Hermione walked into her office and closed the door behind her, before leaning against it. She sighed. She looked around the large room for a few seconds and sighed once again.
She hadn't cleaned it for several days and it was showing.
Piles of files had accumulated on every corner of the desk, leaving only a bit of space for her to rest her arms on. Her wastebasket was so full it was close to bursting and if her friend Ginny had been there, she would have laughed at her and reminded her that she was a witch and could empty the bloody bin with a wave of her wand.
The few plants lying around the room were short of water, so much so that she had no hope for them. And finally, the sofa and armchairs, in which she usually hosted her important meetings, or even her friends, were almost no longer visible, as she had accumulated so many clothes on them.
The reason for this great mess was simple: she had been living in this office for almost ten days. In the middle of summer, she hardly had any appointments, except with her immediate colleagues or her secretary, but the witch always found herself another office, or reserved a table in her favourite tea room, the Leprechaun Tea.
She had discovered it five years earlier, while walking down one of the streets next to the Ministry of Magic, and had been delighted to discover a very welcoming staff and a choice menu. Since then, she had taken every opportunity to meet her daily appointments there. Her friends had made fun of her several times, especially when she suggested they go there when they wanted to hang out.
Hermione had been in her office for more than a week, turning her large sofa into a fairly comfortable bed every night and using the adjacent bathroom to get ready for her day's work each morning.
The evening had come and she had received most of her colleagues for the day. Well, if they could be called that.
She was their superior.
Hermione had been Minister of Magic for three years now. The colleagues she had seen that day were the directors of the different Ministry departments, with whom she had drawn up the complete list of projects to come for the month of September. A more than exhausting day all in all.
Otherwise, it was a rather quiet time of year. Hermione knew that, after almost fifteen years of working at the Ministry. In the middle of August, most of the employees went on holiday, especially in the second week of the month.
Thus, the corridors of the Ministry were empty and the Atrium received few visitors, which was why the Minister received few people in her office, and her diary was empty.
This had done her a world of good. Several weeks' break, amid a torrent of appointments, galas, travel and paperwork.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds, took a deep breath and walked to her desk, dropping into the leather official chair she had bought herself a year earlier.
While wandering the Muggle streets of London, she had come across an interior design shop and had fallen in love with this magnificent chair, stored in a corner of the shop and hidden by several large cupboards. She had jumped at the chance, not wanting to risk anyone buying it before her.
He had laughed at her a lot that day. She smiled at the memory.
Slowly looking up, she saw that the clock was running rather late. It was twenty-three o'clock, and she was still in her office on a Friday night. An office in which she planned to work until she was exhausted, before lying down in a bad bed and sleeping until the next day: the thirteenth of August 2013. She already hated her day, and she was sure she would hate the one that would start an hour later.
She sighed a third time, but finally straightened and rubbed her face, ready to deal with the piles of letters she had received that morning. She hadn't had time to read them yet, let alone answer them, although she knew what most of them contained.
The first pile was business mail, and the second was personal mail – much thinner than the first. She decided to start with work. She didn't have the courage to read the others yet.
She opened the first drawer on her right and took out a small letter knife that her father had offered her on the day of her promotion to minister. It was beautiful and very precious to her. The blade was silver and the handle was encrusted with a multitude of small gemstones of all colours. Since he had given it to her, she hadn't opened a single letter without it, or with magic. It was critical to her.
It had been over fifteen years since she had given her parents their memories back, yet she couldn't help but live each moment with them as if it were the last. As if at any moment, she would disappear from their lives again.
She had worked for a long year before finding the spell that would bring back their memories.
A year of thinking that she would never succeed. A year of thinking that the last real moment with them had been lunching in the middle of an August day, when the three of them had enjoyed the wonderful meal her mother had prepared, along with the raspberry pie her father had picked up at the local bakery to make his daughter happy. A year of thinking that she would never live another moment in their company.
After that, she enjoyed every second, every minute, every hour with them. She inscribed in her memory all the moments that linked her to them, all the times they lived together. And the day of her promotion was one of them.
Her parents and friends had surprised her by waiting for her at her home, after the ceremony of her official appointment. It had been a wonderful evening. The children had run around, the bottles of champagne had been uncorked with great exclamations, the cheers and hugs had multiplied, then it was time for the presents and her father had given her this little letter knife, which she had kept since.
The first letter from the pile had been delivered a few hours earlier, unlike the others. It was the report of her meeting with the department heads earlier that afternoon, written by none other than her assistant: Dennis Crivey.
She skimmed the few pages of mail and put it in the second drawer of her desk, along with the other important reports.
The rest of the letters weren't very interesting, except for the one from the MACUSA President, which she read carefully. Anastasia Crumberley, whom she knew very well as she had worked with the United States many times, was telling her about one of her ideas: the creation of a group, made up of several countries, including the United States, Canada and the United Kingdom, between which travel by portkey would be possible without permission, upon presentation of a special magical passport.
A big smile stretched the Minister's lips as she put down the letter from her American namesake. She couldn't help but chuckle as she shook her head. Why hadn't she come up with this idea earlier, when she herself was from the Muggle world?
After all, this was familiar to her and reminded her strongly of the concept of Muggle VISAs and the Schengen area. Of course, she didn't know the precise details of how they worked as far as travel between countries was concerned, but she had been interested enough to know that it was a wonderful idea.
She quickly got out a sheet of parchment and along with a quill. She shifted the paperwork that prevented her from writing, and set about drafting several missives to be sent the next day to the heads of the departments involved in this proposal.
Then she leaned back in her chair and looked up at the clock again. Twenty-three and forty. Twenty minutes to go.
She put aside the parchments she had just filled out and finally turned her eyes to the pile of letters she had left. The personal letters. She had been dreading this moment since the beginning of the day, since her secretary had handed her the day's mail. She knew what was in it.
Plucking up courage, she took the first envelope and opened it. It was the water bill for her flat. Her Muggle flat. After the war, she had wanted to move to the Muggle side of London and had found herself in a small apartment in the north of the city.
She had lived there for three months after the Battle of Hogwarts, merely making round trips to the Burrow. She had deserted it for one year to take her NEWT in Hogwarts, after the principal–Minerva McGonagall, who was still at the head of the school–had asked her to come back.
Upon leaving Hogwarts, Hermione had come back to the flat for three years, and had deserted it for good to move into a large house in the middle of the Scottish countryside.
She had considered moving back to the flat rather than to stay in her office, but she hadn't had the guts to face the memories which were haunting that or the place. She did little more than to put the bill aside and took the next letter.
She recognised Harry's dreadful scrawl right away and hastened to open it, smiling. It was the Potters' travel writing, who were in the south of Italy with their three children, for Ginny's birthday.
After a small recap of their first week, written by Harry, the rest was written by Ginny, who was worrying for her best friend.
Hermione sighed as she read her words and chose to omit this part, to concentrate on the words written by James, the Potters' firstborn son, also her godson.
"See you soon, Auntie Hermione, James," he had written with his childish handwriting.
The bottom of the letter was strewn with little hearts, which she thought had been drawn by the six-year-old boy. The parchment came along with a multitude of childish drawings, where Albus and Lily's names had been written on the bottom.
The two other children were three and four and little monsters, unlike their brother, who was much calmer.
Lily would soon enter the London Little Wizard School, joining her brothers. The school had been created after the war to look after the children, with the hope that the parents would get themselves back on track after such a tragic and traumatic time. A first in the wizarding world.
This initiative had pleased Harry and Hermione, who hadn't understood how the wizards' children could learn from their parents before going to Hogwarts. Besides, the school had helped Harry's family a lot, as he was auror–now Head of the British Auror Office–and his wife Quidditch player, and hadn't had time or energy to look after their three children until Hogwarts.
Of course, Harry could rely on his mother-in-law to look after the children, she took great pleasure in doing so but both Harry and Ginny had decided that they preferred a professional educator to help look after the children's early education.
Hermione promised herself she would answer them later and pushed the letter aside to open the next one.
This time, it was a letter from her other friends, who were gone for two weeks in the north of Spain. Usually, Hermione would have taken a few days of holidays–relegating her tasks to her assistant–to meet them. However, this year, she had preferred to decline the invitation and stay in England, not really in the mood to be surrounded by all these couples and children.
The adults of her friend's group all had children. Of course there was the three Potters' children, but there was also: Hugo, Ron and his muggle spouse Isabella's son; Frank and Alice, Neville and Hannah Longbottom's twins; Lyanna, Luna and her husband Blaise Zabini's daughter; and finally, Charles and Eden, the sons of Pansy and Theodore Nott.
They didn't miss a chance to fill the friends' outings or travels with life. However, Hermione never got bored by them and was always delighted to see them, to play with them, to read them stories or even to look after them when their parents needed to take time for themselves. Usually, Hermione was the "perfect auntie" for all these children.
However, for one year, almost two, she had distanced herself from the gang of children, feeling more and more oppressed by the number of children who surrounded her. She loved them as much as before, of course, but her close friends had noticed that she watched the children with gloomy looks, almost unhappy. It had become increasingly rare for her to look after them for the night, or even for her to get into raptures, as before, before each of the children's success.
Like the Potters', the letter contained a multitude of drawings and notes from the children, followed by some parents' words, catching up on her news, relating their holidays, telling her about how they missed her, and loads of secrets from their instants in Spain.
She smiled when seeing the drawings and grabbed Albus' and Lily's to hang them up above her fireplace, with her wand. Some of them were already hung, but they all found a place above the hearth. The rest of the children's artwork she received was stored preciously in several boxes in her room, on her refrigerator, or above her fireplace at home.
She smiled sadly and turned to the clock. Twenty-three fifty. Ten minutes left.
She sighed and lowered her head towards the last letter that remained. Her law firm's seal was engraved on it: Zabini Law Firm or ZLF.
Blaise became her lawyer ten years earlier and she knew he would stay forever, without any doubt. He had always stood up for her at the few trials she had been summoned to, mainly at trials against wizarding newspapers that had defamed her image or exposed her private life. He was excellent at his job.
She feverishly grabbed her letter knife and opened up the letter with shaking hands. She knew word for word what was in the letter, and she was more anxious about reading the words than anything else.
"Summons to the Malfoy Divorce Proceedings, August 29, 2013, at 10:00 AM."
She couldn't stop a tear from escaping, although she quickly brushed it away. She had no right to cry. She knew that. It was all her fault. She had no right.
She could still hear Ginny's voice telling her that she was making a mistake, Harry's telling her to think it through, that she couldn't make this decision lightly, her parents supporting her as they always did despite their disapproval, or Pansy's telling her to think about everything they had been through.
Yet she had done it.
Hermione Jean Malfoy, wife of Draco Lucius Malfoy, had filed for divorce a fortnight before. The law firm had moved quickly, too quickly. Nearly ten years of marriage, wiped out in just one month.
She still remembered vividly the day she had run into Draco Malfoy again, a year after the Battle of Hogwarts.
Unlike her and her friends, the wizard hadn't returned to Hogwarts, following his parents who had preferred to move to France, at least until the wizarding community had recovered.
They had been pardoned and exempted from Azkaban, thanks to Narcissa and Draco's acts of "betrayal", which had allowed the members of the Golden Trio to escape twice. Draco had taken his NEWT's as an external candidate, as his comrades, but on the other side of the Channel.
Yet, he hadn't been slow to return to the country, for his studies. He had also done so out of a need to find his friends and to get away from his parents, who weren't exactly the best housemates after having lived through such a difficult period as the war.
Draco was good at Potions and had always been drawn to healing. On the few occasions, he'd had to go to St Mungo's–to visit his grandfather who'd been admitted for the Dragon Pox, or for the few injuries he'd sustained as a child–Draco had always raved about healing and the various jobs that could be found at the wizarding hospital.
From a very young age, and despite the hardships he had experienced that had sometimes discouraged him, the young man had always had the ambition to become a great Healer. So he had returned to England, with plans to enrol at Cambridge Magical University–or CMU.
But before that, Draco had made plans to go to Hogwarts one last time, to collect his N.E.W.T. diploma, for which he had obtained five Outstandings, including Potions. With that, he had been certain that he would be accepted to CMU to begin his healer training. He had been delighted to see his friends there, whom he hadn't seen for almost a year.
That was the day Hermione had seen him again for the first time in almost a year.
She too had come to collect her results, with Ron, Harry and Neville. The graduation ceremony had started with a very moving speech by the principal, quickly followed by those of some teachers, including Hagrid, who had been happy to tell several stories about his time as a teacher to the students present– although it had been rather short. When the official graduation ceremony had begun, the applause had gone on for every student, without exception.
The year had been very different from the previous ones. Although the houses still existed, the rivalries had disappeared. Senior students had grown closer, friendships had been formed, even couples, like Blaise and Luna, who had surprised many.
The ceremony had therefore been loud and joyful, for each admission of a new pupil, who was always warmly congratulated by the principal and the teachers.
Then suddenly Draco Malfoy's name had been called out and there was silence in the assembly. No one knew that he had returned, except for Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, who had remained in the know, despite their new acquaintances.
The blond man had climbed onto the rostrum and quickly retrieved the diploma handed to him by McGonagall. Hermione had been very surprised to see him again. He hadn't changed since the war. After all, only one year had passed.
Yet she hadn't been able to take her eyes off him. He had such a presence that she found it hard to take her eyes off him. He had descended the steps of the platform and left the Great Hall, without breaking his legendary calm and mask of disinterest, under the so surprised gazes of the senior students.
After that, the ceremony had resumed and the students hadn't spoken of him once. Hermione hadn't heard from him for almost a year. She had begun her search to restore her parents' memory and had focused on it for the next year. So much so that her friends had often reproached her for not joining them and not getting out of her small flat enough.
She had known, from Ginny, that Draco Malfoy would sometimes join them for dinner with friends or outings to London's popular bars, but she had never run into him. She rarely left her house, except to go to the university library, and only saw her friends when they came to visit her, which was rare.
Her "real" meeting with Draco had taken place a month after she had returned from Australia with her parents, at a street bar on the side of Diagon Alley. She'd come in for a drink after an unbearably long Monday spent sending internship applications to Ministry staff by owl, and she'd sat at the counter and ordered a Butterbeer.
An hour later, a young man had sat down next to her and while she hadn't paid attention to him at first, it hadn't taken her long to realise who it was. Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy?" she had cried, surprised to see him here. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you think I'm doing here with a drink in my hand, Granger?" he had replied, turning to her, a mocking sneer on the corner of his lips.
She had rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile, remembering their years at Hogwarts, which seemed so far behind her. He had smiled back and returned her question.
From there, they had begun to talk quietly, without insults, without disdain, without rancour. On the contrary. Hermione had left the bar several hours later, happy with the time spent with him. They had kept on teasing each other, describing the last two years of their lives and what had happened to them since the war.
The following Monday she had found him sitting in the same place with a drink in his hand. She hadn't hesitated to join him, with a smile, and had sat down beside him before ordering a Butterbeer.
They kept their weekly Monday meetings for almost four months, no matter how hectic their lives were during the weeks.
He would tell her about his Healer training, she would tell him about her meetings with Ministry employees who would turn down her applications for internships. They had a great time together and always went home with a smile.
They had never stopped teasing each other, but they both realised that this was what they needed to keep their week going in the right way. For them to go to bed happy every night.
One night, after a gruelling day when Tiberius Ogden had finally agreed to take her on as a trainee at the Wizengamot, Hermione had collapsed from sleep in the bath she had run for herself. She had planned to take care of herself before joining Malfoy for their weekly meeting; however, sleep had overtaken her and she had fallen asleep in the water.
She had been awakened two hours later by multiple knocks on her front door. She was a very light sleeper–fortunately for her visitor– and it took only a few minutes before she woke with a start. She had rushed out of the bath, wrapped herself in a large towel and ran to her front door. When she had opened the door, she had come upon a scraggly-haired Draco Malfoy, looking as if he had run a marathon, his eyebrows furrowed in what looked like concern.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she had exclaimed before he had time to say anything.
"It's after twenty-two, Granger! What the hell are you doing?" he had replied, sounding annoyed.
"What? But–But it was only eight o'clock when I–Forgive me, Draco, I think I fell asleep in the bath," she had admitted with a genuinely sorry look on her face.
"I thought something had happened to you," he had sighed, running a hand over his face before turning his grey eyes to hers.
"Would you have been worried, Malfoy?" she'd asked snidely, leaning against the doorframe of her front door, with a smile.
"Oh, shut up," he'd replied before pressing his lips fiercely against hers.
It had only taken them two months to move into Hermione's small flat together. The announcement of their relationship to their friends hadn't really been a surprise. They had met several times during group outings, and their complicity had gone noticed.
Two years later, Hermione had been appointed as Secretary to the Head of the Department of Magical Justice. Having finally found a stable job, she had suggested to Draco that they look for a bigger flat, or even a house, as they were feeling more and more cramped in their small flat, which only contained a living room-kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. He had immediately accepted her proposal, and they had subscribed to dozens of wizarding property magazines.
After about thirty visits, they had–at least Draco, Hermione having quickly given up visiting when she had discovered the blond's expectations–set their sights on a magnificent property, lost in the middle of the Scottish countryside.
Surrounded by miles of plains and wilderness, the couple had fallen in love with the house. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, two large offices, a cellar for Draco to make his potions in, a fireplace, a kitchen opening to the dining room, wooden stairs–not stone–bay windows in the living room overlooking the garden… All of Draco's criteria had been met.
The move had been two weeks later and the things they had accumulated over two years of living together had all found their place in the big house. The housewarming party had been fabulous and, for once, all their friends and family had been able to come to dinner.
"Home alone at last," he had said, turning back to her after closing the door behind the last guests.
"Alone at last," she had replied, hanging onto his neck, before kissing him, her eyes shining with love.
Draco had entered the Healer System the following year. After graduating, he had applied to be a Healer at St Mungo's, in the cardiology department. He had been appointed a month later and had quickly found his place in the wizarding hospital team. His talent had been quickly recognised and the young man would return every evening more than happy to do the job he loved so much.
That same year, he had proposed to her. She had returned from work exhausted and had collapsed on the sofa in their living room. An hour later, he had walked into the room and offered her his hand. At first intrigued, she had questioned him, but he had merely replied with an enigmatic smile. Rolling her eyes, she had eventually grabbed his hand and he had made them disapparate from their home.
They had landed in the middle of a huge field of poppies, Hermione's favourite flower. The sun was setting, turning the sky an orange colour.
When she had turned to Draco to ask him where they were exactly, she had found him on one knee, facing her. Her little heart had overflowed, and the tears had spilled out of her eyes.
"Hermione Jean Granger, will you give me the honour of marrying me?" he had said, his eyes shining with emotion too, as he opened the box in which her engagement ring was placed.
"Yes, yes, I will marry you, Draco," she had answered sharply, sobbing.
Narcissa Malfoy had been desperate to have an engagement party, which she had organised with Hermione's mother. Their children had barely been involved and had merely arrived at Malfoy Manor well dressed for the party which, if they were honest, had been exceptional. But they had soon slipped away, as their friends had quickly realised, and had returned home to be alone together.
The wedding had taken place three months later: on the thirteenth of August 2003. They had decided to celebrate it in the north of Scotland in the middle of summer, when the temperatures weren't too low. Hermione would remember that day for the rest of her life.
She had walked up the aisle, a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers in her hands, in a white dress made almost entirely of lace, which had been designed and created by none other than her friend Pansy Parkinson. Draco would be waiting for her in his custom-made three-piece suit, his eyes shining with love and pride as he watched his future wife walk down the aisle on her father's arm.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy, will you take Hermione Jean Granger, here, to be your wife?" the officiant had asked.
"Yes, I do," he had replied, his grey eyes boring into Hermione's whisky gaze as he slipped the wedding ring onto her finger.
"Hermione Jean Granger, will you take Draco Lucius Malfoy, here, to be your husband?"
"I do," she had replied, tears flowing freely from her eyes, as she too placed the wedding ring on Draco's finger.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride," the officiant had called out, to the cheers of their families and friends.
Draco had been quick to grab his new wife's face and kiss her as if his life depended on it.
Two months later they had gone on a road trip to the northern European countries for their honeymoon. Of course, this choice had surprised many, all of whom had thought that they would spend a week on an idyllic island, surrounded by palm trees and clear seas, but no.
Hermione and Draco had never been fond of hot regions. On the contrary, they had a real adoration for the Nordic countries, the snowy or mountainous landscapes. So they had decided, by agreement, and without any hesitation, to visit several countries in a fortnight. Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Finland… They hadn't missed a single one.
The landscapes had been splendid. They had both always dreamed of going there, but their studies and jobs had prevented them from freeing up enough time to go.
Hermione had wonderful memories of those two weeks with her husband. They had returned home with a smile in their eyes, more in love than ever, and had gone back to their quiet lives.
Two years later, Hermione became Head of the Department of Magical Justice.
A year later, Draco became Head Healer of the Heart Department at St Mungo's.
Four years later, Hermione stood for election as Minister of Magic. She had passed the first round with flying colours and was facing Cormac McLaggen in the second round.
She had been elected with eighty percent of the vote on the 18th of May 2010. Her homecoming had been exceptional, surrounded by family, friends and her husband, she had enjoyed a perfect evening with them.
"I knew you would win," Draco had said, when she had come to join him in their bed a few hours later.
"Really?" she had replied sarcastically as she snuggled up to him, an amused smile on her lips.
"Of course," he had replied, rolling his eyes. "You're a Granger AND a Malfoy, you couldn't possibly fail, love."
"Well, remind me to ask you the next time I need to know something in advance," she had giggled.
"Noted," he had said before kissing her tenderly and holding her close. "Congratulations, I'm so proud of you. You were perfect, they would have missed out on the best Minister of Magic if they hadn't elected you," he'd added in her ear.
The year that followed had been long and difficult. Hermione had quickly realised that being minister wasn't a relaxing job. But after a year of hard work and learning all the facets of the job she loved so much, she had finally managed to get back to a decent pace of life and her husband had been able to enjoy her lightly more.
He had immediately understood that, having been elected, his wife would undoubtedly experience a complicated year before getting her feet back on the ground and returning to a more "normal" life. He had supported her in all the difficult moments, every evening when she came home despairing over her colleagues or depressed by the workload she had. He had accompanied her to every gala, every official performance, despite his busy job.
All in all, he had been perfect, and Hermione was grateful for that daily.
When the summer after her election had arrived, things had finally calmed down for the Minister and she had taken advantage of these calmer times to spend them with her husband, but also with her friends. First, they had all gone on holiday to Sardinia for a week, during which Hermione had relegated her duties–less important than usual, in this summer period–to her assistant. Draco had then requisitioned her for a few days on the Isles of Skye, in Scotland.
"Hermione?" he had whispered one night as they lay together in the big bed of their cottage.
"Draco?" she had replied with an amused smile.
"I know we never talked about it, that we were both concentrating on our careers and that this was anything but the time–"
"You want us to stop using contraception, don't you?" she had cut him off, smiling fondly at her husband.
"Yes. Yes, I want to have children with you, Hermione. I've always wanted to have some, and when I saw you again, I knew I'd want to have some with you," he had replied, stars in his eyes, not surprised that she had guessed his intentions so easily. "We both have the most secure jobs, we have a big house ready for mini-Hermione and mini-Draco, we have everything we need."
"Mini-Hermione and mini-Draco?" she'd giggled, looking at him with love.
"Plenty," he had replied, laughing in turn, before dipping his lips to her tempting ones.
Hermione had thrown away all her contraceptive potions when they had returned home. She had seen in her husband's eyes how much he wanted a child and she had no doubt about it. He had told her before that he wanted to be a father, but he had never used the present, always projecting himself into a future where they would have the jobs of their dreams and a stable life. That day had arrived and since their return home they had been busy.
Hermione had even made an appointment with a gynaecologist after two months with no results, to ask her advice, although she had read up on it in many books. So she had given her a little calendar on which she had marked Hermione's fertile periods. They had stuck to it perfectly, not discouraged in the least.
It was only after three months that Hermione had finally emerged from the bathroom of their house, four positive Muggle tests in hand. She had jumped into Draco's arms, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"We're pregnant!" she had cried as he had lifted her into his arms.
He hadn't held back his tears either and had hugged her with all his might. They had rushed to tell their friends and family, who had congratulated them greatly.
After two months, Draco had even started buying little clothes for their future child and even stuffed animals which he had kept in the room they had chosen for their child.
Hermione would always laugh at him when he came home from work in the evening with bags of things for their baby. He would just stick his tongue out at her and leave her to put his new purchases away, ignoring her amused laughter.
"At least our baby will be well dressed, Granger!" he had often told her at such times.
They had fallen from a great height. A great height.
The words of their gynaecologist had destroyed all his dreams. A simple sentence.
"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, your wife had a miscarriage," she had told him in the corridor of the hospital where he worked.
It had all happened so quickly.
Hermione had woken with a start in the middle of the night, a terrible pain in her lower abdomen. Draco had rushed to accompany her to St Mungo's, although Hermione had tried to convince him that it would pass. He hadn't changed his mind, had dressed in a hurry and disapparated them into the hospital.
The Minister of Magic had been rushed to the hospital as her pains weren't subsiding. Although Draco was a member of the medical staff and had an important position, the Healers in the obstetric ward had made it clear that he wasn't to go beyond the door of the room where his wife was.
When the gynaecologist came out an hour later, Draco had collapsed in a chair in the waiting room. She had explained to him that the reason for her miscarriage was unknown to them, that they had tried everything but could do nothing.
But he had hardly listened, he had given that speech dozens of times to desperate families.
When Draco had joined his wife in the hospital room where she'd been moved, they'd both burst into tears in each other's arms. Hermione had been heartbroken, repeatedly repeating that it was all her fault, that she had worked too hard, that she should have rested. Although the Healers had told her that it wasn't her fault. After four months of pregnancy, she couldn't have been overworked. The reason for her miscarriage was unknown, but that it wasn't her fault. It had been tough to get her to listen.
Draco had remained silent for several days, speechless, buried in their baby's room. A ghost wouldn't have been more alive than he had been for almost a week.
Eventually his parents had come and dragged him out of his house, without letting him fight back, and taken him to their place, away from his home. Ginny, Harry, Ron and Luna had stayed with his wife to keep her company.
They'd had to work hard to reason with him. His father had shouted at him, lecturing him for leaving his wife to mourn alone for almost a week. His mother had comforted him and she could, with strong and harsh words, but with a gentleness that only she was capable of.
He had returned home full of remorse for having left his wife alone. He had hugged her for hours afterwards. Grieving for their child had been very tough.
Going back to work had been an ordeal for Draco, who had felt as if he was reliving the announcement of his fellow gynaecologist every time he passed through a corridor like the one in the obstetrician's ward.
Hermione had struggled to find her bearings at the Ministry, and her assistant had been a great help in getting back on track. She had refused to be arrested by her therapist.
Several months had passed after that. Little by little, the idea of trying to have a child again had germinated in their heads. It took several weeks before they proposed it to each other, both being scared of the reaction of their other half, because of the shock, still present in their minds.
But one evening they had the same idea and proposed it almost at the same time, in the middle of a dinner in their favourite restaurant. They both burst out laughing as they realised that they had been needlessly fussing for almost two weeks.
So they had tried again. For more than two months, they had had no success. Finally, one evening, as he was coming home from work, Hermione had told her husband that she was three weeks pregnant.
This time they hadn't wanted to prepare anything and hadn't told their relatives, preferring to keep it to themselves for the first two months. Just long enough to make sure everything was fine. Hermione had then spent the first three months constantly on guard, panicking at the slightest sensation, the slightest pain.
Draco had accompanied her to St Mungo's every time something seemed wrong. He had even ended up being reprimanded by one of his colleagues who had promised him that it wasn't necessary to come weekly to check her and that he should know better, being a Healer himself.
This hadn't eased their anxieties, quite the opposite.
Not being able to go to the hospital when she wanted caused Hermione a lot of anxiety. So she had taken a week's leave, under the advice of Harry–recently appointed head of the Auror Office–who had seen that his best friend's anxieties were interfering with her work.
However, three days later, the pain had returned. Much worse than the last time. Hermione had rushed to send a Patronus to her husband to warn him that she wasn't well at all, that it was unusual. He'd turned up thirty minutes later in a panic and had his wife rushed to St Mungo's.
She couldn't even stand, and Draco had had to yell at the hospital staff for them to help him carry her to a room.
Under the orders of Hermione's gynaecologist, they had first tried to reassure Draco that it was all right, that nothing was wrong and that he should take his wife home. But this time the blond hadn't wanted to hear it. He had threatened to have them all fired if they didn't give them a room immediately.
Curiously, they had acted quickly.
The gynaecologist had arrived an hour later in their room and Draco had to go through a long speech before she finally agreed to examine his wife. He had watched her suffer and it had broken his heart.
This time Draco had stayed for the whole examination. He had seen the worried look on the Healer's face, which, although she had tried to hide it, was no longer deceiving Draco after more than ten years in the profession. She had left the room and returned with other healers, who had dismissed Draco without further ado, despite his pleas. Hermione had implored the Healers to let him stay, but their decision was final.
"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, your wife had a miscarriage."
They had tried a third time, a month later, thinking they had recovered from their trauma. Their friends had strongly advised them to take time for themselves, just the two of them, to recover. They had done as they pleased and four months later Hermione had her third miscarriage.
Everything had fallen apart from that day on.
They had come home from the hospital slightly more destroyed than they already were. Hermione had felt as if she was so far from her husband as he had withdrawn into himself. Their relatives had gone back and forth to be behind them, but nothing helped.
Hermione had blamed herself terribly.
She saw her husband unhappy and couldn't convince herself of anything other than the fact that it was all her fault. He came home late, rarely ate dinner at their house, spent his evenings in his laboratory, went to bed much later than she did, if at all.
She was sure she had made him unhappy, she saw him drifting from her and it broke her heart.
But one evening she had made up her mind. She had sat on their sofa on the way home from work and waited all evening for him to come back. It was past midnight when he had finally walked through their front door. She had heard him drop his things in the hallway, then he had finally entered their living room, but had remained motionless when seeing her settled on their sofa like this.
"I think we need to talk, Draco," she had said in a trembling voice.
"Sweetheart, I don't think that trying again is–" he had begun with a sigh.
"I want a divorce," she had suddenly announced, cutting him off.
He had been left speechless.
"I'll never be able to give you what you've always dreamed of," she had continued without giving him time to understand. "I don't know why I couldn't keep any of those babies, but–"
"It wasn't your fault!" he had immediately exclaimed, cutting her off with tears in his eyes.
"I don't think it was yours either, Draco! I'm the one who was carrying those babies, the fault can only be mine. I won't make you happy, Draco," she had said, turning a determined gaze into his. "You want children, and I can't give you any. I can see the state you've been in these last few weeks, you don't live normally any more, you wander around our house like a ghost, you hardly talk to me any more, you're not well. I don't make you happy any more, Draco. And I'm not happy either, seeing you in such a state. It's the right thing to do. You need to rebuild your life, you need to try and get better and I'm not the one for that. I keep reminding you of the babies we lost that you wanted so badly. We can't go on like this, Draco. We'll destroy each other," she'd finally told him in a feverish voice.
"What are we going to do, then?" he had managed to articulate, his eyes glistening with tears.
"I'll stay at the Potter's for a few days and figure out what to do next. I've thought about it, it's better for you to keep the house and stay there. You've your potions lab and after all you're the one who found it and fell in love with it," she had said with a sad smile. "It's better this way, Draco. You need to get out of this," she had added before standing up and gesturing to the bag she had packed earlier in the evening. "We'll talk about it again, if you need to, but think about it, this is the best decision we can make, it can't go on like this. I'll be in touch with our lawyers within the week so we can get on with it."
She had then walked over to Draco, who hadn't moved an inch since he had walked into the living room, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek tenderly. As she had moved towards the door, he had grabbed her wrist and kissed her one last time, capturing her face in his hands for a languid kiss that tasted like a bitter goodbye to Hermione.
She had scrambled to get out of his grip when he had pulled away from her lips, and had burst into tears when she had left the house. She'd held back the whole time to make herself seem believable, to make him believe that she wanted this, to convince him that it was the best solution.
She wanted to convince herself too, she had no other choice, she wanted him to be happy.
That was a fortnight ago. She had spent four nights at the Potters' before they went on holiday and left her alone. Although they had offered to let her stay at their house, she had preferred to move to the Ministry, wanting to be closer to her work.
Though she had regretted her choice many, many times, she had tried to persuade herself that it was the best solution for her husband to be well. She had to do it. For his sake.
She hadn't seen him once since then and she would be lying if she said she didn't miss him. She missed him terribly. It had been almost fifteen years since she had been separated from him for so long. For fifteen years she always knew where he was, and if he was okay. But that was no longer the case and hadn't been for a fortnight.
She put the letter from the law firm back on her desk and couldn't help but sob loudly after retracing their whole story in her head. She couldn't bear it any longer, she felt more alone than ever. She had acted determined in front of her friends and family, to prove to them that things would be okay, that it was the right thing to do and that she was justified in doing it. But once she got back to the Ministry or finally found herself alone, she couldn't help but burst into tears.
Her husband would have understood that she wasn't well if he had seen her, she was sure of it. He knew her perfectly well, as she did. After fifteen years together, they had got to know each other better than anyone else.
She looked up at the clock again. Twenty-three fifty-seven. Only three minutes to go until the thirteenth of August 2013. Only three minutes until her ten-year marriage to her husband, whom she would divorce in a fortnight. She couldn't stop a sob from escaping her lips again.
As she looked down and wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper, she came across the front page of Witch Weekly from the previous week. Her secretary had given it to her, like every other article that had been about her. She and Draco were on the front page.
"Draco and Hermione Malfoy are getting a divorce! Find out what's behind this sudden separation."
Predictably, the article was a load of garbage that had enraged the young woman. The journalists of Witch Weekly had made a lot of speculation about the reason for their divorce. Of course, the public had never known about Hermione's various pregnancies or miscarriages. They had always been very careful to keep their lives private, and it had always worked.
Therefore, the paper had been content to imagine the whys and wherefores, inventing adulterous affairs for Draco, or imagining that the Minister of Magic had dumped her husband for stupider reasons.
However, although she knew it was all wrong, Hermione had suffered greatly from it. That article had made things much more real. She had filed for divorce, and the wizarding world knew it.
She had asked for a divorce, and it was all her fault.
She grabbed the bloody newspaper and threw it violently into the already full bin on her desk. She looked up at the clock.
Twenty-three fifty-nine. In a minute she would be officially married to her husband for ten years.
Her eyes fell back on the letter from her lawyers and she had a sudden urge to wave her wand at it, set it ablaze and destroy it. But no. She had to hold on. She had to do this. For Draco. He deserved better. He deserved to have the life he'd always dreamed of, whether she loved him or not, whether she needed him for life and happiness or not. It had to be.
The twelve strokes of midnight sounded on her clock along with a few knocks on her door. She immediately frowned.
It was midnight, the Ministry was supposed to be empty.
She drew her wand and stood up, ready to cast a spell on the intruder who had come to disturb her at such an hour. No one was supposed to know she was here. This wasn't normal.
"Come in!" she finally called, in a loud, confident voice, though inwardly she was starting to panic.
The door opened and Hermione stood stunned, her eyes wide with surprise.
Before her stood Draco Malfoy. He was dressed in his usual black three-piece suit, a white shirt, a midnight blue tie–given to him by none other than Hermione on his twenty-fifth birthday–a plastic bag in his right hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in his left.
"You can put your wand down, Granger, I'm not planning to attack you," he said after a few seconds of silence, during which Hermione detailed her husband with round eyes.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she exclaimed, snapping out of her lethargy as she lowered her wand.
"This office is a mess," he preferred to answer as he took his wand out of the inside pocket of his jacket, placing the bouquet of flowers in his other hand.
He flicked his wrist, pointing around the room, and all the objects magically fell into place.
"How did you know where I was?" Hermione asked in a small voice, suddenly intimidated by his presence, as the magic took effect.
"I figured you wouldn't have stayed at the Potters when they weren't home, and you wouldn't have gone to the flat either, so I thought you might have come here," he replied, turning his eyes back to her. "May I?" he then asked, pointing to a seat that faced her.
"Look, Draco, I don't think this is really the time to–"
"Have you eaten?" he cut her off as he sat down across from her, without her permission. "Knowing you, you must have had something to nibble on earlier in the evening, but nothing more," he continued without letting her answer. "So I was right to bring this."
He placed the plastic bag on the large, now clean and tidy ministerial desk. He conjured up a glass vase with a flick of his wand, filled it with water and placed the beautiful bouquet he had brought in. He moved it to one side of the desk and opened the plastic bag. Hermione didn't say anything, too stunned to ask any of the questions that were filling her head.
He took out a cardboard box containing a raspberry pie, which he set aside, then took out two plastic trays and flicked them open. They were two small dishes of lasagna that he had ordered from a local restaurant that was still open at this hour.
"Here," he said, sliding one of the trays towards her.
She hadn't moved an inch and was watching him grab forks from the bag and start eating his dinner. He didn't even look at her, concentrating on his meal. He was startled when he heard his wife's voice.
"Draco, what are you doing here?" she asked in an almost shaky voice, which broke his heart when he heard it.
He slowly lifted his head and looked at his wife, who had teary eyes and a confused look.
He took the time to look at her more closely for the first time since he had arrived.
Her cheeks were furrowed with tears. She was wearing an old jumper with a hole in her right elbow. Her bottom lip was chapped, a sign that she hadn't stopped nibbling it. Her hair was in a loose bun that she had had to do quickly. And she was fidgeting in a way that betrayed her anguish and unease.
In front of her was still the summons, which he himself had received during the day, directly in his office at St Mungo's. She hadn't touched the tray he had handed her.
He felt bad for not having noticed it before. He was so proud of what he had planned when he came to see her that he hadn't paid attention to the state of his wife.
"I don't want to get a divorce," he said directly, putting down his fork and backing up in his seat, without taking his eyes off her. "Let me speak," he resumed just afterwards, holding up a hand to stop her from discussing.
"Draco, don't do this, please," she implored him anyway, not letting him continue.
"Yes, I will, Hermione. I will do it and I should have done it much sooner. I should have done it when you left the house. I should have explained everything to you."
"There's nothing more to say, Draco, I've explained everything, I've already told you that–"
"Let me speak, for Merlin's sake, Hermione!" he exclaimed, cutting her off. "Let me finish talking, and if, when I'm done, you still want a divorce, I'll do it without hesitation, I promise. Yes?"
"Draco, it's not–"
"Okay?" he asked more sternly.
She nodded feverishly and continued to play with her fingers, under Draco's piercing gaze.
"Almost two months ago, the day you left St Mungo's after–after your miscarriage," he said with a voice he wanted confident, "I asked the Healers who were tracking you to give me all your analysis, blood tests, ultrasound images… Everything. I then started to do my research. I wanted to understand what had happened, what had caused all your miscarriages. It wasn't usual and the other healers agreed with me about it. So, I did my research, I analysed the results from top to bottom, the pictures of your womb before and after the miscarriages, I did my reviews of your blood tests. I didn't find anything for a month. But then, I finally found something when looking at the pictures of your second miscarriage. The only one which was showing something at all. I worked twice as hard to understand what was going on there. I wanted to find a solution. I worked daily or weekly, spending all my evenings in the lab or in the hospital. When I had a pause between two surgeries, I was spending it doing further research. But, of course, you had already noticed that."
He sighed.
"Eventually, I understood what was the matter," he announced and Hermione lifted her eyes to him. "Everything's due to a curse you received more than 15 years ago. I suspect Bellatrix Lestrange to be the caster. Maybe when you were captured in the manor. It's a dark curse, an old one, and this is why it was so difficult to find, and–"
"Is it reversible?" Hermione cut him off suddenly, tears rolling down her cheeks for a few seconds now.
He raised his head, which he hadn't been aware of lowering, and noticed how much his wife seemed devastated by his announcement. He fought the urge of taking her in his arms and comforting her, and straightened in his chair.
"I think so, yes," he replied eventually and Hermione sighed with relief. "I found the counter-curse, the problem is that it can only be cast by the caster of the original curse."
"But–"
"I know. It wouldn't be possible," he said with a nod. "But I did further research and discovered that some curses of this kind had already been undone by some caster's relatives. It was a long time ago and it's only rumours, but we have to try. If my mother cast the spell, there are a few chances for the curse to be undone, Hermione."
This time, it was sobs that she let out. She burst into tears and held her face in her palms, her shoulders shaking with her cries. Draco felt helpless.
All the pressure, all the pain she had felt when losing the foetus was falling apart. She finally had answers. It wasn't her fault, she had been cursed by Lestrange, she wasn't sick, she hadn't done anything.
"Hermione–"
Draco's voice was shaking. His remorse could be heard in it.
"I'm so, so sorry for my behaviour. I shouldn't have pulled away because of my research, I should have told you about it. I was so focused on it that it didn't even cross my mind. I left you alone when you needed me. I couldn't think about anything but the curse, I wanted to find a solution. I'm sorry," he repeated in a whisper, as Hermione raised her head slowly towards him, her eyes swollen with tears. "I never thought it was your fault, not even for a second. I never imagined leaving you, not even once. I never imagined having children with another woman."
He was about to cry too.
"When you told me what you wanted to do the other night," he resumed with a sigh, "I was so shocked that I didn't know what to say or do to stop you. The second you left, I knew I made the worst mistake of my life. I regretted it so much, and I still do. I spent the worst two weeks of my life without you and if I hadn't been focused on finding a solution to the curse, I–I don't know what I would've done. I can't imagine a life where–where you're not in it, Hermione," he said, running a hand over his face with teary eyes.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, preventing his tears from flowing.
"I don't want to divorce," he said firmly, staring at her. "I love you. I love you more than anything in the world, Hermione. I haven't once ceased to love you and I will never do so. Whether we can have children together or not. Merlin, Hermione!" he exclaimed, running an anxious hand in his hair. "How could you imagine for one second that I would want to start a new life with someone other than you, that I would want another woman to have children? Yes, I want children. But I want your children! Our children! Nothing else. And if I hadn't found a solution to this curse, or if my mother fails to cancel it, it wouldn't change anything! It's with you that I want to end my life, Hermione Jean Malfoy, formerly Granger! Children or not. With you, and no one else, because I love you. I love you more than anything," he added in a final murmur.
He took another deep breath, trying to control his emotions which threatened to explode at any moment.
As he was about to look up at her in the hope of receiving an answer, he was suddenly taken by the arms of his wife, which had just wrapped around his neck, as she snuggled up against him. He closed his arms around her and held her against him with all his might, letting his tears flow freely down his cheeks.
She was sobbing against his neck, holding him against her as if her life depended on it. She still couldn't believe what had just happened, she felt as if she were dreaming. But when he closed his arms on her, Hermione understood that she had finally come out of this long period of misfortune. She was in her husband's arms, nothing could happen.
"I don't want to divorce either," she cried, raising her head to look at him.
He placed his hands on her cheeks and wiped her tears with the tips of his thumbs. She placed her hands on his, turning her gaze at his.
"I don't want to. I never wanted to," she confessed, sobbing. "I love you," she said, then put her forehead against his.
"Come home, love. Please."
"I will," she said, nodding vigorously, as other tears ran down her cheeks under her closed eyelids.
He approached his face and kissed her with passion, tenderness, and love. The kiss tasted like tears, but they didn't care. They passed on all their love to each other through this simple kiss, and when they moved, Draco rested his forehead against his wife's, a smile on his lips.
"Happy birthday, Hermione," he whispered after a few long minutes of comfortable silence.
"Happy birthday, Draco," she whispered back before snuggling up again.
She was married for ten years to this fabulous man and he had just proven to her once again that she could never live without him. He was the man of his life.
oOo
"We're pleased to announce the birth of Alya Rose Narcissa Malefoy, born on September 14, 2014, at St Mungo's.
Draco and Hermione Malfoy."
Thanks a lot to Acciobraincells for her amazing help on this OS! I hope you liked it!