Side-ship: Draco Malfoy/Holly Green

Warning: Implied/Referenced Major Character Death

The thunderclouds boomed, pounding against the windowpane, roaring in violent fury. Bright, blinding, violet lightning followed, illuminating the night sky as it rained, soaking the woods outside the window.

The minute hand on the old grandfather clock reached twelve, and it clanged seven times.

The wind rattled against the lattice, then blasted it open, forcing its way inside the room.

Hermione jumped up from her seat and strained against it until it rammed sealed, then wavered to the couch, and sank onto it.

She pulled the heavy, thick, ancient-looking portfolio lying on it closer. It was made of leather, and had only two words engraved on the front: my love.

She hadn't meant to touch that one carving Draco had specifically asked her not to touch, the wooden cross, but—

Well she did mean to, but it was so finely carved, and the way he seemed so mysterious about it, maybe he'd hand-carved it, and she was so curious—and he was out at work anyways. He wouldn't know, would he? He was due home any minute but—she just wanted to know so badly.

She'd run her fingers over it, appreciating it, and suddenly it twisted, and a concealed compartment pushed out from the mantelpiece, where she'd found the journal. And if this book was hidden away, it meant—Draco had secrets.

She loved Draco, her husband, with her whole heart and soul, but sometimes he mystified her. He insisted he was a light eater and ate a very limited amount of all the dinners she prepared. He was the CFO of his company, and departed early in the morning, returning in the evening.

When he'd first started dating her, he somehow knew everything about her- flowers and colours and food, and- all of it, and passed it off as coincidental. He had no family at all. No cousins, or aunts or uncles or grandparents. His parents had died in a burglary gone horribly. He said he was 25, but he could easily pass off as 20. The manor—manor—had been his parents.

And now she had this one, confounding opportunity to know and-

she was just so curious. And he was her husband, so she had some right to know didn't she?

The journal smelled of old, crisp paper—a scent she loved (he'd known that too)—and it was bound together by a simplistic red ribbon. She undid the bow, holding her breath.

To her confusion, it was all about- Draco and Holly Marshall. Her heart sank. He'd never told her about his first wife. And he assuredly didn't look 40 years old.

But there was more. His matrimony certification to- Holly Green, in 1962. Little memoirs, like movie stubs, carnivals and circuses and such. Letters from and to Holly. A few valentine's day cards. A small poster of Pretty Vacant by the Sex Pistols. A drawing of a curly-haired, dimple-cheeked woman who laughed, shoulders heaving, a wide smile. Between its folds, she found a pressed chrysanthemum, looking like it could crumble any minute.

In the last few pages, there was a photo. Her breath hitched. Holly was a brown-haired woman, all in curls. She had brown eyes and dimples.

She looked just like Hermione.

But this woman was not Hermione. She wore a fringed suede miniskirt, with a yellow buttoned up top. She wore heavy, golden loops as earrings, and a silver heart-shaped locket.

Hermione's hand flew to her throat. That was her locket.

She stood up shakily. She was startled to feel wetness on her cheeks. Draco had a first wife. Draco had had plastic surgery. Something was very wrong—

"Where did you find that book?"

She glanced at the doorway. He was standing there, paler than moonlight, contrasting with the violent flush to his cheeks. He was panicked. He crossed the room in an instant, pulling Holly's memoir away from her, sealing it close.

She could almost see his thought process in his head. "I told you not to touch the cross!—"

"Draco—" her voice broke. "What is this?"

He was panicked again. Cajoling. "Hermione, please, I can—"

"Why didn't you tell me about—Holly? Was she—she your first wife?" She whispered.

He'd lied. There'd been- another woman. And she'd never known.

"No," he pleaded. "I can explain—"

She tried to move away but his hand on her wrist was stiff and strong, like chains securing her to where- she'd thought she belonged. "I think I'm going to stay with Harry and Ginny—"

"No!" He all but yelled frantically. "Hermione, I love you."

"Then who's Holly?" She asked, voice tiny.

He was quiet. Too quiet. Then eventually—

"She's you. You're her."

Her breath stammered. "W-what?"

"Hermione," he whispered, a reverent plea. "I'm—I'm a vampire."

And abruptly it all made sense. Explained away all of his strange behaviour. He took a step or two more towards her.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she questioned.

He bowed his head, looking dejected. "I wasn't sure if you'd love me once you knew I—I'm an undead monster."

She flared up. "You're being ludicrous. I love you because of who you are. Because you're- unconventional doesn't change anything."

Then he rushed into her, melting against her body. He pulled her down the couch, wrapping his arms around her. He gripped her hand, squeezing gently, giving a grateful little smile.

"Tell me about Holly—or me, or whatever." she insisted.

He sighed. "Holly was you in your last life."

She stared at him, a lump in her throat. "I thought, she was someone else..." she muttered.

He raised his hand, his palm rubbing her face to cup her cheek. "How could I ever love anyone but you, in any lifetime?" he said softly.

She shut her eyes, moving her cheek against his palm. "In the 1960s?" she probed.

"I was born Draco Malfoy. My parents were Lord and Lady Lucius and Narcissa Black-Malfoy," he began formally. "The 1968 flu pandemic devastated England, eliminating most of my family. For wizardkind, it was a horde of wild, ungovernable vampires."

She drew a sharp breath.

"We were to be married, thenvon our wedding eve, we were spending the night before our union together. They attacked us."

"Oh, Draco..." she said, pressing his hand. He dragged her in, until she was curled into him.

"The vampires killed—killed you. I tried to save you, and I failed. I got turned instead. I couldn't save you."

She kissed his jaw. "It's okay, I'm here now," she said soothingly.

His voice was rough. "After you died, I was desolate. I didn't know what to do with myself. I had everything. My parent's estates and money were left to me, I was immeasurably rich. But it was never enough because I didn't have you."

He nuzzled his face into her hair. "I solely roamed the world. When I met you, I—felt like life had given me another possibility with you."

"And I couldn't help but fall in love with you." she smiled.

He chuckled. They were wrapped into each other, silent for a moment. Just existing.

"So, what about sunlight?" she ultimately asked.

He gave a muffled snort. "Myth. Old vampires simply preferred the night more."

"The cross, then?"

His hold on her stiffened. "It was my father's. He had made it himself. But vampires simply didn't like Christ."

"Garlic?"

"Critically obnoxious. It makes our fangs hurt."

"Fangs..." she pondered.

He was still, then pulled away. "Hermione—I hope you'll still let me love you now you know. But—if you want me to leave you, I will do whatever you want."

"Don't be silly, Draco. I love you. I don't want to leave you." she insisted.

He sighed, comforted. "I love you too."

There was another moment of tranquillity. She took a breath, mind spinning. Draco was holding on to her tightly, like he never wanted to let her go.

"Hermione...? Can I ask you for something?" he asked warily.

"I'll do anything for you," she said passionately.

He wavered. "Hermione, I don't know what I'll do when you die again," he said softly. "I wantvI want everlastingness with you. I want you forever."

She gasped. "You want to turn me into a vampire too?"

He was very quiet. "Unless—you don't want to. In that case, I'll do- whatever you want."

But then she thought of countless times, of neverending days and nights and dawns and dusks, with Draco, forever, eternity and infinity. It sounded like paradise.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Draco!"

He was hopeful, his eyes like melted steel. "Yes?"

She couldn't help herself; she kissed him, throwing her arms around him, crawling into his lap. "I always want to be with you," she said breathlessly.