A/N: WE'RE ALMOST DONE! That's crazy. Thank you so much for sticking around. This fic will end at Chapter 20. But as promised, the next few be a bit longer than earlier chapters, and we're entering the end with this heftier 7000 word chapter.
Where the fuck is she? Could she be so upset about everything that has happened that she decided to play hooky today, of all days? But that didn't seem like Granger. Knowing her, she wouldn't miss a day of work or school even if she was one sneeze away from the infirmary. Was there another reason that I could be missing?
Or what if something had happened? Something could be wrong. Before I can stop myself, the backs of my eyelids are playing a reel of terrible things. One moment she is on the floor being tortured. The next, she's on her knees in front of Voldemort himself, begging him not to do it. Before I can find out what 'it' is, another vision of her corpse lying in front of a burning Hogwarts plays out. They go on like this for another moment before my heart rate finally starts to slow down, and I remember that my very presence in this room means that all those risks are off the table. The war is over, and Granger is safe, wherever she is.
But even if she wasn't, why should I care anymore? Did she really have that much of a hold on me that her well-being can take my attention away from my very own trial? What rubbish.
Despite my intense loss of awareness within the room, the trial has continued to move forward. Armus has stood once again and is calling on various members of the Wizengamot to present the facts that they have collected for the trial. One man, freckle-faced and short, stands up and reads off a list of names for the wizards that I'd been caught using the Cruciatus Curse on. My memories of attacking Boot, Creevey, Johnson, and Figg play out in front of me as they're listed.
"As the Wizengamot is aware, Mr. Colin Creevey was murdered by a Death Eater during the Battle of Hogwarts. Mr. Terry Boot and Ms. Angelina Johnson have already provided written testimony confirming that Draco Malfoy did indeed perform the Cruciatus Curse on them. However, Ms. Arabella Figg has requested to speak at today's trial. May we please bring Ms. Figg into the room?"
Figg begged for mercy and agreed to share what she knew. She didn't have any valuable information for me, and her lack of knowledge led to us having to return to Voldemort with fear in our voices. He would find a way to punish us somehow like he always did. The punishment came weeks later, in the form of making us do even dirtier work. Seeing Figg now, after everything that has happened, wouldn't be the brightest reunion.
The man who took Granger's spot hurriedly passes along the side of the room before stepping out into the hall. He returns moments later, leading Figg to the front of the room, directly in front of Armus' stand.
"Ms. Figg, do you recognise the man in front of you?"
She turns to me, wide-eyed and looking surprisingly comfortable, and gives a gentle nod. "Yes, that is Draco Malfoy."
"Could you please explain how you have come to know this man?"
"He knocked on my door during the winter of '97. I did not know who he was at first but figured he must be the Malfoy son thanks to that hair." She stops and looks around the room, not looking as if she is considering her words. Instead, she looks around as if there is a familiarity to it all. "He asked me about Harry Potter. I didn't know where he had gone off to, so I didn't have much to say."
She pauses again, but this time with a sense of finality. Nobody speaks for another minute, waiting for her to resume until it is clear she isn't planning on it.
"And can you confirm that this man used the Cruciatus Curse on you in order to extract information?"
"He did cast the curse, yes. Not very strong, that one."
"Ms. Figg, when you say that it was 'not very strong,' can you please elaborate?" Valencia asks, joining the conversation.
"The curse."
"The Cruciatus Curse?"
"Yes."
Again, nobody speaks, as if waiting for Figg to continue.
"What do you mean by that?"
"He cast the curse, and I had felt pain. But it was barely more than a hex."
My mind races back to that night, pointing my wand in her face as one of her cats watched with intensity. I heard screaming in my ears while it happened and had figured that it was her. But now it seems more likely that it was only happening in my head. Figg had merely groaned in pain rather than sinking to her knees in agony.
"And why do you think that is?"
"I don't think that he wanted to hurt me. He's just a boy, and he was even more of a boy when he came 'round."
Various members of the Wizengamot start to look at each other in confusion. Clearly, they had assumed that Figg's presence would signal that I was someone capable of great terrors. And as Figg was pointing out, I was hardly some dark and powerful wizard.
"Thank you, Ms. Figg. That will be all," Armus says before not-Granger escorts her out of the room.
The man that detailed my curses has sat back down. A woman stands up after the room has settled into quiet, and Not-Granger has returned to his seat by the fireplace.
"In addition to his own use of an unforgivable curse, Draco Malfoy has witnessed on over a dozen occasions the use of the Cruciatus Curse via other Death Eaters, including Corban Yaxley, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Antonin Dolohov, as revealed in previous trials. Draco Malfoy has also witnessed the use of the Killing Curse by the Dark Lord and made no efforts to protect the various victims."
The woman returns to her seat, introducing nobody. There is nobody to testify; they are all either dead or locked up in Azkaban. I turn to Valencia, who is analysing the Wizengamot. She nods at the now-seated woman as if having expected such telling words.
Another woman, dark-skinned and tall, stands up, ready to speak. "Various accounts have also proven that Draco Malfoy intended to kill Albus Dumbledore."
She continues to speak, detailing how they've uncovered my use of the Imperious Curse on multiple occasions during the assassination attempts. Valencia refutes them, reminding the room of my failures. Having lived it all in real-time and needing no reminders, my thoughts go back to Granger and of any other excuses as to why she isn't present today. Was she filled with regret? Had she really grown to care for me after such a lie? Or was she sitting in another room, listening in on the trial, too afraid to look me in the eye?
Finally, it is Valencia's turn to speak.
"You are all correct in believing that Draco intended to kill Albus Dumbledore. However, the attempt at his life was made under duress, as the Dark Lord had threatened the entire Malfoy Family. It was designed as a punishment for Lucius Malfoy's failures the year prior. And as we are all aware, it was not Draco Malfoy who killed Albus Dumbledore. It was Severus Snape, whose crimes have been posthumously pardoned, thanks to his allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix."
The truth of Snape's actions comes back to me again, inspiring a twisted feeling in my chest. He had worked alongside our family, the Dark Lord, and the entire population of Hogwarts for so long, carrying lies that were heavier than I could imagine. And throughout it all, he had chosen to protect me, both in life and in death. Valencia details how he took an unbreakable vow with my mother, twisting the knife in my chest even further. She continues to discuss how vital Snape's role was in defeating the Death Eaters and Voldemort.
"As you can all see, the war might not have been won without the heroic efforts of Severus Snape. Though his crimes were unforgivable to some, he remains a hero. And it is that very hero who believed in Draco Malfoy, as I would not be here today to defend them if he hadn't. In addition to ensuring a proper defense for Mr. Malfoy, Severus Snape also left behind various memories to support a full pardon. May we please bring in the pensieve?"
There is more shuffling in the room as not-Granger leaves again, followed by a member of the Wizengamot. The wait is longer this time, and the pair finally return, levitating the pensieve. It is dropped in the center of the room, where Armus and Valencia can both approach. Valencia pulls out a handful of vials containing Snape's memories and hands them to Armus for confirmation. He drops them in, one at a time, and plunges his head into the pensieve just as another wizard approaches and casts an unknown spell, allowing the memory to be displayed for the entire room.
The hall lights up with an image of darkness. It is the night of Dumbledore's death, and the room watches as he tries to convince me to accept his help. My wand is as shaky as my voice, and at least one tear falls from my face before the Death Eaters arrive to witness his death. It is clear that everybody but me is excited for him to perish, even as Snape eventually enters and moves forward, fulfilling the task in my place. Dumbledore falls like I've watched a thousand times in my nightmares, and the memory fades.
The room returns to normal for a moment before another round of illumination. I see myself again, only younger. From the looks of my hair, it must be around my third year at Hogwarts. Snape and I are in an empty classroom, but the memory does not return to me at first. It feels as if I'm watching it for the first time with everybody else in the room.
"Why would anybody choose to become a Death Eater?" The younger me asks Snape, desperate for somebody to finally be honest with him. The question brings the memory back to mind. I can recall the day almost perfectly now. It had been months since I learned the truth about my father and his friends being Death Eaters and what that had meant. The world continued to believe that my father had only done certain crimes while under the Imperius Curse, but I had started having my doubts, especially after the incident at Hogwarts in second year.
The memory continues, with Snape trying to maintain the façade of being on the side of the Death Eaters. He spares no sensitivities as he reveals the actions that some committed against Mudbloods during the first war before going on to share the reasons that some chose such a path. He had said that it could bring glory and honor, along with protection.
"I would never do that. Sure, there is scum out there, even here at Hogwarts," the younger me spat, no doubt thinking about Granger and her family at the time. "But nobody deserves to die, especially if they're a wizard or witch."
The memories warp again, showing a few more instances of the younger me confiding in Severus. Finally, Armus pulls himself free of the pensieve and returns to his seat, signalling for Valencia to continue her defense.
"As you can all see from the memories of Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy was never somebody who could kill Albus Dumbledore or become the same sort of Death Eater as his father and many others. He was scared and only wanted what was best for his family. Unfortunately, as you have all learned, this family was one that was working against his morals."
Valencia continues with her script about me being born into the wrong family. The words are the same as the ones she has shared with me in our meetings, but they are delivered with far more passion and confidence. The reminder that she might truly believe in me comes back, stinging the corners of my eyes.
She finishes her speech with something that had never once crossed my mind.
"We will never know the answer to what I am about to ask you to consider. But based on these memories and what we have learned about Draco Malfoy, one must wonder if, given the right circumstances, he may have shifted sides and provided as much intelligence for the Order as Severus Snape. It seems as if Snape may have been preparing him to do exactly that had it not been for the speed at which the war moved forward."
Me, a spy for the Order. Would I have done it? And more importantly, why didn't I? Snape makes it seem so easy, and while the dream of it is almost intoxicating now, I may never have the courage to do something so brave.
"We cannot make guesses at what will never happen, Ms. Collins. I urge the rest of the Wizengamot to dismiss this idea as hearsay."
The room nods in agreement, but it is clear that it is too late. A few expressions in the room show that they have more faith in a younger me than I do. Is it really that easy to have faith in somebody? To have seen their worst, and believe that there are brighter days ahead, far worthier of remembering? If Arabella Figg could hold no ill will toward me, and a room full of wizards once set on ending my freedom were willing to be swayed, then perhaps it's me that has been wrong this whole time. Granger did something wrong, but hadn't I done far worse in the grand scheme of things? If anybody could forgive me, or my mother, or Severus Snape, then surely, I could forgive one lie.
But then again, wasn't that lie repeated over and over again, each time we kissed, or she laughed with me, or I confided in her? She knew what she was doing. She knew that I wouldn't be pleased with the circumstances of her visits. She would have told me if she thought otherwise. It wasn't just one lie, or one mistake. It would be easier to make sense of it all if she was just sitting in this damn room like she was supposed to be.
"We have one more collection of memories before the pensieve is taken away, Your Honour," Valencia resumes, pulling another set of vials from her robes. "I have various memories from the mother of the accused, Narcissa Malfoy."
Once again, the room nods in agreement, as if expecting memories from her to be entered into the court. The same procedure happens as before, where Armus steps back down and confirms the validity of the vials, before plunging headfirst into the shallow waters.
Everything turns peaceful, at least just for a moment. The memories start with kindness between Mother and me. They seem deliberately planted by Valencia to remind the Wizengamot that there is a Draco Malfoy that exists separately from Death Eater Draco Malfoy. The room sees me helping Mother in the gardens, whizzing around the Manor on a broomstick, and caring for her on a casual day. The room grows slightly darker as the memories move forward, and she watches me take the Dark Mark. In a room surrounded by marked Death Eaters, I kneel before Voldemort as he singes my skin. I scream in pain, like those that came before me, until the mark is made permanent. Later, after the room cleared out, Mother notices the sadness behind my eyes and turns to me, giving me space to drop my mind from occlumency and shudder a breath of regret that only she would ever hear, until now. There are more memories like this, of me filled with anger or disgust at Voldemort's orders or avoiding confrontations with other Death Eaters so that I might miss out on more brutality. Few of them come from a surprise, but my heart swells at each act of love that Mother shows.
Mother's memories take far longer than Snape's. They may have both been on my side, but while Snape may have had to spend time digging around for helpful memories, Mother must have had to cut down the list. Was that love? Sifting through darkness knowing that it was all worth it for the character of somebody's heart?
What was inside of Hermione's heart?
No, Granger's. She has a heart, but one that is too different than mine.
What about how she made mine feel?
It shouldn't matter anymore.
It doesn't matter anymore.
But it does. I wouldn't be thinking about it during my own trial if it didn't.
Maybe there was some truth within the lies that she let through.
"We have one more question regarding Draco Malfoy," Armus starts to say after the pensieve has been taken away from the room. "What of your future? As many of us have so tragically seen, such as in the case of your own father, many wizards capable of the dark arts move on to commit even more atrocities, even after begging us to see otherwise. How can we know that you will not do the same?"
Valencia looks at me expectantly. Her eyes are filled with acceptance, as if she knows that her part is over. It is my turn to try to convince them to let me find some sort of future. But what could I say that would be even close to enough?
"He will not do the same, because Draco Malfoy is a good person."
It's… No. No, I've occluded. I must have given an answer so poor that I found myself back in Azkaban, left to imagine how things could have gone differently. I shake my head, pinch the skin of my forearm, and blink half a dozen times. But the room is filled with chatter now, including various gasps of disbelief.
"What are you doing here?" I hear from the side of the room, where Wizengamot member Elliada Lacework is now standing, pointing a finger behind me. "You can't be here!"
Then it is real…
"I can, actually," comes out from her soft voice, sounding hardened from what was no doubt a series of rehearsals. She doesn't look at me as she passes through the center of the room, approaching Armus with her head held high and her shoulders forced back. He accepts a piece of rolled up parchment from her, which he reads with a roll of his eyes, already knowing what it must say.
"Hermione Granger, you have the floor."
She finally turns to me before starting to speak, landing her eyes on mine. The rest of the room seems to disappear once I settle mine into hers, and my body fills with both surprise and relief. She is safe, and the comfort in knowing it beyond my best guesses is overwhelming. Even if I know I shouldn't care, would I ever stop being able to?
My intense gaze seems to startle her for a second at most before she settles back into her stance, returning to her rehearsed words.
"I have been touched by the darkest corners of the war. I've lost friends and even some that I considered family. I sacrificed everything for the sake of ending the war. I have even been tortured by one of Draco's own family members, and it is a feeling that I will never forget. By all accounts, I should hate the man that is standing before you," she starts, as if speaking only to me. "But he is nothing more than a victim, like many of us were. We cannot blame those who fought to survive, even if their motives were more personal than others. This is especially true when it is somebody who has shown a clear desire to be good, and even more regret for taking his time becoming it."
"And what proof do you have?" Armus asks, causing Hermione to turn around and face him.
"Upon learning of the Malfoy family capture, which was only possible because Draco allowed himself and his family to be captured, a member of the Wizengamot instructed me to use my childhood connection to Draco as a way to monitor his return to Malfoy Manor. As per the orders of Mrs. Lacework, I was to visit him and try to uncover any lingering connections to other Death Eaters or illegal organisations, all while reporting back to the Ministry," she says with her back still turned to me.
"This was almost a clever strategy," she continues. "I went into it willingly, harbouring resentment for Draco's antics at Hogwarts, and at first believed that I might not be surprised if he continued to align himself with darkness. But it did not take more than a few visits to realise how wrong I had been."
She turns back to me now. While her earlier speech sounded planned, her next words start to crack under the weight of emotion.
"It is beyond clear to me that Draco Malfoy is a good person, filled with remorse but also kindness, who was unfortunate to find himself caught in the middle of a war that his parents had regretfully tangled themselves in."
"While this is all well and good, Hermione," Elliada Lacework interrupts, standing from her chair. "Some things still deserve to be punished, no matter what motivations lie behind them."
"If you are planning on imprisoning everybody who used an unforgiveable curse under the stress of the war, then you will have far more trials to prepare for. Including my own," Hermione admits, drawing a gasp of surprise from a handful of Wizengamot members. Even Valencia looks surprised, despite her previously calm demeanor at Hermione's arrival.
"And even Harry Potter's," Hermione adds with a smirk after the crowd has settled, causing them to fall back into a deep chatter. Her connection to the perceived saviour of the Wizarding World cannot possibly be lost amongst the crowd now, and she knows it.
"Settle down, everyone," Armus booms, even though his own face has gone white. "Hermione Granger, do you have anything else to add?"
"No, Your Honour."
"Then you are dismissed," he instructs.
She stays standing in place, eyes still locked on mine, as Armus waits for her departure. If I was a Legilimens and could read her mind, what would I find? But she is no Occlumens. Even without the skill, her eyes are as telling as ever, as if pleading with me one last time. All I can do, despite the overwhelming urge to cross the space between us, is tighten my lips and nod quickly, like it might be my last chance to show forgiveness. And it is that finality that makes me mean it even more.
Armus allows everybody a minute of thought collection upon Hermione's departure. After the room has settled once again, he returns to all our attention and confirms that there will be no further interruptions or evidence brought to the court. Valencia agrees, thanking the Wizengamot for their time. In response, Armus explains that they will allow us a quick recess so that they may discuss the findings.
It takes a moment to gather the strength to stand. There had been weeks of preparation, both practical and mental, for something that was over in the blink of an eye. Now it was all going to be decided behind a closed door, and I would do nothing but wait, like so many times before. And what about Hermione? She had clearly risked her job, in addition to her reputation, for a few minutes in front of the Wizengamot. And she had done it for me. Would anything that I ever do from now until the end of my life be as selfless?
Valencia interrupts my thoughts to escort me out of the room and back into the corridors of the Ministry. There has been a room just for us, given as a waiting space, until the Wizengamot could make their decision. Perhaps they figured it wouldn't be a hasty one. I almost ask Valencia how she thinks things went, but then I see Hermione waiting inside of the room as we turn the corner. Valencia stops short of the room, giving us privacy.
"Draco, I couldn't help myself. I had to do something to prove to you that I know how much of a mistake I made," she starts.
"Stop," I interrupt her.
"No, Draco, because if I stop and you still haven't forgiven me… Well, then I don't know what there is left for me to do. I need you to forgive me, and it's as much for your sake as it is for mine."
She's right. I mean, when has Hermione Granger ever been wrong?
"They made it sound like I had to do it if I ever wanted to work in the Ministry. But I stopped reporting back almost immediately. I never told them anything that you shared with me. I would never do that to you. All I told them was that you were fine, that you weren't using magic. They didn't think anything of it, because they assumed that you were just so set in your ways that you wouldn't open up to a Muggle-born."
"Shh," I whisper, closing the space between us and sitting across from her. Without thinking, I pull my hands from my side and place them palms-up in the middle of the table. She looks down at them with a sigh of relief, and puts her hands in mine, and for a moment it feels like flying. Like freedom, or uninfected joy. I collapse my head onto my arms, suddenly hit with the weight of the unknown. I can't do more without knowing. Couldn't dream of taking her in my arms or kissing her without knowing if there will be a next time. And she seems to understand, because instead of trying to keep talking she starts tracing circles into my palms until it's the only sensation that I can focus on.
We stay like that, hand in hand, for what is either five minutes or five hours. I'm not so sure that either of us could ever say which. But eventually, Valencia knocks on the open door and tells us that it's time.
Hermione doesn't unglue herself from my skin, even after we enter the main chamber of the Wizengamot. Members may have wondered about our relationship before, but it's even more telling now, with our skin intertwined. She stays with me, like it's a promise, even after I sit down and brace myself to be the center of attention again.
"We are prepared to vote."
There is nothing left to say.
"All of those in favour of a life sentence for Draco Malfoy?" Armus asks, looking around the room. Two members raise their hands, including Elliada Lacework. Without looking, I can feel Hermione's eyes burn into Elliada's skin.
"All of those in favour of a full pardon, allowing Draco Malfoy to leave here today with complete freedom?" More hands raise at this question, but it remains fewer than half of the room. I glance toward Valencia, who is clearly trying to count the hands raised.
Armus nods, as if having predicted such an outcome, and offers his verdict. "Draco Malfoy, you have clearly shown remorse for your crimes and show potential for doing something good with the life that you've been handed. However, the truth remains that you willingly accepted the Dark Mark and contributed to various crimes committed under Voldemort's reign. You will be sentenced to Azkaban for a total of six months and will have daily yard and mail privileges."
My mind goes flat at the mention of Azkaban. I would be going back. Why would I have ever thought otherwise? I was a criminal. But that wasn't all he said, which is affirmed when I overhear Hermione whispering the sentence to Valencia in frustration. Six months was nothing after all of this.
The room wraps up quickly. The members of the Wizengamot start leaving, both through the front door and the fireplace behind them, and Armus is the first one. We get ready to leave shortly after, too, to start the shuffle of sending me to Azkaban. Valencia leads the way on our march to the visitor's fireplace, and Hermione starts letting her anger ooze out the second we've put the Wizengamot behind us.
"Six months? That's rubbish! He's already been to Azkaban! They don't need to send him back to get the message across!"
"I'm not surprised at all," Valencia replies. "The last thing they want is some youngster getting ideas about getting into the dark arts. They needed to show that there are always punishments."
"Honestly, I think this was their plan all along. While I was still working for the Ministry," Hermione starts to add, confirming that she's left her work behind, "it never seemed like a top priority case. Even today, it's like they were barely prepared for our defense. Er, your defense, Valencia. They always knew that they would put him back there."
I clear my throat, reminding them of my presence. After all, it was my prison sentence. Shouldn't I be able to get the most words in?
"I can do six months. Honestly, after everything, I don't think I would have been able to forgive myself if I had gotten off without any more time in there."
"Well, you might have said that earlier, Draco. Would have saved me an awful lot of trouble," Valencia scoffs with a hint of amusement behind her voice. "We have one hour before you're expected in Azkaban. I bargained with the Wizengamot after they moved the trial up, saying that you'd need to get your affairs in order since you're in charge of the Malfoy estate."
The three of us accept a bag of Floo powder from another nameless worker, stepping through the ash before reappearing at the manor.
"If you've got anything to ask of the house elf, now is the time. Otherwise, it might be nice to take one last shower and have some good food before we leave," she suggests before looking at Hermione, and then back to me, knowing that a deep clean won't be a priority. "I'll be in my study. Meet me back here before the hour is up."
Valencia turns the corner, leaving Hermione and I alone. Before I can suggest our next move, or even take the time to think about the reality of the situation, she is falling into me with a heavy kiss, like it's the last one we'll ever share. It's as hungry and hurried as our first, and she starts to press her entire body into mine.
"Say you forgive me," she whispers between kisses, desperate to put an end to our feud.
"I told you not to testify for me," I say, causing worry to wrinkle her face until I kiss her again. "Foolish girl."
But could I say those three words? I forgive you? The sting of it was still there, freshly burning. Six months may be enough to soften the blow and to realise how it was me being the foolish one, but I wouldn't have anybody to come back to unless I accepted her now.
"I forgive you," I give her, pressing my forehead to hers as she blinks back tears.
Now we're acting on borrowed time, and it was ticking. Without another word, I grab her hand and hurry up to my bedroom, closing the door behind us before Tomsy has the chance to pop by and start crying over my upcoming departure.
"How do you want to spend your last hour, Draco?" Hermione asks, sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes looking up at me. I could take her now and run off to Azkaban with a memory that's enough to last the entire six months. But it wouldn't be right. It would be rushed, sloppy, and lacking all the things that I've wanted to do to her since the thought first crossed my mind.
"I want to memorise every inch of you," I say as she nods, as if accepting the answer. "But we're not going to do that. Not if I can't do it tomorrow, and the day afterward."
Before she can respond, I move forward and press my lips gently into hers. They taste like salt and vanilla. Then I trail my lips to her cheeks, and to her nose, and her forehead, all filling me with the familiar intoxication of her skin. I keep going, placing slow and deliberate kisses down every inch of skin that I can see, until I'm kissing the side of her neck, consumed by the smell of her shampoo.
She moves for her wand, no doubt trying to charm off her clothes in the name of speed. I grab her wrist before she can, causing her wand to drop to the side, and pin both arms behind her head, pushing her down with them.
"I want to remember what it feels like to take off your clothes," I whisper, gently pulling at the hem of her top until it's above her skirt, ready to be unbuttoned. I start from the top, unbuttoning each one as I place a kiss on the newly revealed skin, moving down with my hands. Each freckle gets its own kiss, and I memorise the placement of them as I go. Her top slips off, and we emit matching sighs once the warm air of the room touches her bare chest. It wouldn't be too late to change my mind and ask her to let me fuck her…
A blush grows across her cheeks as she catches me eyeing her, no doubt guessing what has crossed my mind.
"Next time," she promises, before starting to pull down the zipper at the side of her skirt. "I'm not going anywhere."
But I would be. Without her, without anybody. But I could have her here, and that seems like a good start.
Her confirmation that she'll wait for me gives me motivation to keep going, even as the space between my thighs begins to scream at me to do more. I may not take everything, but I could have something, which my body starts to get behind as I pull her skirt down her thighs, followed by pale pink knickers. If I'm to let myself have anything, then it'll be this.
There are still so many inches of her left to remember, and so I leave behind traces of my kiss from her ankles to her knees, all while gently tracing the freckled patterns on her inner thigh with the lightest touch that my excitement can allow. She still isn't sure where my intentions lie, or if I'm just teasing her until her promised 'next time.'
I had waited for her to beg for it last time, knowing that her words would come. But the ever-present ticking clock in the back of my mind would have to grant me permission to speed things up, and so with tongued trail and rougher kisses, I move closer to her, eagerly approaching the place where I am so privileged to be able to taste.
Like before, her hands find their way into my hair. She lazily twists strands around her fingers, tightening her grip as I find the places that make her squirm. Eventually I find a spot where she can't stop herself from pushing my head deeper into her thighs, and I fuck her with my tongue until my name is falling from her lips. My hands wrap around the outsides of her thighs, and I dig my nails into the softness of her, drunk on the feeling of her letting me touch her like this.
As if on queue, she falls apart with a shuddering breath, all for me. I do nothing but take it in, wishing I could freeze the moment in time, but know that it might just be enough to last me six months. Once her moan has come to an end, I dip my head back for one more taste, letting the sweetness and the wetness of it all burn into my memory alongside the colour of her eyes, the taste of her lips, and the sound of my name when it's her speaking it.
After I've wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, dazed from the rush of it all, she catches her breath and pulls me onto the bed so that I'm sitting where she had been. Hermione then straddles me and wraps her arms around my neck, and the idea of fucking her comes into my mind again. But instead of teasing me or kissing me, she lets us both fall back into the blankets in a tight embrace. And before I know it, tears are rolling down the corners of my eyes and into the bed. She notices, and lets out a cry of her own, understanding that the situation is heavier than just our shared desires for each other. Our tears mingle together, like our bodies already have, and we lay in a pained comfort for a few more minutes. I couldn't even start to think of what I would do for just a few minutes more than that.
"We need to get up soon," she says quietly, making no indication that she might move.
"I was wondering who would be the one brave enough to say it," I add, sharing in her stillness.
Another moment passes, and she sits up, grabs her wand, and dresses her body with magic. Even covered, I still take a glance at her figure.
"I'm going to miss this bed," she says, looking around at our surroundings.
I notice the bright green blanket of mine tossed to the side and remember how I wrapped her in it the first time that she had fallen asleep at the manor. It had been one of the few things that remained in my life from before I turned our family in, and it would be with me for long after. Somehow, it had woven itself into some of the largest events of my life.
"You've given me something to remember you. Why don't you take this to remember me?" I ask, holding it out for her. A faint smile crosses her lips as she takes it, pulling it to her chest and craning her neck down to it.
"It smells like you," she smiles.
"Funny. I always think that it smells like you."
There is nothing more to do at the manor. No meals that beg to be eaten, or showers that need to be taken. Azkaban will leave me hungry and dirty anyway, so why delay the inevitable? We grab hands and walk back down the staircase, saying goodbye to my room in silence.
Tomsy is waiting at the bottom of the staircase, covered in a mess of his own tears.
"Tomsy, I want you to give Hermione full access to anything in the Manor while I'm gone. She can stay over, use the potions room, eat our food, and do anything else that she wishes. And if there is anything in the library that she wants to read, then you are to levitate it in front of her and turn the pages, okay? She can even bring that damn cat over if she pleases."
"I don't know if I could stand to be here without you," she responds.
"It's more for Tomsy's benefit than yours, to be honest," I whisper back, eyeing the heartbroken elf. "He really likes you."
She smirks, and thanks Tomsy in advance for his kindness.
"I'll see you in six months, Tomsy."
"Tomsy will take good care of the manor for Master Draco."
"I'm sure you will," I tell him, before nodding for him to leave. "You can tell Valencia that we're ready."
He rushes off to fetch her. The sound of her heels starts up in the distance, and I feel my hand gripping onto Hermione's with as much strength as I can muster. Even though I've gotten to say my goodbyes and have made peace with my brief leave of absence, the threat of Azkaban sits at the bottom of my stomach, daring me to come back into its frozen embrace. If I was to ever have anything good in this world, then I'd need to face the beast one last time.
A/N: I really am waiting until the last possible moment to write some good ol' smut, aren't I? Two chapters to go. I will likely have to skip next week because family is visiting me over the weekend, but the 19th chapter should be posted by May 29th.
Also, a bit of a shoutout to author MistressLynn's fic "From Wiltshire, With Love." I am currently reading her incredible Dramione fic that is about what would have happened if Draco spied for the Order. I wasn't planning on including that piece in Valencia's defense, but the power of MistressLynn's fic made me want to include it. Go read it if you haven't already!