Chapter Twenty Three- A Good Night's Sleep

February

Hermione woke up feeling an odd sense of calm wash over her. She stretched, arms thrown out, then turned to see that Draco's last message was still drying on the parchment from the night before, bidding her goodnight. A smile tugged at her lips. The sunlight was dainty and fresh, creeping through the slit in the curtains, spilling across the floor of her room and slicing her bed in two. It couldn't have been terribly early if it was light outside already, and Hermione checked her watch on the bedside table. She pulled a face. She was going to miss breakfast.

Languidly, as though she had all the time left in the world, she slipped from bed, yawning and stretching again. A cup of stone cold jasmine tea sat on her desk and Hermione cast a warming charm on it, seeing no reason for it to go to waste, as she collected her clothes for the day and got dressed. For the past month and a half, they'd been meeting Harry and Ron at The Three Broomsticks every weekend, sometimes both Saturday and Sunday if they could get away with it. Hermione was sure there were things the two boys were keeping to themselves, some trump card to play if the case called for it, some Plan B. She hoped so, even if she prayed to every God listening that they'd never have to use it. Every time she left the room they'd claimed as their study, her heart felt a little bit more hopeful. And there were still a few weeks left. There was some hope, after all.

Hermione ran a brush through her hair, grimacing when it merely grew frizzier. She shoved it up instead, before grabbing her beaded bag and leaving for breakfast. They weren't going to Hogsmeade today, so she wasn't surprised to see Draco was missing. He'd taken to going flying recently, tasting the last winds of freedom on his tongue just in case. Though she hadn't gotten on a broom with him again, sometimes she'd sit in the stands with a book and pretend to read whilst she watched him over the top of her page. He always knew she watched him. The smug bastard had even once caught her out by asking how many pages she'd managed to get through, when it was painfully obvious she hadn't even finished the introduction. He'd laughed- a lot, and Hermione had thwacked him with the book until he'd stopped laughing and started whining at her. She rolled her eyes at the memory and sat down at the Gryffindor table, helping herself to some toast.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione paused, mid-bite. She glanced up. McGonagall was standing over her, hands folded together, black sleeves billowing. She always wore black robes, nowadays, Hermione never failed to note: black for mourning.

"Miss Granger, what in heavens are you doing here?"

Hermione frowned, swallowing the food she had in her mouth as quickly as she could, covering her face to preserve at least a shred of her dignity. "Pardon?"

McGonagall's eyes widened. "Miss Granger, you are aware of what day it is today, are you not?"

Hermione felt her heart drop through her chest. She couldn't quite place what the feeling was, only that it was profound and heavy and agonising. She shook her head numbly.

"Hermione," the Headmistress softened her voice, but the whiteness of her knuckles gave away how tightly she was clasping her hands together. "I received an owl from the Ministry only two days ago, concerning Mister Malfoy." Hermione closed her eyes. The toast dropped from her hand. All the chatter of the Great Hall fell to a murmur. "His trial has been unexpectedly moved forward."

Despite it all, despite the bile that was rising in her throat and the tears that leaked from her eyes, Hermione still managed to whisper, "When?"

"Today, Miss Granger."

She felt herself slipping from the bench but she never reached the ground. McGonagall's hands were on her arms, coaxing her to her feet, avoiding a scene, leading her from the Great Hall, where life continued on as if nothing had happened. They passed Ginny as they left, and she called Hermione's name, but it fell on deaf ears. They walked through the castle in silence, waiting in silence as the Headmistress said the password, and the entrance to her office appeared. Hermione didn't remember walking up the spiral staircase or sitting wordlessly in the chair opposite Professor McGonagall. She only remembered being offered a lemondrop, and the acidic burst of lemon on her tongue.

"Mister Malfoy did not tell you?" asked McGonagall.

Hermione shook her head, sucking on the sweet.

"Nor Potter or Weasley?"

Her head shot up. "Harry and Ron knew?"

"Potter is a witness in the trial, and Weasley was one of the Aurors sent to collect Mister Malfoy this morning. I, myself, was just on my way when I spotted you." McGonagall paused. "You can come with me, Miss Granger. I can give you leave for today."

Hermione swallowed and her throat scraped like sandpaper. The last of the sweet was still fizzing on her tongue. She said quietly, "He didn't tell me. I was talking to him just last night about it, and he didn't tell me... Draco clearly doesn't want me there-"

"Look at me, Miss Granger." McGonagall leaned forward, eyes piercing and stern behind her glasses, lips shrewd, and Hermione had no choice but to look at her. The softness of her voice didn't quite match the steel of her gaze. "I am quite certain that there is no one Mister Malfoy wants to be there more."

Hermione stared at her. Her heart splintered at the thought of Draco facing the world all alone. She inhaled deeply. Even if the world was burning, she knew, even in the agony of the flames, she knew that she would make sure she was beside him. They had come through too much to lose one another now. They had endured too many sleepless nights, had had too many blood-boiling arguments, had shared too much of themselves every time they looked at one another.

Sitting up straighter in the chair, Hermione wiped at her eyes and said, "When does the trial start?"

There was an imperceptible twitch of McGonagall's lips. "In exactly an hour. So we'd best be on our way, Miss Granger."

The two witches stood and moved over to the grand, marble fireplace. McGonagall collected a bowl of Floo Powder from the mantle. Just as she took a handful, Hermione caught sight of Dumbledore over the Headmistress' shoulder; he sat as serenely as he usually did, encased in his portrait, hands folded in his lap, and whilst they were wrinkled, neither one was poisoned and black. They were just the hands of an old man. His smile was gentle and his eyes twinkled. He nodded at her. Hermione felt herself smile back.

She stepped into the fireplace, grateful that it was large enough that she didn't have to duck down, and took a deep breath.

"Ministry of Magic!"

Flinging the powder down, the Headmistress' office disappeared abruptly and the whirl of magic enveloped her. Flooing always made her feel disoriented. It wasn't like flying in a plane, when your body had time to adjust, and you took your time, and everything happened slowly; it was fast and abrupt and violent. A bit like falling in love.

In no time whatsoever, Hermione was stepping out of the fireplace and into the Ministry atrium. Her eyes immediately flew to the peacock blue ceiling, reading over the golden symbols that spelled the timetable for the day. She spotted the Wizengamot stamp in no time and when McGonagall appeared beside her, straightening her hat, Hermione said, "Level 10."

They set off, weaving and twisting through the throng of Ministry workers and everyday witches and wizards come to complain or resolve an issue that had plagued them since the war. The government had been in chaos ever since the Light had managed to reclaim it back from Voldemort's grasp; each Department inundated daily with concerns and problems and damage to be fixed. There wasn't a single witch or wizard in Britain that hadn't been affected in some way, however small. Still, Hermione pushed past them all.

She was jittery, somewhere between trembling and buzzing, her veins alight with anxiety. She tapped her foot against the floor of the elevator as they were taken upstairs, chewing on her lip, before shifting and tapping her fingers against her leg. McGonagall touched her shoulder firmly, and Hermione tried to calm herself. It was to no avail. She felt like she was being put on trial herself and all she could think about was seeing Draco before he went in. At this precise moment in time, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to hug him or throttle him for not telling her. She just prayed she wasn't too late-

The elevator doors shuttered open and Hermione burst out onto the corridor.

She saw him immediately, like they were plunged in darkness and he was the only light burning for miles.

Her legs carried her forward before she could stop and think, and then she was running, pelting along the corridor, ignorant of the looks thrown her way.

She didn't even have to call his name. He saw her coming.

Hermione barely glanced at Ron as he stepped back to let her through, stopping the other Auror from getting in her way. There was a stitch burning up her side and now that she was face to face with him, she had no idea what to say. She wasted too long trying to catch her breath and even then, the first thing she could blurt out was, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her voice gave away her hurt. Hermione had tried to keep it neutral and she winced at the way it cracked.

Draco stared at her like she was a ghost, or a memory, back from the dead, or dredged up from the past, to haunt him. He swallowed. Shook his head slightly. "I didn't want this to be the last thing you remember about me."

Hermione felt her resolve break, crumble to pieces. She pressed her foot harder against the ground so she wouldn't tap it. "Did you not think that, after everything, I might want to be here?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he looked away from her. He was wearing a black Muggle suit, Hermione realised, and it nearly threw her off. She wet her lips and asked in a small voice, "Did you not want me here?"

Draco still refused to look at her. His pale blue eyes were streaked with something darker and harsher, the crinkles by them strained and creased. He had dark under-circles. There was no colour in his cheeks but his lips were the colour of peonies in spring. The pain in his voice was tangible when he murmured, "Of course I want you here, Hermione."

Hermione felt herself start crying. She wiped at her cheeks hastily so he wouldn't see but his eyes flicked to her anyway and she saw her own pain in them, wreaked like havoc, twined within his. She couldn't hold it back.

"It's you," she said, all the strength and hope she had built up since wandering across him that night shattering in an instant. "You're the only thing that helps me sleep. It's not the jasmine, Draco. It's you. It's always been you, and I'll be damned if you go into that trial with nobody standing beside you. I won't allow it."

Draco stared at her. He clung to her, to every emotion she was laying bare for him. Hermione rubbed her eyes in frustration. A small smile cracked one side of his face. It was barely there, almost missable- but she caught it.

"My, Ganger," he said. "I didn't realise you'd go so far for a good night's sleep."

It was the best he could come up with, and the dry nonchalance he had hoped to convey was choked and loaded instead, but Hermione understood anyway and she laughed weakly.

He sat on the bench, and she sat beside him. Hermione stretched her fingers across the empty space between them, and his fingers twitched. There was still a breath of air separating them, but she felt his pulse on her fingertips, the thrum of his life, the nerves and anxiety that consumed him. She didn't know what to say, and Draco seemed content in their silence, the tips of his fingers playing with her hand, running over her knuckles, dipping to trace the lines of her palm. It was fleeting-

"Mister Draco Malfoy."

And then he was ripped away from her.

Hermione's head shot in the direction of the voice. A member of the Wizengamot, adorned in the crimson robes and square hat, stood in the doorway further down the hall. Ron cleared his throat. "It's time."

Hermione quickly looked at Draco. She wanted to beg them for a few more merciful seconds, she wanted to cling onto him and protect him from an unforgiving past and an unforgiving future. She wanted to save him from falling but he was slipping through her fingertips.

Before he fell completely, Hermione flung herself at him, closing her eyes, burrowing into his neck. Draco lifted his arms, hesitantly at first, then surrendered himself to her, tangling a hand in her curls, cupping the back of her head, his other hand pressing against her back.

"When we get back to Hogwarts, we'll go flying," she whispered, clutching him tighter, holding him to her, feeling his heart thrum against her chest or maybe it was her own that was beating so ferociously. Hermione heard his breath catch by her ear. Draco pressed his face into her hair. "We'll go flying. I'll even let you do a loop. Only one, I think I'd be sick if you did anymore and that just wouldn't be pretty for any of us…" She broke off. "You're not your father's son, Draco. You're Draco. You're- you're my friend, and I care about you, and I need you to come back to me. I love you, Draco. Come back to me. Please."

She didn't know if she imagined his arms tightening around her, hand splayed across her back, before clenching in her jumper. Hermione held him for as long as she could, before Ron touched her shoulder and murmured her name.

Stepping back, she took a deep breath. Draco stared at her, eyes tracing every slope and freckle of her face as though he was committing it to memory. "Goodbye, Granger."

Hermione shook her head. Her curls stuck to her wet cheeks. "This isn't goodbye. I'll see you later, Draco."

The Aurors led him down the hall to where the member of the Wizengamot was waiting. The white walls were stark against the dark grey Auror garb, the white of his hair blinding against the blackness of his suit. He looked back at her. One final time. Hermione held her breath.

She realised numbly and too late, that he was looking back because he truly feared he would never get to lay eyes on her again. She knew because the way he looked at her was like a man going blind, squinting up at the sun. Wistful and raw and yearning. In pain and in awe. Hermione didn't think he meant to bear his soul so nakedly to her.

All she could offer in return was a smile.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. The smile trembled. It strained her face and a tear slid down her cheek.

His agony was ripped up, wrenched through the winds of the past- "I can't stand to look at you, Granger… because I need you. I fucking need you."

"I need you, Draco," whispered Hermione. He disappeared and she cried freely. Sobbed. Wept for him. "Please come back to me. I need you."

AN: So this was a bit of a teaser really. You might be wondering why I decided to do it like this. I guess the biggest reason for the time jump skipping over their planning and the trial date being moved again was I wanted the trial itself to still be an element of surprise for you, as it's (for the moment) the biggest, or most obvious, driving force of the plot. But I also think that although Draco and Hermione have come so far, he's still not totally comfortable with being so close to her. In fact, the closer they become, the less willing he is to let her in, it seems. That's my characterisation of Draco post-war, anyhow, and I needed to really exploit that and blow it up before his trial changes everything. It's really quite difficult to write the balance of Hermione x Draco believably so I can't tell you enough how grateful I am for your comments! This chapter started as a filler and it felt a bit flat but working on it tonight, I found myself really trying not to cry. I'm probably just emotional and you might not agree with me haha! I think this is the chapter when everything is up in the air for them both, and they needed to say (implicitly and explicitly) everything they felt, just in case it is the last time they ever get the chance to say it.