Chapter Thirty Two: Looking Back... And Looking Ahead
Hermione looked on quietly, as Lucius was led away, but a sense of foreboding
overcame her. Something simply was not right. And then, she saw it.
Not a notable gesture, not for any simple observer, but Hermione's eyes were keen,
and she was observant, attentive, vigilant. She observed the happenings around her like
none could, taking in the minute details of everything surrounding. She paid great attention
to movements, the nature of actions themselves. She was vigilant to all that occurred.
Yes, "constant vigilance," would be one way to describe it. "Mad Eye" Moody had conveyed
to her over the previous summer that, in his most esteemed opinion, she would make an
excellent auror. Well, she was observant to say the least.
She saw the slight difference in the spring of Lucius's step, that trivial sidewards
movement of the knee and ankle, minor twist of the shoulder. Her eyes opened wide. No.
This could not happen.
Everything occurred as though in slow motion, taking place like faint, sparse,
distantly-placed snapshots in her memory.
The eldest Malfoy whirled around, robes in a fury, fluttering about him, the two
holding him seemingly flinching, doubling back at his unexpected actions. He grabbed a
wand, and then, the world stood completely still.
His lips moved, slowly, excruciatingly, and then a jet of light came from his wand,
aimed straight at her. She was just about to dive forwards, when Draco shot toward her.
It happened. He was hit. His body jerked, spiraling from the impact of the curse on
his form, gracefully in a strange sort of manner, as he seemed to scream,
"nnnnnnnooooooo!!" But Hermione had long since stopped hearing the noise that
blurred all things contiguous.
Draco fell to the ground, elegantly, swiftly, and yet painfully slow.
(Author's note: The next part is a bit confusing, so focus on the image I'm trying to
convey. Think of Draco in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, off in a corner, with Hermione
coming in and spending most of the time that she's not in class with him, as she waits for
him to wake. Imagine that the following is how he sees what is happening, how he
experiences it.)
Seeing white. White. Pallid. Blanc. Ashen. Colorless. And yet, is not white a
mixture of all colors, a harmonious unity, all varying wavelengths and frequencies within the
visible spectrum coming together?
Hearing not a sound. The deafening silence enveloping, with no movement of the stirrup, anvil, or hammer of the innards of the ears taking place. But was there really no
sound? Is there such a thing as absolute quiet?
Feeling cold. The absence of human warmth is profound, shaking one's very core.
But was there really a dearth of it? Was he really alone?
There was nothing, nothing but emptiness; a vast vacuum of oblivion; a barren
existence, agonizing, unbearable, unlivable. But was he living?
Was Draco Malfoy still alive?
There was a sound. A voice. So distant.
"Draco, please... You can't be dead. I know you're still there. Just hold on, please.
I'll wait for you forever if I have to..."
The voice would come so often, and then fade away, to return an unsurmisable span
of time later.
There was a touch. Feeling. Warmth. So distant.
A thin line traced across an expanse of nothingness. A drop falling near the line. A
caressing of an ashen cheek as a tear falls from a pretty face looking on, drowning in
sorrow, that's what it was.
And then, nothing. Alone again.
The voice returned. And then the feeling. This time, more warmth, leaning over a
pallid boy not even of age yet, a frail girl crying, her tears staining a porcelain face, tracing
rivers, and coming to fall onto the silver-blond boy beneath her. A tender embrace, holding
on and never wanting to let go.
"Draco, please don't leave me. I want to always be there. Please don't go..."
A pause.
Sound fading. Temperature regulating. Somewhat frigid, antiseptic, and a warmth
overhead. Little lakes and rivers of condensation evident through cotton, and then on bare
skin.
A pause.
Smells coming back. First, antibacterial, and then, Strawberries and cream
overwhelming the nasal cavity.
A pause.
Colors slowly becoming distinguishable. First a few shades of gray, and then the
reds and blues and yellows and greens and oranges and purples. Oh, the colors! Browns
and tans and honey brown.
A pause. Sound again. Blinking once, twice. The same female voice. "I love you..."
Wrapping his arms around her, stroking her gentle waves of auburn. Taking her
head in his, cupping her tearstained cheeks, wiping off the little rivers with his thumbs.
"I love you, too." Draco had awoken.
Draco looked around the Great Hall, nervous, numb. It was difficult to believe
everything that had happened the past two years. He remembered his father had been
sent to Azkaban, for his services to Lord Voldemort, just before the end of Draco's fifth
year. He remembered his vow of revenge on Harry Potter for this outrage, and then...
He remembered the fragile state of his mother, and how he had sought to comfort
her in any way possible. He remembered how they had endured so much up until that
point, and became closer that summer. He remembered how she seemed to want him to be
more acquiescent regarding the differences of others, perhaps more tolerant, and he had
begun to open his heart.
At the start of his sixth year, he had found out why this was so important.
Hermione. He remembered how he had learned to see her in a new light, and felt more for
her than he ever thought it was possible to feel for someone. Indeed, he had fallen in love.
He remembered the time they shared together, the Ball they went to, how beautiful
she looked that night, how beautiful she always looked. He remembered how he held her
tight, and then he had known. He had known...
He remembered the frightened look on Hermione's face as his father invaded the
Great Hall, much to everyone's horror. He remembered how enraged he had become, how
he had denounced his father in front of everyone. He remembered being put under the
Cruciatius Curse, and how his mother had come to his aid, trying to protect him, as always.
His mother... He remembered how she had been so happy, how she had found
happiness in the arms of someone unlikely. Narcissa still continued to teach at Hogwarts,
and said she had found a new purpose in life.
He remembered the Homecoming match, and though Slytherin lost, by ten points, he
had caught the snitch. He had finally beaten Harry Potter. His father had tried to take
revenge that day, but had ended up sent to Azkaban for life, this time without a trial. It
had almost cost Draco his life, but through some miracle, he had come out of it alright,
having only to spend several weeks in the hospital wing as a result. And Hermione had
stayed by his side.
He remembered the relief he felt. He remembered living without that burden for a
little over a year and a half now. He remembered fighting side-by-side with Harry Potter to
defeat the Dark Lord. He remembered how the boy-who-lived had defeated the monster
that had caused his family so much anguish, which had caused them all so much anguish.
That had been just after their sixth year.
He remembered spending the summer vacation afterwards with Hermione, and how
they had become, if possible, closer. He remembered the start of their seventh year, and
how he had been made Head Boy, surprisingly, and Hermione, of course, Head Girl. He
remembered the time they shared, and the many nights they had spent together, cuddling
under his soft velvety sheets.
He remembered the graduation ceremony, just hours before. He had been second in
their class, second to the lady in his life, of course, but he wouldn't have guessed any
different. He was first in her life, and that was all that mattered; she was all that mattered,
and so now...
Hermione sat down next to Draco. She had been chatting with different people from
their year, all in somber spirits, because of the looming end, but certainly looking upon their
memories of Hogwarts fondly. He appeared deep in thought, and she wondered what was
going through his mind.
At that moment, Dumbledore spoke, captivating their full attention as he always did.
She noticed that he looked over at her and Draco, his eyes twinkling a bit more than
usual, but decided not to pay this any heed. Nevertheless, she couldn't help wonder what
the headmaster knew that she did not.
The headmaster cleared his throat, looking around at the recent graduates. The
graduation ceremony earlier in the day had been spectacular, as expected, and now the
celebration afterwards was drawing to a close. It was difficult to believe that seven years
had passed since this group first entered Hogwarts; they were indeed a special group. He
saw the many faces of students who had helped ring about the demise of the Dark Lord,
and some who had seen the error in following Voldemort, and had come to their side. They
had grown up very fast indeed, and now it was time for them to begin the next leg of their
journey through life.
"Good evening," he began. "There is no need for me to tell you how far you have
come since you all first started here. You have all helped to bring about a new era for the
wizarding world, a time in which you, your children, your grandchildren, will not have to fear
inexplicable horrors and suffering at the hands of perhaps the darkest wizard ever known.
It has been a rewarding experience, being your headmaster, and I'm sure the rest of
the staff would say the same for their experiences." He paused and looked across the staff
table. All the teachers were beaming, and even across the face of Severus Snape, it
seemed, a smile danced, features softened (though that could also have been at the
persuasion of the blonde witch, his wife of almost a year now, sitting next to him).
Albus Dumbledore smiled. "Well, enough of my chatter! Before we send you off,
let's have one last dance, shall we?" He winked in the general direction of the Head Boy
and Girl.
A familiar melody filled the air. Oh, the memories it brought back. The way
Hermione felt was indescribable, the wave of nostalgia that hit her inexplicable. The words
of Daniel Beddingfield again went straight to her heart.
...If you're not the one
Then why does my soul feel glad today?
If you're not the one
Then why does my hand fit yours this way?
If you are not mine
Then why does your heart return my call
If you are not mine
Would I have the strength to stand at all?...
Draco could not believe that this was the last song they had chosen to play, again.
Potter must surely have had something to do with it. And that scheming headmaster, too.
He sighed. He should have never said anything. It was very likely that now most of those
present knew what he was going to do when the song ended. He looked at Hermione,
beautifully oblivious to the stares they were getting. He remembered at the Ball sixth year,
how he had held her close in the gardens.
...We'll make it through
And I hope you are
the one I share my life with
And I wish that you could be
the one I die with
And I'm praying you're
the one I build my home with
I hope I love you all my life...
Hermione looked at Draco, and their eyes met. He smiled at her, a nervous smile.
But why would he be nervous? She had seen him looking about fretfully, the anxiety
evident in his demeanor. But why?
He held her close, and she felt him run his hands through her hair. She loved being
close to him, the way he made her feel all protected in his arms.
...Is there any way that
I can stay in your arms?...
As the last notes of the song faded away, Draco decided he could wait no longer.
"Hermione, there's something I need to ask you."
Her eyes met his, and she smiled. "Yes, Draco?"
He swallowed, hard. How was he going to do this? He couldn't remember ever
having been as nervous as he was at that very moment. He looked around. Indeed, all the
attention was on the two of them. This was great, just what he needed. Draco took a deep
breath.
"Hermione; you're everything to me, and I want this to be the first day of the rest of
my life, the rest of our lives, the rest of my life with you," he paused. "I guess what I'm
trying to say is..." he kneeled down in front of her, and opened a green velvet box,
containing a seemingly priceless engagement ring. "Hermione, will you marry me?"
She had not taken her eyes off his. Her smile grew wider, if possible. He could see
her at a momentary loss for words, observe the misty look in her eyes, a look of sheer bliss,
the tears of joy that threatened to come down her cheeks, and then she broke the silence,
finally finding her voice, that beautiful voice of hers that he had heard so often, but this
time cherished as he had never before been able to. "Of course."
He slipped the ring onto her finger, and took her into his arms, kissing her deeply,
while all those around them clapped. It was truly a happy ending, and, looking ahead, a
wonderful beginning.
The End
Author's Note
That was it!! I cannot believe it. My first work on has finally drawn to
a close. I want to first say thanks to all my reviewers, you guys kept me going, and I can't
begin to express my gratitude. I hope I have satisfied you guys with my "happy ending" (I
couldn't let Draco die, I just couldn't, and yes, I'm a sap for it).
Thanks so much for your time in reading this, and I hope to capture your interests
with some of my future writing endeavors.
Happy Holidays!
Very Truly Yours,
E. Caddy Compson (persephoneia)