are a disgrace to the Pureblood race."

"Enough!" Draco growled. He raised his wand and pointed it at his uncle's heart, but hesitated to cast the spell that would finish him. Rodolphus cackled at his nephew's obvious struggle to carry out the deed.

"You won't kill me, boy. You don't have it in you. Your mother may have inherited some of the Black Family's cunning spirit, but you are a Malfoy through and through - just as weak and spineless as your father."

"I am not weak!" Draco hissed, but Rodolphus only laughed once more.

"Even your little wife, Mudblood though she is, was braver than you. Not once did she beg for mercy while I tortured her. Even with that half-blood abomination festering in her womb –"

Rodolphus's words ended in a choke as Draco's hand shot through the bars of his cell and clamped down on his throat, closing his windpipe. With his other hand, he brought his wand closer to the man's face, so that the tip was resting against his temple. For the first time during their encounter, fear entered his uncle's eyes. And for the first time in his life, Draco found himself to be willing and capable of killing someone in cold blood. Never before had it seemed so easy.

His lips parted to utter the Unforgivable Curse, but still he was unable to do so. He could feel the blood vessels in his uncle's neck, could feel them pulsing rapidly in time with his beating heart. Strangely, it reminded him of the fluttering sensation of his son's movements in the womb, when he had pressed his hand to his wife's belly just a few weeks before. And he understood what a tenuous thread life was, and what it really meant to sever it.

Slowly, Draco withdrew his shaking hand from his uncle's throat, and the man collapsed on the floor of his jail cell, gasping for air. Draco sank to his knees, gripping the iron bars as if it was the only thing anchoring him to earth. He turned and vomited onto the floor of the corridor, and his body was wracked with great, wrenching sobs, until he too seemed to have lost the ability to breathe.

He had failed to protect Hermione, and now he had failed to avenge her. He pictured the long line of enemies he had made during his days as a Death Eater, and the even longer line of enemies he had created by becoming an Auror. Any one of them could decide that hurting Hermione was the best way to get revenge on the Malfoy family.

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath and rose to his feet. He knew what he had to do next, even if it was the hardest thing he would ever do. But he would do whatever was necessary to ensure that Hermione never became a victim to his enemies again. He only hoped that she had it in her heart to forgive him.

There was a sharp knock on Hermione's office door. Draco abruptly shook himself out of his reverie, only to find that he had ground the tip of her quill into the divorce papers, creating a dark ink stain in the center of them.

"Come in!" he called out, as he used his wand to siphon the ink off the pages. Harry entered the room, and seemed surprised to see Draco sitting behind Hermione's desk.

"Did Hermione go home for the night?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Draco. "I was just finishing up some paperwork before I left." Harry came closer to the desk and glanced down at the stack of papers that Draco had just repaired.

"Oh. I see the two of you decided to go through with it, then."

"Well, I haven't signed the papers just yet, Potter. So you might want to hold off on the celebrations."

"You think I'm happy that you and Hermione are getting a divorce?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

"Aren't you?"

Harry hesitated and sat down on the edge of the desk.

"I don't know. Is it what Hermione really wants?"

It was Draco's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Can there be any question? She's been practically begging me for a divorce ever since I returned."

"Is it what you really want?"

"Good God, Potter. Please don't tell me we're about to have a heart-to-heart." When Harry sighed in response, Draco rolled his eyes and pressed on. "What I do or do not want is no longer relevant. She's made her choice, and if divorcing her is what will make her happy, then it's the least I can do for her now. She's better off without me, anyway."

Harry stared at him dubiously for several seconds before responding.

"Malfoy, you're a fucking idiot."

"You know, Potter, if you ever get tired of being an Auror, you could always pursue a career in motivational speaking," Draco said sarcastically.

"Shut up and listen to me. What you just said doesn't make any sense. You think she's 'better off' without you? You have no idea what she was like after you left. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't sleep…she was like a ghost. I-I wasn't sure she would ever be herself again."

"Please," Draco said, wincing. "I don't want to hear anymore."

"Well you've got to hear it!" Harry hissed. "You have to understand what your leaving did to her."

"Do you think I wanted to leave her?" Draco growled, his temper rising. "I love her more than anything, and I did what I had to do to protect her." He shoved the left sleeve of his shirt above his elbow, baring his Dark Mark to Harry's gaze. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a marked man, Potter, and I probably always will be. You couldn't possibly understand what that's like."

Harry swept his hair off of his forehead, and Draco fell silent when he saw the lightning-bolt scar that lingered there.

"I understand more than you think I do, Malfoy. I know what it's like to have the people you love be in danger, just by being associated with you. Do you know how many times Hermione was seriously injured and nearly killed, just for being my best friend? But Hermione is her own person, and when she became friends with me, she knew what she was getting into. She could have turned back at any time, but she didn't. It was the same thing when she married you, little though you deserved her. She knew the risk, but she went through with it anyway. Because she is quite possibly one of the bravest people I have ever known. And if you loved her half as much as you claim to, you'd understand that about her, and you'd respect the decision she made."

Draco could find nothing to say in response to Harry's statements. He knew, grudgingly, that everything he had said was true. By leaving Hermione without talking to her about his decision, he had demeaned her intelligence, and her ability to think for herself. The only thing he didn't know was where to go from here.

"What will you do next?" Harry asked, as if he had just read his mind. Draco shrugged.

"I don't know. Hermione's already given up on our marriage, so I don't really know what other options I have available to me."

"Look, if you decide to leave again, Malfoy, there's one thing I'd like to make understood. This time you're gone for good. No coming back to haunt Hermione like some mean-spirited ghost she can't get rid of. You'll let her move on with her life. For years, Ron has been looking for a good excuse to beat the hell out of you, and if you hurt Hermione again, not only will I let Ron do it, I'll be the one holding you down while he throws the punches. Are we clear?"

Draco looked Harry directly in the eyes, and a rare moment of understanding passed between them.

"Yes," he said, "we're clear."

"Good."

Draco sighed as he found a new quill to sign the divorce papers.

"Maybe it would be better not to love anyone so much," he muttered, half to himself. "Then you wouldn't have anything to lose."

Harry's stern expression softened, and his eyes carried an emotion oddly resembling compassion. It was not an emotion Draco was used to inspiring in another person, particularly when that person was Harry Potter.

"I once thought the same way you do," said Harry. "I thought it would be better if I was alone, so that I'd never have to worry about losing anyone again. Because of that philosophy, I even broke up with Ginny once. But then I realized that having people like Ginny, Ron, and Hermione in my life gave me something that I couldn't have carried on without."

"What's that?"

Harry shrugged.

"Something worth fighting for." After a few moments of weighted silence, he rose to his feet and headed towards the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. "Malfoy, she hasn't given up on you…not yet. If you don't believe me, look in the top drawer of her desk."

With that, Harry exited the room, and Draco was once more left alone with his thoughts. He debated whether or not to invade Hermione's privacy and open her desk drawer, but then his curiosity got the better of him. He slid open the drawer, and it did not take him long to find what he was looking for. He pulled out the gold box and set it down on Hermione's desk. Tentatively, he pried open the lid, feeling nervous about what he might find inside. He blinked in surprise once the contents had been revealed. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been this.

Resting on the very top of the box was a crinkled photograph of him and Hermione on their wedding day. In the picture, frosting and crumbs covered her face, her hair, and the bodice of her white dress, and she had him in a headlock while she laughingly smashed a piece of cake into his face. Draco grinned at the memory. He and Hermione had had several professional Wizarding photographs taken on their wedding day, with the two of them standing in elegant poses in scenic locations in and around the Manor. But he had always thought that those other photos weren't an accurate portrayal of their marriage. The way they were portrayed in the photograph Draco now held in his hand - this was them as they had truly been, bickering and teasing each other relentlessly, but loving each other the entire time.

The next piece of paper Draco found in the box, he recognized immediately. The scrap of parchment looked as if it had been crumpled and smoothed out, read and re-read, many times during its existence. He knew that the hasty scrawl written across it was his own, and he remembered the night he had written it.

On the night he had left Hermione, he had stopped to gather a few simple belongings from their flat, and in the midst of his frantic packing, he had spotted her "Complete Works of Shakespeare" resting on the bedside table. He had been unable to resist taking it, allowing himself to keep that one, small memory of the woman he loved. And when he tried to write her a note telling her why he was leaving, but was unable to find the right words to explain, he had opened the book and copied down one of its sonnets instead. He had hoped that somehow, the verses would convey the feelings he was unable to express on his own:

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand'ring bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom."

Draco closed his eyes and balled up the tiny slip of paper in his hand, no longer able to face the sight of those words. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know what else was in the box. But when he finally worked up the nerve to look inside it once more, and saw the small object buried at the bottom, his heart nearly stopped beating. Slowly, he tilted the box, and a familiar band of gold, encrusted with diamonds and emeralds, fell out and landed in the palm of his hand.

It was Hermione's wedding ring.

A/N: The poem quoted in this chapter is an excerpt from William Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.