AN: Oh my gosh! Can I just say a massive massive thank you for all your lovely comments. You guys are just the sweetest, and it really means the world to me. I'm so sorry for the long delay- as you can probably guess, uni has been so so hectic. Hectic but unreal, in the best and most magical way. Unfortunately, this chapter is really more of a filler to establish the final plot line of the fic but I'm back home now so hopefully the updates should be less sporadic! Thank you for being so patient with me. I'm absolutely overjoyed to tell you that there's not much more of this fic left to go! I've planned for another 10 chapters at the moment, which may change, but the finale is in sight and I cannot wait to complete it! There's something so gratifying about finishing a story, bittersweet but worthwhile. I hope you guys like the last journey.
Chapter Thirty Two - Eternity
He was eleven.
The platform was an explosion of life. He could hear snippets of conversation, floating past him, like snatches of a far-off dream, and laughter rang around the station. Owls hooted, children screamed, parents shouted, and all of it was like the most beautiful orchestra he had ever heard; music to his ears. The horn of the Hogwarts Express danced with it all. The train was pulled up proudly, a vibrant red that glistened and beamed, and he felt his eyes widen at the sight, the grin pulling his lips before he could stop it. His legs stopped moving. His heart beat furiously. Draco felt euphoric. He had been waiting for this day ever since his mother had told him about Hogwarts, ever since he'd received his letter, ever since he'd bought his wand and felt the rush of magic in the palm of his hand. His life was starting, he could feel it, feel the dawn of the next decade ready and ripe for the living-
He was nineteen.
The platform was not as busy as he remembered. No children rushed past him, overwhelmed by their excitement to start school. No cats prowled, nor owls screeched, no frogs got lost and found again. Even the train looked duller than usual.
Draco felt much older than nineteen. He shifted his briefcase between his feet, straightened his robes, fiddled with his wand in his sleeve. Though he'd retreated to a far corner of the platform, he still felt eyes burning holes into him, accusing, suspicious, distrustful.
Hermione appeared out of the wall ahead of him, hair ruffled slightly, already falling free of the clips she'd employed in an attempt to scrape her curls back. She stopped, eyes scanning the platform for him, pushing her trolley over to his corner when she spotted him.
"Do you really need that much stuff?" he demanded, eyeing her trolley distastefully. She'd piled it high with her old Hogwarts trunk, as well as another zip bag which he knew contained every book she had in her possession, shrunken to fit. "You do know Hogwarts has a library?"
"I'm choosing to ignore that," she replied irritably.
"You could have left the cat at home, at least." The offended creature in question hissed from his carrier. "I'm sure it could have kept my mother company."
"I would rather leave you than Crooks."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "I believe you."
She sent him a final scowl, bending to whisper soothing consolations to the animal in question. In fact, Draco was sure he heard her promise to turn him back into a ferret so the beast could eat him.
He scoffed, looking away from them, casting his eyes out at the scarcely populated platform.
"This can't be everyone," he said.
Blinking up at him, a small frown graced her face before understanding dawned and she straightened and glanced around. Hermione shrugged slightly and said, leaning towards him so she could lower her voice, "People are still scared, Draco. The war was only last year. McGonagall said it's the lowest intake the school has ever had."
He murmured, "I guess the advertisement of Hogwarts as the safest place in Wizarding Britain did go to shit, what with the whole there being a war there thing."
The look she sent his way was sharp and definitive and he shut his mouth, pulling his sleeves down.
"Stop fidgeting."
Draco's arms dropped to his side. He looked over her head at the train. "How long before we set off?"
Hermione pursed her lips at him before dropping her eyes to her watch. "We can probably start boarding now."
He took a deep breath, picking up his briefcase and following behind her as Hermione led them to the front of the train.
They took the very first compartment, Draco hauling his briefcase into the overhead rafters before helping Hermione with her baggage, almost dropping the bag of books, grappling to keep it from breaking his toes.
"Merlin, Granger, did it not occur to you to put a weightless charm on this?"
"I did!" she exclaimed, letting Crookshanks out, who languidly stretched his legs along the seat, preening under Draco's glare.
"You haven't stashed Potter and Weasley in here as well, have you?" he huffed.
She rolled her eyes, though the smirk crept across her lips before she could stop it, and she collapsed on the seat. Both chests secured, Draco sat next to her.
He scowled. "Why does the cat get its own bench?"
Hermione swatted him. "Shush. He can smell your contempt in the air. It makes him grouchy."
Sure enough, as if on cue, Crookshanks hissed at him.
"I'm quite excited to be going back," said Hermione, leaning into him. Draco felt her breath on his shoulder, even through his shirt. He tore his eyes away from the cat, looking out of the window instead, seeing their reflection and watching her lips move in the glass. "I don't know how I would handle not being able to see Hogwarts again. Everything's happened there. The people I love are- were always there. It will be nice to be home."
Draco rested his head on hers and looked away. She tucked so snugly under his chin. "Have you heard anything on your parents?"
She tensed, and he regretted the question instantly, but Hermione just shook her head. "No. I've got some contacts in Australia, but I haven't heard anything yet."
He swallowed, moving his arm to wrap around her shoulders, squeezing her. "You'll find them," he said.
She hummed in reply.
The horn sounded, and the train stuttered into motion, jolting and then slowly departing the station. They both turned to face the window, watching as the platform became a blur of grey concrete, blending into the long monotonous red brick of the tunnel out of London before the world opened up before them. Field stretched into field, opening up each consecutive mile of British countryside, and the train rolled on, taking them home.
Draco thought about how strange it would be, being at Hogwarts without Blaise. But he'd survived Eighth Year without Crabble and Goyle. And he'd still have Hermione, even if she was busy teaching. He snorted, lips curling.
"I bet you've already done your lesson plan for the year, right, Granger?"
But Hermione didn't reply.
"Granger?"
He peered down at her, her curls tickling his nose, to find that she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder.
oOo
His footsteps clattered along the empty corridor, the evening light twirling through the tall windows, casting him intermittently in shadow. Draco could only hear his breathing and each click of his shoes on the stone as he made his way towards the Headmistress' office.
Hagrid had met the pair of them on the platform in Hogsmeade, with a hug for Hermione and a letter for Draco from McGonagall, asking him to meet her immediately to discuss his circumstances for the next five years.
His heart had not had time to settle at the sight of the castle, at the rows of warm orange windows, at the familiar entrance hall and grand staircase, at the hallways he had called home for the last eight years. Instead, Draco felt acutely again that feeling of imprisonment; the window frames felt like prison bars, each door felt locked to him. He was cast back in time to before his trial, and he swore the weight of the Ministry band around his ankle, singeing his leg every time he took a step forward, was heavier than he remembered. He glanced down, impulsively, pulling up his trousers. His leg was empty. He'd had his trial. He wasn't a prisoner, but for some reason, Draco couldn't shake the clank of the chains.
He reached her office in no time at all, taking each step even as the staircase ascended by magic. His closed fist froze inches away from the door. Draco closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply; each breath shook, dropping from his lips like a stone in water, falling from his heaving chest.
He knocked. The door clicked ajar. Draco glanced behind him, before he pushed it open slightly, peering inside.
"Professor- Headmistress?"
The office was empty and his eyes were drawn to the towering shelves, stretched high to the ceiling, crammed full of peculiar-looking objects so that not an inch was spare; glass jars filled with shimmering potions and mummified creatures, overgrown plants with limp tentacles, fossils, tiny skulls, scanning spines of books, brushing over an empty perch-
"I'm afraid you've just missed her, Mr Malfoy."
Draco spun, eyes locking on the portrait above the desk. He stared, making sure to close his mouth so he didn't gawp wordlessly at his former Headmaster. His head pounded, heart thudding painfully against his chest.
He was transported suddenly to the Astronomy Tower, to that night, to Dumbledore falling, falling-
"It's good to see you, Draco," said the portrait softly.
He tried to breathe. He closed his eyes, tapping his fingers quickly against his thigh to centre himself. He thought of Hermione, no doubt unpacking her mountains of books. He thought of his mother.
"Professor," he managed to get out, eyes still clenched shut. "I'm so sorry-"
"Whatever for, dear boy?"
Draco looked at him then, perturbed. "You're- professor, you're dead because of me. Everything- everything that happened was because of me."
Dumbledore frowned. "Nonsense, Draco. I'm dead because of Tom Riddle and his affinity for making cursed objects. I'm sure Miss Granger has filled you in."
Draco pressed his lips into a line. It was all he could do to nod gravely.
Dumbledore stared at him. "I'm sorry, Draco."
Draco's throat clenched. He shook his head. "Professor-"
"I didn't help you," continued the former Headmaster. His face was crumpled, grief pulling his eyebrows together, and his lips down. "Severus came to me after your mother made him swear an Unbreakable Vow. I knew from the start what Voldemort had planned for you and I did nothing until it was too late. I'm sorry, Draco. I failed you."
"You couldn't have helped," said Draco, even though the truth pained him, but he couldn't look away from the portrait. "He would have found out. He would have killed my family. I would never have let you help me. It was too late. I'd already made the wrong choice and I needed to be punished for it."
Dumbledore regarded him for a moment. Draco stared back. "And have you been punished?"
"That's why I'm here," admitted Draco, even though it made the avalanche of nerves explode in his chest. He stood a little straighter. "To get my punishment."
Dumbledore shook his head, leaning forward in his frame. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Schools aren't places of punishment, Draco," he said. "They're places of learning-"
"Mr Malfoy."
Draco jumped, swinging round.
Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, her emerald robes straight and square, oval glasses perched on her upturned nose. She lacked her usual hat, and her hair shone silver, glinting in the light of her office. Her skin was pale, weighted heavy with wrinkles, her lips pursed and colourless. Draco thought she looked so much older than last he saw her before the summer.
McGonagall offered him a tight-lipped smile, gesturing with her hand. "Please, take a seat."
He did as he was told, and she swept past him to sit on the other side of the desk. Draco glanced up and saw that Dumbledore had disappeared from his frame. He felt something drop in his stomach.
"I trust you have been well?"
Draco cleared his throat. He clutched his knees tightly to stop his legs from fidgeting and his hands from shaking. "Yes, Professor. And yourself?"
McGonagall paused slightly. "Well enough, Mr Malfoy." Her eyes refocused on him, sharp and hawk-like. "You are no doubt aware from Miss Granger of the difficulty the school has had in recruiting the necessary numbers this year. I had hoped that Hogwarts had proven itself to be rebuilt but it seems we still have a long way to go."
Draco offered her a small, half-hearted smile and shrugged. "Winning the war was only half the battle."
McGonagall stared at him, then her own lips tilted ever so slightly and she bowed her head in acquiescence. "Indeed." After a moment, she promptly continued, "Mr Malfoy, as you well remember, the ruling of your trial decreed that you must spend your five year probation at Hogwarts, under my supervision. I'm sorry for leaving you in the dark about the arrangements, but they were only settled very recently, and took, quite frankly, a great deal more convincing on my part to get Ministry approval. Fortunately, the Chief Warlock has the final say and is of an independent mind whereby she is not so easily influenced by the - ah, more outspoken, shall we say, members of the Wizengamot council."
Instinctively, Draco thought of Hawkworth, and grimaced.
"I taught Ottaline Warbeck," said McGonagall. "She was a Slytherin. Ambitious. Brazen. She talked her way onto my NEWT Transfiguration course, despite not receiving the grades. I decided it was time to ask for the favour returned, though luckily for me, Warbeck agreed with me and took care of the Ministry on my behalf."
Draco swallowed thickly. The palms of his hands were sweating. He felt like he was back in the courtroom, awaiting his verdict, tasting the guilty plea once more like ash on his tongue.
"Oh, but I've left you in suspense for too long." The Headmistress clasped her fingers together on her desk, fixing him with a beady stare. "You may not have heard, Mr Malfoy, but Professor Slughorn retired over the summer. That leaves me in urgent need of a Potions Master, preferably someone whose ability I can trust, who I know well enough to forgo the long process of interview and trial run."
Draco stopped breathing. His heart thudded furiously, but he forgot how to breathe. He stared at McGonagall, jaw slack, hands limp on his knees. The Headmistress pursed her lips, peering at him over her glasses.
"What do you say, Mr Malfoy? If you will take it, the position is yours." At his silence, she continued, "Of course, there are other positions available, if you choose to turn the offer down. I do believe Hagrid is always accepting of help, particularly during the Blast Ended Skrewt breeding season-"
"I didn't bring my cauldron."
McGonagall smiled slightly. "I'm sure the school will have a spare. And anything else you might need will be covered under the school's budget."
Draco swallowed, the laugh bubbling up in his throat and choking him. He closed his eyes, relief pounding in his blood, behind his eyes, in his temples, coursing through his body, head leaning back against the chair for a moment before he sat up straight, opened his wet eyes, and said, "I'll take it."
McGonagall blinked. A small smile quirked her lips but it was gone in the next second, as she slid some papers towards him, as well as a quill pot.
"Excellent. If you'll sign here. These are forms for both the school and the Ministry. The contract lasts the length of your probation, after which you will be given the opportunity to extend it or to terminate it and move onto other employment. Your accommodation and living fees will be taken care of by the school, and I shall pay a small wage into a Gringotts account that you can access in monthly instalments, but which should ensure a comfortable life should you choose to move on after the five years. Is there anything you would like to add, Mr Malfoy?"
Draco stared at the pages. The contract was easy enough to understand, more or less as McGonagall had recalled it, and yet he couldn't help but pause.
He had spent the entire summer fearing this moment. His dreams were often pervading versions of this meeting, each with a different outcome, each with a damning contract to sign at the end, and Draco had woken each time with ink on his fingers and the distinct feeling he'd just signed his life away. Now though, as he reached for the quill, fingers trembling, the ink blotting the page as he began his signature, Draco thought this felt like a lease on his future, as though his life was just now being handed back to him, as though his life was starting again.
He put the quill back in the pot and looked at her. McGonagall was watching him, as impenetrable as ever. Draco sat up straight, trying to hold himself together, but he could feel his eyes growing hot, and his lips shook. He ducked his head in a nod. "Thank you," he managed to get out.
McGonagall softened. She smiled slightly, collecting the contracts, duplicating them and then sealing them with magic. She fixed him with a look, with the sternness of a thawing icicle. "Don't let me down, Mr Malfoy."
Draco recognised the dismissal, getting to his feet. He licked his cracked lips, shaking his head. "I won't, Professor."
The Headmistress watched him leave, pretending not to notice the way he reached up to wipe at his face. She smiled once the door had closed behind him.
"Thank you, Minerva."
McGonagall turned in her seat to look at the portrait that had spoken. She nodded, looking back down at the papers in her hand. "You're welcome, Severus."
oOo
Draco stumbled from McGonagall's office in a daze, stepping numbly onto the staircase as it rotated him round, locking in place once the corridor came into view. It felt like only two minutes since he'd been here, finishing his last exam, sitting on the banking of the Black Lake, the summer sun frazzling his neck, darkening his hair, Granger nattering in his ear about one of the questions she undoubtedly got full marks on-
Draco stopped. He had to tell her. Without another wasted second, he set off in a run for the Astronomy Tower. His heart was already rapid, but it found the will to speed up at the thought of telling her.
Sure enough, her room was just at the bottom of the tower stairs, and he knocked quickly, pushing the door open at the sound of her voice.
She turned to look at him, folding a dress against her torso. "Draco."
Her face lit up expectantly, eyebrows lifting, lips parting. When he still didn't speak, Hermione frowned. "Did you see McGonagall?"
Draco nodded. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips. The words evaded him. He could only stare at her.
His life had been so dark for so long. There had been times when he thought he wouldn't make it, when he hoped he would go to sleep and not wake up in the morning, because death seemed easier. Nothingness seemed easier; there were times he didn't want to feel scared anymore, didn't want to see the world burning, or hear the agony of it crashing around him. But now, here, in this small room in the castle where his life had started anew at eleven years old, Draco could see the light and she was blinding him. He could feel the warmth on his skin in her gaze, hear the hope in her voice, see his future in the woman standing before him.
"Draco," she dropped the dress on her bed, and moved closer. Her hand reached for him. "Is everything- are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he said. He took her hand and Hermione smiled at him, squeezing his fingers. She was still unnerved; he could tell because her teeth were hidden behind her lips. He smiled at her, and she softened. "I'm fine."
Draco pulled her closer and cupped her jaw. He pressed his forehead against hers, capturing the way her breath hitched in her throat and committing it to memory. Years passed between them, and his eyes flickered over every inch of her, every freckle and eyelash. She leaned up into him, chin tilting, and Draco tasted redemption on her lips as he ducked down to kiss her.
There were no fireworks exploding this time, ricocheting through the Black Lake. There was timeline on his life, no three months left to live. His entire life was now in front of him and he was taking it for all it was worth. He had eternity, and he could taste it on her lips.
Draco kissed her deeply, he threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of her neck, slanting her head back slightly, and he pressed himself closer to her when her hands cupped his cheeks. He didn't rush; he kissed her slowly, languidly, like he had all the time in the world, moving them backwards, further into her office, hearing the door click shut behind them. The fire was crackling at the side of her bed, the heat rippling through the room. He consumed himself in her.
Hermione pressed harder against him, kissing him like she needed him to breathe, and his hands ran down the length of her, moulding her to him, resting on her waist, wrapping around her. She whispered his name against his lips, a promise, a prayer, and he kissed her a last time, not knowing if he would ever get the chance to do it again.
"I'm fine," Draco murmured, dropping a kiss on her temple as his lips raked her cheek and hair. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her into a hug. Her arms encircled him, resting on his shoulder blades. Her face nestled into the crook of his neck. "Everything is fine, Granger."
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he meant it.
oOo
The Great Hall was just as he remembered it, lit by a thousand candles suspended in the air: walls lined with grand stone fireplaces, each cradling a hearty fire; the four House tables, lined with golden platters and candelabras, alight with chatter; ceiling opening onto the velvety blackness of the heavens.
And yet, it looked somewhat different from the teachers' table.
Draco wiped the palm of his hands on his robes for the third time that evening. On his left, Hermione noticed. The corner of her mouth quirked upwards.
"Stop fidgeting," she said. He glanced at her, but her eyes remained fixed on the doors on the other side of the hall. "You're fine. Professor Malfoy."
Her smile widened, teeth peaking between her lips, and Draco couldn't help but laugh breathlessly.
He'd told her the good news in her room, the taste of her love still fresh on the tip of his tongue, and she had cried, throwing her arms around him again, an incoherent string of congratulations muffled against his chest. Then, Hermione had shooed him out to get ready for dinner, still wiping the tears from her cheeks, his kiss still staining her lips.
Draco had found his quarters in no time, his legs automatically carrying him to what used to be Snape's rooms, but had, in the past few years, been occupied by Slughorn, down in the dungeons, just before the hallway of Potions classrooms. It was made up of a series of rooms, opening first onto a generously sized office and reception room, with an emerald and silver ornate rug, two emerald studded sofas, a white marble fireplace and, pride and place, a large, black desk.
There was a door off to the right, and one to the left, both blending seamlessly into the pitch black walls. The one on the left, Draco discovered, was an extensive inventory of potions ingredients, easily ten feet long and so tall, a small, retractable ladder had been attached to both shelves. He couldn't help but gape at it, neck craning back to take it all in. His fingers itched to get brewing, but the Sorting ceremony would be soon, and he had yet to explore the rest of his quarters. The door on the right of the office revealed a smaller sitting room, more intimate than the larger, bookshelves lining the walls, with an open frame leading into a tiny kitchenette. There were two more doors in this room, one opening onto a bathroom, similar to the Prefects bathroom he'd had the privilege of using in Fifth Year, and the other being his bedroom.
There was no time to linger, and yet, when Draco had changed into his formal robes, he stole a few moments to stare at himself in the mirror. He was almost recognisable to himself; the signature platinum had softened to gold, his jaw held a shadow of stubble, his eyes seemed darker, but Draco saw a reflection of the eleven year old boy who had been so enthralled with Hogwarts and magic from the moment he stepped foot on Platform 9 and ¾.
Now, however, he shifted in his seat. He'd chosen his plainest robes, not wanting to stand out, but he shouldn't have bothered; next to him, Hermione sat in robes of pure silver starlight, hair pinned from her face with little moon clips. Murmurs had broken out when they had entered, eyes trailing them, and Draco couldn't say for certain whether it was the sight of a former Death Eater, or 1/3 of the Golden Trio that caught the attention.
Suddenly, the doors burst open, and Professor Flitwick led the nervous crowd of First Years through the throng of students, stopping before the dais. Their heads were craned back, eyes wide and full of awe as they devoured the magic of Hogwarts. Flitwick picked the hat from off the stool. The Sorting commenced.
It didn't take very long for Draco to remember why he always hated the Sorting; as if the song wasn't bad enough, with each name, the blasted hat seemed to take longer than the last in its deliberation. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, until Hermione's hand shot out and squeezed them so hard they cracked, and he stopped. Even so, the ceremony ended without much ado, and Draco clapped amiably, feeling the knots in his stomach slowly unwind, even allowing himself to smile as the last tiny First Year was sorted into Slytherin, before turning his head as the Headmistress stood to give her address.
As McGonagall cleared her throat, surveying her students with a beady stare, ready to usher in the new academic year, an owl swept through one of the high windows, cutting her off before she had chance to start. A hush fell across the hall, the only sound coming from the steady flap of wings. Beside him, Hermione frowned. Draco's eyes tracked the bird as it got closer, heart clawing its way up his throat and into his mouth. It stopped before him.
He recognised the red envelope instantly, and yet just a second too late, for it exploded:
"DEATH EATER! SCUM! MURDERER! I AM HORRIFIED THAT THE SCHOOL HAS LET A CRIMINAL TEACH CHILDREN-!"
Draco could only sit, frozen to his chair, as the Howler continued. His blood turned to lead. His jaw clenched.
"- ABSOLUTELY DISGRACEFUL! A DEATH EATER LIKE DRACO MALFOY BELONGS IN AZKABAN-"
Hermione stood. She raised her wand and calmly silenced the spitting letter, before slicing it up into little ribbons that fell like confetti onto his plate and disappeared into thin air. Then, she sat down, laced her fingers together, and angled her face towards the Headmistress with all the patience in the world.
The school was still silent.
"How did they know?" Draco uttered when he found his voice. "I've only just found out. How-?"
Hermione's face was stony. "They must have seen you on the platform."
Every word of McGonagall's speech fell deaf on his ears, as though he were underwater, drowning, somehow apart from everyone else.
"Thank you," Draco murmured.
Without looking at him, Hermione squeezed his thigh under the table, offering him a lifeline. He took it, as well as a deep breath, and stood as McGonagall introduced him as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
AN: This actually took even LONGER than expected because I've had a sinus infection these past two weeks so it's been really difficult to write. As an apology, I actually wrote a little more than I originally had planned (and a sneaky kiss). I hope you're all having a very merry Christmas!