AN: I feel the need to address a recent review that took issue with this fanfiction, especially my opinion that Draco never had a choice in the HP universe, and thus deserves a redemption arc. I accepted when I started writing my very first fanfiction that not everyone would like my work, or share my ideas and portrayal of the characters. However, I want to address this particular criticism because I feel it so spectacularly misses the point.
"You are/were just a child" DOES matter, despite the fact that HP is set in a world where all the protagonists are children. The whole point is that children should not be forced to be martyrs, should not be set on a path for right or wrong at aged 11, possibly younger because of the family they were born into, should not be forced to fight to stay alive, or become political pawns or strategists, heroes or villains. "You're just a child" addresses how WRONG this is, how children should be allowed to be children, and if forced to be anything else, should be excused for their actions, whatever they may be. It's not about the magic. That is why it is repeated a lot in HP fanfics - it is not a lazy trope, it is the fandom acknowledging the inherent flaws with forcing children into such narratives in the fictional society and filtering this through a mature lens, where these children react to the fact they were put into unthinkable positions.
This story IS angsty. It is labelled angst, you shouldn't complain then that it is "unnecessarily" sad. This story addresses the fact that what the child characters experienced in HP (and YES, 16, 17 is STILL a child), NO CHILD SHOULD HAVE TO EXPERIENCE. They are undergoing intense post traumatic stress, survivor's guilt, confusion at what their place now is in the world and that comes with a lot of tragedy and a lot of hurt, which I aimed to present as something which has to be worked through, but cannot be magically solved (literally and figuratively). Magic didn't solve things in the canon universe and therefore will not solve the societal, emotional and mental scars that are born from war in my continuation of the universe. Children should not be vilified for the wrongdoings of the adults in their lives. Draco IS a victim in HP. He DIDN'T have a choice. He would have been killed had he deviated from what he was told to do. He may not have had the courage to defy Voldemort completely, but a story is about GROWTH and Draco defied Voldemort when it mattered. And this story will continue to explore that nuance, those shades of grey, despite your belief that magic solves everything, and being a child doesn't matter because other children were the heroes. It is an incredibly simplistic view to suppose that there are heroes and villains in HP, and especially that people don't deserve a chance at redemption. I do not usually reply to anonymous criticisms, and the reviewer is unlikely to read this considering they stopped reading after Chapter 1, but this felt a profoundly reductive summary of what this story, and my writing, actually stands for. This is a story about healing, about love, and about finding the strength to continue. Magic doesn't fix those things. Love (love for one another, and more importantly, love for yourself) does. That's what I wanted to show. I hope I managed it.
Chapter Thirty Six – Salvation
Hermione swept into her classroom, and a hush fell across the class. They had gotten used to her punctuality, and her students had learned to arrive early to maintain her good graces. Their books were already out, quills standing to attention in the ink pots, parchment unrolled in front of them. The bell, signalling the start of the period, rang just as the door closed behind her.
As she walked down the aisle, Hermione's eyes snagged on the moving front page of The Daily Prophet, open on one of the boys' laps, partially hidden under the desk. She pursed her lips, silently summoning it, and relished in the sound it made as it sliced its way through the air towards her, punctured by the gasp of the student harbouring it.
"Class has begun," said Hermione, turning to face them once she got to the front, the paper still clutched in her hand. "You can get it back at the end, Mr Watson."
She made to fold it, but as she caught sight of the newspaper, her eyes stuck, and she froze. Blown up beneath the title, covering the entire front page, were two figures, encapsulated in the two sides of a broken, teetering heart. She recognised the look on Draco's face as the split second before he had left the ceremony, the moment his eyes had met hers, the whispers deafening him, the regret soaking into his skin. She saw herself, trapped in the spotlight, smile fading.
"STAR CROSSED LOVERS! HERMIONE GRANGER'S DEATH EATER BOYFRIEND?"
Hermione felt her jaw tick, her fist clench the paper, when she spied the byline. Rita Skeeter. She gritted her teeth, screwed the paper into a ball and flicked her wrist to set it on fire. It burned to a crisp in her hand, withering away until nothing was left.
She smiled at her class, who were all gaping at her, before turning on her heel, picking up her chalk and writing the lesson plan on the blackboard beside her desk. She preferred these Muggle ways of teaching, and holding the chalk meant that she could keep her anger in check.
"Is it true, Professor?" asked the boy whose paper she had confiscated and destroyed.
"Anyone with so few brain cells as to believe the insipidity of the Daily Prophet's gossip column makes a mockery of the fine art of Arithmancy and should sincerely consider whether they have the mental aptitude for such a highly skilled subject." Hermione finished writing, putting down the chalk, and turning to face her class. They remained stunned into silence. She raised her eyebrows. "Now, if that's resolved, turn to Chapter Ten of your New Theory of Numerology. Since you've demonstrated yourself to be such an avid reader, why don't you begin with the first page, Watson?"
oOo
The stone underneath her feet was cold and sharp as winter crept through the castle's cracks and crevices, whistling under the window panes, slinking along the corridors. There was a quiet but it wasn't stifling, like the calm that settles after a storm, like the quiet shortly before you slip into sleep.
Hermione knew exactly where she was going. There was a peace that had settled in her bones. She was not the same person she had been a year ago, when everything about Hogwarts had reminded her of war. The shadows had felt like the enemy stalking her, the quiet rang, the cold gnawed, every corridor, every bit of stone, was a reminder of the horrors they had witnessed, the blood that had dripped into the cracks.
Now, the castle was once again her haven. She could not forget what had happened, but she took care to remember all of the good times: her classes, studying in the library, sitting in front of the fire and laughing until her stomach ached with Harry and Ron, Dumbledore's Army, saving Sirius, getting closer to Draco, teaching the subject she loved.
So she wandered, for the first time in a long time. Her dressing gown was wrapped snugly around her, keeping her warm. The moonlight spilled in through the high windows, and she relished in the sight of the moon and the stars. It had started to snow, and frost tiptoed up the glass, dissecting the light that fell in pools on the floor, drawing lines on her skin as she passed. Hermione glanced up, momentarily transfixed by the small specks of snow. She loved the snow.
Her feet carried her almost absently. She rounded the corner, and a small smile curled her lips. There he was, waiting for her.
Draco lifted his head. He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling. The hair fell into his face, glinting gold in the moonlight. The woolly emerald scarf she had knitted him for his birthday hung loose around his neck. His smile widened the closer she got.
Hermione sat beside him, pulling her dressing gown around her legs and hugging her knees to keep it there. She rested her cheek on her knees, looking sideways at him. Her smile was lopsided. Draco tilted his head to look back at her.
"Fancy seeing you here," she said. She bit back a grin. "Do you come here often?"
Draco scoffed, looking away. "You're so lame, Granger."
Hermione laughed slightly. "I got your note," she said, holding the slip of now empty parchment between her fingers. "Couldn't sleep?"
"I wasn't tired," he replied. "You?"
"Me neither."
The quiet settled over them. It wasn't tense, or frigid, but soft, like a blanket. Hermione could feel the heat from Draco's body beside her, radiating from him.
"Draco?"
He hummed.
"What's your favourite colour?" she asked gently.
When he didn't reply immediately, Hermione looked at him. He was staring up at the window, where the slip of a full moon could be seen. The snow continued in earnest.
"Gold."
"Like the sunrise?"
Like the colour of your skin in the sun, the sparks in your eyes, the hope you radiate.
He smiled slightly. "Yeah, like the sunrise."
Despite saying she wasn't tired, she tried to stifle a yawn, and her bleary eyes squinted. Draco stared at her.
"I wasn't okay, Granger," he began quietly. Hermione held her breath and looked at him. "I know I don't need to tell you that. You saw right through it, that night – not even just that night, it was every time you saw me. Nobody cared about me. They all knew how my story was meant to end-"
"Nothing is ever set in stone, Draco," she murmured.
"I thought all your care was wasted on me, Granger," he continued. He pressed his lips into a line, blinking up at the ceiling. His eyes shone. "I was so sure you'd see I wasn't worth the effort and give up. I just went along with it because I thought it was easier and you'd give up eventually but I- I think I wanted you to stay. No, I- I needed you to stay. You were the only thing keeping me going at times, Granger." Draco finally looked at her. She was staring at him, eyes clinging to his face, her eyes and lips pink and shining. He shrugged weakly, one shoulder lifting and falling like dead weight. The admission was inevitable because he couldn't convince himself otherwise anymore. "You still are."
She bumped her arm against his, her smile trembling when she asked lightly, "Does this mean we're finally friends?"
Draco huffed a laugh. He rolled his eyes. "Have you not given up on this yet?"
"Not until I hear you say it out loud."
He looked at her, lips pursed. Finally, he exhaled, as though in defeat, and said, "Yes, Granger. I suppose it makes us friends."
Hermione grinned at him, dropping her head onto his shoulder in victory. Her curls tickled his neck. Though he shook his head at her antics, he couldn't hold back the smile, and he leaned his head against hers. Still, he looked down at her, and felt his heart leap to his throat.
He wanted to tell her then. The words burned his lips, desperate to be released and confessed. Draco wanted to tell her everything he had ever felt for her, the warmth and the safety, the gratitude and the desperation, but all he could manage was a clumsy pat on her knee, and a whisper, "I'm glad you wandered across me that night."
Hermione didn't reply straight away and he wondered if she was biting back a scuffle of her own between her brain and her teeth before she said, "Me too."
"You know," Draco began, then broke off in a small laugh. "I remember the day you came into my compartment on the Hogwarts Express, asking if we'd seen Longbottom's toad-"
Hermione lifted her head and beamed at him. "I remember! I think that's the most helpful you've ever been."
He rolled his eyes, but then shrugged, glancing at her almost bashfully. "I thought you were pretty."
She looked at him. There was still a smile playing at her lips. "Until you found out I was a Muggleborn," she said.
Draco looked at her. He opened his mouth to apologise, but she waved him off.
"No, don't excuse it, Granger," he said. "It was wrong. I know it was."
"It's okay, Draco," replied Hermione, hugging her knees a little tighter. She side-eyed him. "I'm over it. Turns out punching someone in the face is extremely cathartic."
Draco scoffed. "I had to ask Pansy to cover up the bruises with makeup, you know. They didn't fade for weeks-"
He was cut off by her laughter. Hermione tipped her head backwards, and when the sound echoed, she brought her hand to her mouth to try stifle it.
"Really?!"
"Yes! You pack a punch, Granger. Broke my nose." He paused. "She fell out with me about you. At the Yule Ball, in Fourth Year. She got annoyed and stormed off because I couldn't stop staring at you."
Hermione swallowed. "I know."
Draco looked at her sharply. "How?"
"Blaise told me," she said, offering him a small smile.
"That fucking git!" he exploded, burying his head in his hands.
Hermione grinned at him. "He's a good friend, really," she said. "He cares about you a lot. I think you worried him at times."
Draco lifted his hand, the sigh dropping from his lips. He ran a hand through his hair. "I know," he admitted. "If he hadn't, I probably wouldn't be here."
She stayed quiet for a moment. She started to speak before she could really stop himself, "I came to visit you in Sixth Year, when Harry put you in the Hospital Wing."
"Why?"
He was watching her. Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I just wanted to see it. Harry was devastated. He was terrified. He thought he'd killed you."
"I wish he'd have confronted me sooner," said Draco quietly. "Maybe things would have been different."
"Do you not get the feeling that things are exactly how they were always meant to be?" Hermione asked him.
"I don't know." He wrinkled his nose in thought. "I tried not to dwell on it."
She hummed but said no more on the matter, lacing her arm through his, interlocking her fingers on her knees.
"We made the front page today," said Hermione after a while. "Did you see?"
Draco inhaled deeply. "I didn't read it."
"But you saw it?"
"Yeah, I saw it. My entire class seemed to have a copy. Isn't it amazing they find the ability to read when it suits them?"
She huffed a laugh, blowing a curl out of her face. Hermione shook her head and said bitterly, "I should have kept Skeeter in a jar. She never learns. She contacted Harry about writing his biography, you know! And when he said no, she wrote it anyway!"
"I'm sorry," began Draco, his face screwed up. He turned to face her. "Rewind. You had Rita Skeeter in a jar…?"
Hermione grimaced. "Remember all that gossip about my love life during the Triwizard Tournament? I couldn't understand how Skeeter was getting my private conversations. Until I noticed a black beetle that always seemed to be hovering around." She shrugged, but the gleam in her eye was vindictive and triumphant. "It wasn't anything genius. Just a window, a jar and an Unbreakable Charm so she couldn't transform back."
"You terrify me, Granger," said Draco after a moment.
"Good."
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
"I didn't appreciate the Shakespeare reference," he grumbled. "It's a dark play-"
"Still a love story, Draco."
Hermione heard him splutter his disagreements, but chose to ignore him, reciting softly, "My only love sprung from my only hate, Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"
She felt him shake his head. "It's depressing."
"It's meant to be! That's the beauty of it!"
"Well," said Draco. "I've come to look for happier endings. Life is too full of tragedy as it is."
Hermione smiled softly, taking his hand. Her thumb traced his knuckles. "I hope you get your happy ending."
"I hope you get yours too, Granger," said Draco, and he rested his head on hers, nuzzling his cheek into the cotton curls of her hair.
They stayed there all night, arms loosely hooked, holding hands, heads resting on one another, and waited for the first light of dawn to slip through the window. Tomorrow readied itself for salvation, soaking them in liquid gold, droplets forming at their feet and slowly stretching up to encapsulate their bodies in sunlight, until they were one morning closer to their happy ending.
AN: There is one more chapter left… This was just a short bridge into the final chapter. We are so close to the end. Don't worry, I'll save all the soppiness for the next AN. I hope you are all keeping well and safe. Lots of love, E.