Author's Notes: I lied. This is the last chapter except for the epilogue. For those of you who were confused by the last chapter, I added more to it to help clear things up. I'm planning to add more explanation in the epilogue, but if after that you're still confused, I promise to summarize the plot somehow. I've had this on my brain for 3 years, so it's difficult for me to remember that others have no idea what's going on. But I also like confusing you, so don't expect too much. :) I'm evil.
Chapter XV: The End At Last
By Jenni
When Hermione awoke, it was to the sensation of warm sunlight streaming through the windows onto her face. She was huddled under her down duvet, and it was beginning to become too hot to be comfortable; but waking up to the sunlight on a Saturday when one knows the she could go back to sleep without worrying about the alarm clock going off in another ten minutes is a delicious experience.
She pushed the covers off and rolled onto her back, stretching for a moment before deciding she would try to go back to sleep. But having the covers off even for fie seconds left her too cold. She pulled them back up. Cold? she questioned, only half awake. It was warm yesterday. Nor was the cold the only thing bothering her. The blasted drapes hadn't been closed before she'd gone to bed, and now everything was too bright. Hermione brought her arm up over her eyes to block the morning light.
In doing so, her eyes opened for one moment. It was then that the spell was broken, and she remembered. However, she did not remember the exact details of what had gone on before. She merely felt the full contrast between some nightmare she couldn't remember having and what she was facing now. But as dreams often fade with the onset of consciousness, Hermione's dreams seemed beyond her comprehension.
But she remembered that something terrible had happened, and now she knew that it was over. Am I in heaven? she wondered, not understanding why she would think such a thing. After examining the clutter in her bedroom and the empty place beside her in the covers, Hermione was certain she was not in heaven. Any place worth being called Heaven would come with a maid and a gorgeous, sensitive, doting husband.
Still, she felt out of place, and she realized she couldn't even remember what the date was. It was Saturday, wasn't it? Yes, Saturday. May eleventh. A glance at the calendar informed her that she was correct: it was Saturday…but it wasn't May. It was March.
Hermione was sure it had something to do with Draco. That was her instinct, though she didn't understand that either. She hadn't seen Draco in years, and most of the time she thought very little of him at all except to mourn what could have been. Well, it was only a dream, she thought. Still, she was reluctant to leave it behind, for it seemed important that she remember.
Hermione sat upright and wiped the sleep from her eyes. As she did so, she accidentally hit herself in the forehead with whatever object was in her hand. Curious, Hermione peered down at the little thing to find a little silver sphere connected to a chain that had been broken in such a way that it looked like someone had ripped it from his neck.
The sphere looked like a Rememberall. And it was glowing. But what was it she could have forgotten other than that she owned a Rememberall?
Hermione brought it up to her eyes and stared at the mysterious ball, wondering what secrets it might contain. She had never seen it before in her life, but it didn't seem odd to wake up holding it. Whatever could it be?
A rap on her window made her look up to find Ron's owl sitting on the ledge outside, a makeshift note tied to its leg with a gum band.
"Oh bother," exclaimed Hermione, smacking herself on the forehead and glancing at the clock. She walked to the window, opened it and retrieved the note from the little owl, who stuck out his leg with gruff annoyance. It apparently didn't like wearing gum bands on its foot. Hermione set the note down on the window sill as she tried to remove the offending band, and read the note.
Where are you?–Ron was all it said.
She was supposed to have met Harry and Ron down at the store so they could pick out the tile for the new office. Here, she'd insisted on replacing the restroom tile, and now she was late. They were going to kill her for making them wake up early on a Saturday.
But Hermione could have sworn they had already picked the tile. She was picturing white ceramic with little green flecks set in a checkered pattern. Yesterday she'd had no clue what they were going to look for, but today she saw little green flecks as if she had already gone through the selection process. It was the most mysterious sense of déjà vu she had ever experienced.
The feeling continued even after she arrived at the tile store, knowing somehow that she would find Harry tapping his foot and staring nervously at his watch, but that Ron would have gone to the coffee shop to get a tea.
And she was right, of course. Even though Ron didn't particularly care for tea, she had known he would be off getting it.
They entered the store when Ron returned, happily sipping the new chai variation, and immediately upon entering, Hermione noticed a display case of various tiles, one of which was the very same white ceramic with green flecks that she had imagined earlier.
"That one," she declared, shocking Ron and Harry with her certainty.
Harry smiled, prepared to call an assistant to help them place the order, but Ron just looked at her like she'd gone starkers.
"You don't want to check the price? Or you know…match it up with the paint samples?"
"No, this is it," said Hermione. "I know it." Because I've done this before…
Later on, the boys asked her to come to lunch with them at a nearby pub, but Hermione convinced them to go to elsewhere because she knew the food would be greasy.
And when they were about to go to the magical paint store to check on one of their previous orders, Hermione had convinced them not to go because she knew the order would come in on Monday morning.
Then, a full minute before Ron went into a fit of hiccoughs on account of the chips he'd eaten for lunch giving him indigestion, Hermione bought him a mineral water.
"Good thing, this," he said, toasting her before taking a drink from the bottle. Hermione had no answer ready for him, but she was beginning to feel sick and her head was hurting.
Maybe her life had gotten so mundane since the end of the war that every day seemed like it had already happened. God, that was a depressing thought. She wasn't even thirty yet and her life had gotten boring. Then again, she'd fought a war so she could have a boring life. But back then she had thought Draco would be a part of it. Oh Christ, don't think of him again. You ought to be over him by now.
"Hey Mione?" inquired Harry later that evening when they were sitting in Harry's living room, sipping butter beers and lounging on the chaise while Hermione still contemplated the familiarity of every single event that had occurred during the past day. Except for lunch, when they hadn't gone to the pub, the eerie déjà vu had accompanied her every move.
She recalled the Rememberall-like object sitting by her bed on the night table, and realized it was the key to everything. She had to go back for it, because she couldn't stand feeling like this any longer without knowing what was causing it.
When Hermione stood up to grab her purse, and Harry had said, "Hey Mione, are you all right?" it felt like the only thing she had done of her own free will during the entire day.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to go home."
"Are you sure?" he pressed her. "Do you need anything? Glass of water? Tea?"
"I'll be fine, Harry."
"Would you like me to walk you home?"
Ron was snickering from the corner, obviously enjoying the exchange between his friends. For some reason, she picked that moment to recall a time not so long ago when he was drinking himself into oblivion over the loss of his brother. Now Hermione just stared at his carefree face and found herself laughing with him. It was good to put the past behind you. She was going to go home and throw away that rememberall. Whatever it was, Hermione knew it represented a time that no longer existed and things that perhaps should stay forgotten.
"I'll be fine, Harry," she assured him again, chastising him for his over-attentiveness. "You don't need to walk me anywhere. I'm going to apparate."
"But you've been drinking," he pointed to her Butterbeer.
Hermione held it up to show that she hadn't had more than a sip.
Ron stretched out in the easy chair. "Let her go, mate. It's not like we won't see her again tomorrow."
Harry frowned. "I guess," he muttered under his breath.
Hermione watched Harry's dejected expression, and for the first time in a long time she really studied him. He cared for her; he wanted to help her. Maybe he was even attracted to her.
But Hermione didn't want to think about any of that right now. She just wanted to go home.
-----At 21:00 Hermione apparated to the front step of her flat and opened the door to the main stairway in the hall. With a sigh, she closed the door behind her and began the dreary climb up to the door marked 7, Granger on that cheap, battered plaque she'd purchased for two extra pounds from her landlord. She loosened the fastenings on her robes and held her gloves under her arm as she chose the correct key. Life couldn't get more mundane.
But then… "Hermione?"
That voice…
Only then did she notice the tall figure standing silhouetted in the sparse moonlight streaming through the window down below the stairs. Silver strands of hair hung down in his eyes, reflecting the light. For lack of anything to do with his hands, he began to fumble with his gloves.
She could see the outline of his handsome features, and upon his face was the beginning of a smile restrained by nervousness. But he was here, on the steps of her flat after two years of not knowing or understanding why had never come back to her. And she could tell from the unfettered admiration in his eyes that he was back to stay.
The blood rushed to her head, and she buckled. Hermione's legs collapsed beneath her, but she didn't try to stop herself from falling. She knew Draco would catch her.
When Draco did catch her, he swung her into his arms without hesitation and carried her like a bride the rest of the way of the stairs.
Even though she was still dizzy, Hermione found the presence of mind to wrap her arms around his neck, caressing the short hairs at the back with her hand. She buried her face into his collar and inhaled his scent.
It was as if he had never left her. She felt just as safe with him as she had when he had plucked her from the field of battle and taken her to the medical ward. Maybe there were questions she ought to be asking, but none of them mattered now.
"Hermione, where are your keys?" he asked. "So we can get in the door…I mean, so you can get in the door, and I can ask permission to enter. I understand, if you don't want to talk to me. It's been two years, after all."
She handed him the keys. "The short, silver one," she directed him. "And you can come in, Draco. You can always come in."
"Can I set you down now?" he asked, struggling to get to the silver key.
Hermione realized that it must be difficult to hold her while trying to open the door, so she nodded yes and let him set her down, but grimaced when they lost contact.
She almost moved to take his hand, but then stopped herself. After all, she hadn't seen him for two years, and she couldn't just throw herself at him now like those years hadn't existed.
Although, Hermione felt that as angry and hurt as she had been before, all she felt was gratitude that Draco was here, opening the door to her flat and smiling at her as he turned the lock. She couldn't wait to throw herself at him.
"This is a muggle key," he pronounced, upon closing the door behind them and handing them back to her.
"The locks are charmed," she explained. "But I suppose someone could break in if they were really interested in my paltry collection of history books and my dirty laundry."
Speaking of dirty laundry, Hermione spied a bra hanging discarded on the end of her couch. She hurried to pluck it out of sight, and held it behind her back.
"So, this is it," she said, motioning around the room. "It's not much."
Draco looked around, appraising the area. "No, it suits you. It's very comfortable. And very tasteful as well. I only wish Malfoy Manor was so welcoming."
"Won't you sit down?" said Hermione, determined to be a perfect hostess. But then she noticed the clutter of bank books and freshly folded laundry lying on every piece of furniture. The only uncluttered chair was occupied by Crookshanks, who stared up at the newcomer with an inquisitiveness bordering on impatience.
Draco didn't try to displace the cat, but instead he put his hands in the pockets of his robes, and hung his head low while pretending to study her carpet.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked, hurrying to free up some space by piling her check books on the floor. The bra she shoved under the couch.
"No, that's quite all…"
"Darjeeling? Earl grey? That's all I have."
Draco sighed. "Look, you don't have to treat me like a guest."
"But you are a guest," answered Hermione, still heading towards the kitchen.
"No, I'm not. I'm an ex-boyfriend dropping by completely at a random, and I owe you an explanation. So, please, just grill me and let's drop all this English politeness. You must be angry with me."
Hermione lowered her hands, and peeked out from behind the kitchen wall. "I'm not," she offered, and respectfully waited for him to respond before heading back to the kitchen to put water in the kettle.
"You're not?" He appeared shocked.
"No!" she exclaimed. "I mean, I was angry for a while, but I'm not now. I don't know why. I ought to be furious. Maybe I really am. But for now, would it be all right just to pretend like we've never been apart? I don't want to ruin the evening yet."
"We won't ruin it," said Draco with a smile. "I promise." He sat down on the arm of the couch, from which place he could see into the kitchen while she was preparing the tea.
She poured the water into the kettle and set it on the stove and waited.
"I think you have to turn the stove on," he said after a while.
Hermione laughed at her absentmindedness and turned the stove on, saying nothing. She didn't look at him, but she felt him looking at her. It was unnerving to be studied so closely, and she pulled a lock of hair out from behind her ear so as to protect her from his gaze; but she did not tell him to stop.
"You don't know how much I've missed you," Draco said at length. "I hope you'll let me explain, but it's a long story. Maybe I could tell it over tea…if you want to hear it, that is. I mean, maybe you've moved on. Maybe that's why you're not angry with me…"
"Draco Malfoy is rambling," stated Hermione with genuine surprise. "I never thought I'd see the day."
He chafed a little at her words, making a nasty face at her, and Hermione thought that he hadn't changed much at all. He still didn't like to be teased.
"So, will you?"
"Let you explain?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Good."
Hermione turned back to the pot, trying desperately to remember how to make tea. It was difficult to remember how to breathe while Draco sat so near. Neither of them said anything more until the water was steaming, and then Hermione opened the overhead cupboard.
"Mug or teacup?" she asked.
"Teacup, please," he said.
She handed him a teacup and a tea bag, then fixed one for herself and made her way to the dining room table while he followed her.
They sat down, took their tea with the sugar on the table, but with no cream because the last of the milk had expired two days ago. Hermione didn't explain why she didn't offer Draco milk, and he didn't ask. They merely stared at each other from across the ends of the table, civilly sipping their tea and waiting for the other person to speak first.
When Hermione's cup was half empty, she said, "Weren't you going to start explaining? Because I'm starting to remember why I was angry."
"Oh yes," he said, as if what they had been discussing was the state of the weather and not their romantic past. "Well, you see…I didn't forget about you. When I didn't come back, that wasn't because I didn't want to come back or because I didn't remember that I was supposed to come back. It was because I physically couldn't come back."
"You couldn't have sent me word?"
"No, I couldn't have," said Draco. "And I'm getting to that. Just be patient."
Hermione took another sip and waited, noting that Draco's hands were shaking a little, causing the cup to rattle on his saucer. He set it down on the table and began in earnest:
"The last mission they sent me on was the Romanian mission that ended the war. As you know, I had been a spy up until that point. I wasn't a Death Eater, but I'd still been able to pose as a double agent in some circles where being a Death Eater wasn't a requirement for acceptance. And Voldemort figured that I had never really chosen a side. But when I appeared in the fight, killing some of his minions, and when he realized that I had fully defected, then he cursed me."
Hermione set her tea down. She moved to the edge of her seat and listened, a captive audience to the tale. Yet even as he told it, Hermione knew she had heard it somewhere before. "The Orpheus Curse?" she whispered, not understanding where she had learned of it.
Draco's eyes widened. "Yes, but how did you know?"
Hermione shook her head. "I'm not sure. I just knew it. I know everything about it. Like I'd heard of it before once in a dream."
Draco nodded, accepting her explanation, and then dared to pick up his tea.
"I've been scouring every resource I had since the end of the war, trying to find a way back to you. I had to track down a long lost book and translate ancient Greek… And in order to get the book, I did something very wrong. I stole a priceless Gem in order to exchange it for the book. I will undoubtedly suffer consequences in the future, but it's worth it."
"What's worth it?" Hermione shuddered, thinking of the penalty that might be exacted. Prison time, or the liquidation of his remaining fortune. Either one would have devastated the Draco she knew.
But he looked up at her with his gentle eyes and sipped his tea. He looked like a man, confident of his decisions when he answered, "Hermione, you're worth it."
Then he smiled. "You know, in all the time we were together, I don't think we ever once sat down and enjoyed a cup of tea."
"It's quite pleasant. We should do it more often."
Draco set his tea down and stood up, coming towards her. Boldly, he placed one hand on the table and the other on the back of her chair before leaning down so that his lips hovered just above her own . "Yes, let's," he whispered.
Hermione felt the heat of his breath on her forehead. Her body screamed for his touch, and so she did the only thing she could. She put her face up to receive his kiss and returned it with all the power in her being.
Her fingers went to the fastenings of his robes, tugging them open. He broke away momentarily. "Then you believe me?" he asked.
"Yes, Draco."
"Do you still love me?"
"More than anything in this world," she answered, pulling him back to her. It was the truth, at long last.
Draco kissed the base of her neck, and tugged her robes over her shoulder, exposing it to his touch as well. His hands went under the fabric to touch her naked breasts, while she pressed up against his touch. She moaned as he urged her nipples to stand erect with the caress of his thumbs.
He managed to get her naked to her waist, all the while kissing her chest and then the dark aureoles, peaking to the swirling of his tongue.
"I love you," he murmured against her skin. Speech made her flesh vibrate, and Hermione moaned in pleasure.
"The bedroom," she ordered, still pulling at the complex fastenings of his robes. Draco took her hands, which were still on his collar, and kissed each one before sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed in the next room.
He planted her on the bed, and took off his robes. Hermione watched with fascination as he turned around to face her, his erection bobbing up and down as he came towards the bed. She reached out and took it in her hand, then went down on her knees. She stroked his length twice just with her hand, remembering how it felt inside her. Then she placed her mouth around it, letting her tongue linger over the weeping hole in the tip so she could remember his taste. Above her Draco gasped, but he stopped her.
"Not tonight."
Then he lifted her to the bed again and pulled off each article of clothing that remained on her, replacing it with his kiss.
"Inside me," she begged, and he complied.
In an instant, Draco was over her and pushing inside her where he had not been for two years. She found that he was perfect for her. He found her tighter than he had remembered as he began to move.
Her legs tightened around his waist pushing him deeper. He kissed her desperately, panting into her mouth until the breakneck speed of his thrusts prevented them from kissing. But even then, they stared at each other, neither one wanting to lose contact for one second of their love making.
Afterwards, they huddled together on the bed: afraid to speak lest they destroy the fragile mood between them and afraid to sleep lest they wake to find it all a dream.
And all Hermione could think was the question she had asked that morning. Is this heaven?
Yes. It is.
-----She awoke the next morning to find Draco standing at the edge of her bed, just over her night stand. He was still naked, save for his trousers, and looked as if he had just stepped out to use the toilet. Now he was examining something lying beside her clock.
"Where did you get this?" he started, staring down at the Rememberall on her night stand. He looked as shocked as she had ever seen him.
"I don't know. I just woke up with it. I was going to try to figure out it's secrets, but then you appeared and I forgot. Do you know what it is?"
"Yes. It's my mother's."
"What is it?"
"It's a sort of Rememberall, but it's charmed to be especially resistant to memory spells. My mother used to wear it in case father would try to obliviate her. If you're wearing it the moment the spell is cast, you can press the trigger later and all your memories will be restored. My father never knew about it. And I'd forgotten all about it."
"I don't remember why I have it, but all today I've felt as if I'd done everything before and that I'd just forgotten actually doing it."
"Here, I'll show you. If you're not afraid, that is."
He placed the object in her hand. "Just press it between your hands like you're praying."
She did as he instructed. Suddenly, it flashed like a star going nova, sparking in her palm.
In one tremulous instant, Hermione was thrown back onto her pillows, clutching at her head as image after image assaulted her. She saw Draco, clad in black, arriving on her doorstep. She remembered her confusion; her search…her findings. She remembered Harry's kiss burning on her lips, and the stirrings of her love for him that would never blossom now. She remembered the bruises left on her arms from Draco's fingers. She remembered her revelation at the manor, and the resurgence of her love before the strange Draco laid out his confession for her in all its terrible detail: how he had found a dark witch to send him to a place where he had never followed Voldemort and where the Orpheus curse could not touch him. She remembered the rusted trunk, the murderous fury that burned from within when she realized her lover was dead. And last of all, she remembered the other Draco's hands grabbing her, pushing her down as he leveled his wand at his own heart before he spoke the killing curse.
It was not May twelfth, but March seventeenth. Three months before the investigation had been opened. It was as if none of the events of the past three months had ever happened. Draco's death must have been the key.
"I can do what is right too…" he had said.
He had done what was right in the end. She had cursed him and reviled him, but that man had known what was right and had tried so hard to do it, but he had never learned. Yet for her sake he had killed himself because he had known his death would turn everything back to what it would have been had he never come, and he had known that would make her happy.
"Love me…" he had begged. His version of Hermione had loved him. He had obviously, through giving her Narcissa's Rememberall, hoped she would remember his sacrifice, perhaps so she might know he was capable of true feeling. But Hermione didn't know that man and didn't understand his worth. Maybe she might be able to figure it out someday, but for now Draco, her Draco was standing next to her bed and he was alive. And he was good.
"What did you see?" he asked. "You're shaking."
"I saw…" Hermione didn't know how to begin, so she reached for him, giving him a silent plea for him to hold her. "I saw you."