MARCH
The snow had officially cleared on the first day of March. Harry announced at breakfast that they would start taking up defence skills again after lunch. His hands had been tapping on the table all mourning.
So were Hermione's.
She'd woken knowing what today's date was before she could even fully open her eyes. Draco's face was smooshed into the side of her breast while he slept, and she mindfully played with his hair while she thought about the importance in which today held.
Unsure of whether or not she wanted to be touched that morning, she got up and showered before he woke. The hot water eased the strain on her back, but not on her mind.
"You're quiet," Draco whispered to her at breakfast. "Everything okay?"
Hermione had nodded and said she wasn't feeling very well. It wasn't a lie. She had a migraine that forced her to listen to the flow of her own blood.
Though it wasn't an illness that was to blame. It was Ron Weasley.
Harry was in his room when everyone else was cleaning up dishes. Hermione sought him out, knowing that whatever she was feeling, he was feeling it ten fold.
"You know, I never really knew whether he loved his birthday or not," he had said when she sat down beside him. His arm automatically curled around her frame.
"I think he liked the attention, and being around people," Hermione answered. "But I doubt he enjoyed the presents that much."
"A sweater each year in different colours can only excite a man twice in one lifetime. Poor bloke had it more than both of our fingers combined could count."
"He loved those Keeper gloves you gave him in sixth year. That was one of your better gift giving moments."
Harry laughed as he said, "He hated the alarm you gave him in third year."
Hermione laughed too, and then her laughter turned into tears. She rolled herself into Harry's embrace and cried into his chest. They sobbed holding onto one another.
"I miss him," she confessed through snot. "I miss him every single day and I hate him for leaving us."
"Me too. Every day when I wake up, I have this second where I still feel as if I'm in the dormitories at school, and that he'll be snoring on the bed next to me. Then I come to and realise it's Dean snoring next door. But in that split second that he's still alive and everything feels right."
She felt that too. Everytime she dreams, somewhere in that unconscious world of hers, Ron is still breathing. He's okay.
Then she wakes up, and he's not okay. He's gone.
"Do you feel guilty?" Hermione asked. "Everytime you smile, or laugh. You feel as if he should be here with us? Smiling and laughing, as well."
Harry rubbed her back. "More so when Ginny was here. Every time she and I were together, I felt as if I was betraying Ron for being happy without him. Like I was pretending as if the world didn't need him anymore."
"I understand. I used to think that guilt was drowning me, I was scared I might not ever be able to resurface."
"And now?"
She sighed. "And now, I don't know if I am distracted or if I'm healing. Are we allowed to move on, Harry? Because I may never stop mourning him."
"Me either. But he'd probably be pretty pissed off if he saw us trying to not move on."
"More pissed than if he knew I was sleeping with Draco Malfoy?"
Harry scoffed, and his whole body moved when he chuckled. "I dunno. Maybe."
Hermione imagined that if there was a parallel universe where Ron survived, and she'd somehow found a way to still be with Draco, then he would have definitely been pissed. She and him would have a falling out, and their friendship would be awkward for the better part of a year, but when he'd finally realised that Draco wasn't the prick he used to be, they'd be okay again.
She would have much rather lost Ron for a few months, than the forever that reality gave her.
"We should check on the twins," Hermione said. "They weren't at breakfast."
"I was with them last night. They drank themselves pretty silly once I left, I reckon."
She helped Harry into his crutches and they both made their way over to the granny flat. Fred and George were nursing what looked to be murderous headaches on the front lawn.
Fred got up first, giving Harry a solid shoulder smack. George took Hermione in, similar to a bear attack. He hugged her so tight that she folded in and cried for the second time.
At some point Dean joined, and all of the Gryffindor alumni reminisced on good memories of their schooling days and family moments with Ron. A few tears shed, but there was more laughter than sadness.
They chose to look at it as more of a celebratory day of the seventeen years he did get, rather than the decades worth of birthdays he didn't.
Andromeda called them in when lunch was ready.
In the hallway, Draco was coming down the stairs and placed a hand on her lower back coming off the final step.
"I didn't know it was his birthday today," he said, with a twang of pity in his tone. "I'm sorry."
Everyone else went through to the kitchen. "It's okay," she replied. "I didn't know it was going to have such a hold on me until I woke up this morning. I'm sorry I was cold to you at breakfast."
"There's no need to apologise. You are entitled to shut me out for as long as you want."
"I don't want to shut you out."
He stepped into her, keeping his hand on her back. "Should you need to, the attic is not as bad to sleep in as you might think. Say the word, and I'll leave you alone tonight."
"Draco-"
"Should you need to, Hermione."
His fingers brushed along her spine when he walked by and followed through to the kitchen. Even though he'd been using her first name for a few weeks now, it still left her with shivers when he said it.
He made it sound like warm honey.
Hermione eventually made her own way to lunch, and nibbled at the marmalade sandwiches. Somehow, Andromeda had given her exactly what she needed. Something her mother would have made if she'd known she was down.
Draco didn't loop his ankle around hers under the table like he usually did. He was giving her space and Hermione couldn't work out if that was what she wanted.
When his hand fell to his knee after he'd finished eating, she laced her fingers with his for no one but them to know.
He squeezed her hand twice, and she rubbed her thumb over his knuckle.
The mood was low, but Cho kept up cheerful topics, to which Ophelia helped. Fred and George managed to shake off their hangovers and provide a belly aching worth of banter to the table. Dean was left in stitches after one particular joke.
"Alright everyone," Harry clapped his hands. "Time to head outside."
Draco offered to do the dishes, seeing as he was the only one without magic, and joined the rest of the group once he'd put Teddy down for a nap. When he arrived, he leant on a hay stack with his arms crossed.
Hermione gave him a kiss on the cheek when no one was watching.
Today they were reworking blocking spells. Harry had demonstrated well enough on what the spells should look like, but still needed Hermione's assistance when it came to body stances.
Everyone knew what they were doing and simply went along with the lesson for the sake of not cleaning up after the horses. They all appreciated Harry's teaching abilities, too. He was more patient out here in the paddocks than he was in the house.
They split into pairs and practised with a partner. Hermione was with Fred, who had gotten better since her fifth year. He was more sharp now.
She still managed to leave him with a split lip though, when he was too slow for one of her hexes.
In the corner of her eye she could see Draco snickering to himself. She tried not to look at him in case Fred tried to throw something back. Or in case he made her blush.
"Malfoy!" Harry yelled from the front of the pack. "Come down and tell us what Death Eaters are most likely to throw our way."
Draco lifted himself off the hay bale and strode to the front as if him being here was a favour to them all. His arms remained folded, and a scowl was across his face.
"You're all playing too nice with one another," he said bluntly. "We all know that out there no one is going to throw a Bat-Bogey hex at you on the battlefield. They're going to try and kill you with the one shot they have. None of you are fast enough yet."
Hermione was shocked at his brutality.
"You don't actually want us to throw bloody unforgivable curses at one another, do you?" Dean asked.
Draco lifted his chin. "No, Thomas. But you should be casting spells far meaner. If there's a real threat coming from your opponent, you'll actually try to miss it."
Harry agreed. Humbly, they stepped aside to ask the twins to demonstrate new hexes that were more damaging. Merlin knew they had some up their sleeves.
On the final round of practising blocking spells, Hermione walked away with a slice to her arm, and the sweater she wore. Fred had to be levitated back to the house by his brother for aid from Andromeda's healing kit.
Two dislocated knees.
"How's the cut?" Draco asked. They were the only ones left in the paddock when people went inside. Hermione wanted to stay back and work on her wrist movement. He remained leaning on the haystack to watch.
"Nothing my wand cannot fix," Hermione replied. "It's only a scratch."
"A scratch that has drenched the left side of your sweater in blood."
She shrugged. "You should see the other guy."
The dumb smirk on her face was wiped away when he stalked towards her. He played with the tear in the material, careful to avoid her cut, then easily ripped the sleeve off and tossed it to the side.
"You're quick on your feet," he rumbled. "But you're easily distracted. Stop worrying about what is happening to other people when you're in a fight. Worry about the person across from you."
"You do know who you are talking to, right?"
"The biggest empath in the entire world, I know. As gracious as that trait is, it also drags you down. You will win more effectively for yourself, and for others, when you are focused."
His fingers were curled around her injured arm. There was a possibility he could feel how fast her heart was beating right now.
"Since when did you become such a knowledgeable duelist?" She squinted, "Last I remember, your arse was bruised from how hard you hit the floor when Harry hexed you in second year."
"I was twelve, Granger."
"What a shame you can't show me how much you've improved."
Out of context it probably sounded harsh that she was teasing him for not having any magic, but she had become familiar with Draco's dark sense of humour.
He seemed to appreciate the joke when he wrapped his arms around her stomach, with her back against his chest and started walking them towards the largest pile of hay bales. Hermione giggled, like a pathetically happy giggle, and hardly tried to remove herself from his grip.
Dragging those tires everyday in the attic had done wonders to his arm strength.
"Put me down," she said, not seriously at all.
"I might not have magic, baby, but you still wouldn't be able to touch me in a fight."
The way he said baby was closer to a purr than proper English.
Draco dropped her on top of the second tallest bale of hay. It was high enough to reach his elbows. Hermione let her legs dangle off the side and welcomed him in when he lifted her shirt to kiss her stomach. It sank at his touch and pixies danced on the lining.
He'd definitely chosen this side of the stack so no one could see them from the house.
"I'll prove you wrong later," he said in between tongue licks. "For now, I want to see how long it takes for us to be out here before someone catches us."
He placed her arms above her head, pinning her down up there and below with his hips on her knees. His intention was obviously to distract her, and steal her wand from her pocket. Hermione wasn't dumb.
She let him distract her, purely for her own enjoyment.
His mouth was sucking on her neck now, and her hips had a mind of their own, grinding with the rhythm of his kisses. The free hand that wasn't pinning her down was reaching for her back pocket when he scooted her further down the bale. He paused when he realised both pockets were empty.
Hermione went along with the dumb act.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
Draco lifted himself to meet her face. He scanned her but she was determined to not crack. He went back down to her neck, unsatisfied.
Little did he know that Hermione kept her wand stuffed inside her sock. She hooked her ankle onto his back and Draco let her arms fall free to lace her fingers in his hair. He nibbled at her collar bone, while she ran her hand down his back and quickly snatched her wand from inside her shoe.
"You just grabbed your wand, didn't you?" Draco mumbled into the top of her breasts.
Hermione pointed the end of the stick to the bottom of his jaw, "What was that you said again about me not being able to touch you in a fight?"
He growled and most likely went to say something sarcastic but she beat him to it by casting a spell that sent him flying backwards. He landed on the other hay bales, flustered. Same facial expression he had in second year with Harry.
Hermione's grin reached her ears. "Care to prove me wrong, Malfoy?"
She screamed when he launched himself off the hay and started running towards her. She'd made the wrong decision of not staying on the high ground and jumped off to run around it. He was a much faster runner, with longer legs that could catch her in seconds.
His fingertips skimmed her around one corner, but she bolted in the opposite direction. Laughter poured out of her when she threw another hex over her shoulder. Draco's seeker reflexes came out to play, and he ducked everything that was coming at him.
He chased her around the whole paddock, clearly slowing down to a jog every now and then, but didn't try to stop her attacks.
The thudding of his footsteps slowed and Hermione whipped around to see he wasn't behind her anymore. She crouched down to a crawl, and listened for any movements. Nothing.
She was well out of breath at this point, and couldn't hear much apart from her own puffs. There was movement from the house, but she knew Draco was somewhere around here. The slimy snake was just waiting for the right moment to bite.
Standing up tall, she went to turn around to see if he was behind, but she ran into something solid in the process.
"Caught," Draco boomed.
Hermione tried to run for it, but he hooked his arm around her stomach and stole the wand out of her hand before she had the chance. They fell onto the floor, and rolled over, changing who was on top of who. She tried to reach for her wand but his arm was too long.
At this point she was straddling him, and admitted defeat.
"Now imagine what would have happened if I hand my own wand," said Draco, as he willingly handed her back her wand.
She snatched it, "This is unfair, you are practically twice my height. No one out there is as tall as you."
"Your speed is fine, and your smaller frame can help you hide. But you're easily-"
"Distracted. Yes, yes. I'll work on it."
He sat up, with her still on his lap. "Good. Are you in need of a study partner?"
"Definitely, but not you. You are the biggest distraction of them all."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
As if she was a feather, Draco stood to his feet all while holding her in place. They were still hidden from any views in the house, so they fooled around for a little longer amongst the bales. By the end she had to cast a cleaning charm to get all of the hay out of their hair.
When they went back into the house, she saw Harry playing with a wand in the living room. It wasn't his usual wand. It was Ron's.
He looked deep and thought, so she didn't disturb him, but the image reminded her of something she had hidden months ago. Draco had gone to wake Teddy, so she went to her room for a moment of privacy.
At the bottom of the chest of drawers were the clothes that Ron had taken within him when they went hunting for horcruxes. They had stayed in her purse for months after he died, but the day that Ginny gave her the Deluminator, she finally pulled them out. Most were still dirty.
Kneeling, Hermione unfolded one of his shirts and smelt it. The material was losing its Ron scent, and had mixed with flavours of wood.
Images of his labrador smile flooded her memory. The way he loosened his tie after classes, his puppy dog pout when he needed help with an essay, how he'd try to mussel through a conversation with too much bacon in his mouth. Tiny details that only she took notice of waved over her.
Her breaths were starting to shorten and her throat began to tighten.
She tried counting down from fifty, but that didn't work. She tried reciting the national anthem, but that didn't work. She tried thinking about the ingredients in a Pepperup Potion, but that didn't work. Hermione was officially having a panic attack.
This was the first time in two weeks, and she'd forgotten how paralysing it was. Her mouth couldn't move.
Her limbs were going limp and she could no longer crawl to the bed. She collapsed on the floorboards, with a ringing sound flooding her ears. Stars sparkling across her eyes.
Hermione was sure that there wasn't any air filling her lungs. She was dying. She was suffocating on the memory of Ron Weasley.
In the blur of her vision, someone laid down beside her. They tipped her to lay on her side and pressed their forehead against hers.
She couldn't see, but she could smell that it was Draco.
He placed her hand over his heart and she could feel it beating beneath her palm. Same as the movement of his chest expanding with his breathing. Hermione did everything in her will power to focus on that.
As tight as it was for her to try, she inhaled and exhaled along with him. If she counted it was in for four seconds, and out for seven. Somewhere along the way, her hearing cleared and her mouth could move again.
There was something wet on her cheeks and lips, no doubt tears. She didn't speak until they dried to a crisp stain.
"Y-you're here," Hermione stuttered.
Draco kept her hold on his heart, "Tell me what happened, Hermione."
"The c-clothes. They're Ron's clothes. They-they smell like him."
"Do you want me to put them away?"
She nodded frantically. He didn't stop holding her hand and sat up to close the drawer. When he laid back down, he pulled her up so she sat in between his legs, head flopped.
This way her whole body was breathing in sync with his. He was so warm, she'd almost forgotten how warm another person could be.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, resting his chin on her hairline.
"Not yet. Just keep holding me, please."
Hermione tried not to think about how ridiculous it was that she was being held together by Draco Malfoy while mourning the loss of Ron Weasley. She felt as if she was stuck in a fever dream. Nothing felt aligned with how it was supposed to be, but it also didn't feel wrong at all either.
They sat in silence for what could have been up to an hour.
It was tempting to fall asleep in his arms. To drift away from reality. But she knew that it was only going to hurt more when she woke.
Eventually, she swivelled around and curled herself into a ball so that they were more so hugging rather than him holding her. She settled in Draco's musky scent. He traced runes along her spine.
Hermione finally broke the silence when she said, "It had been two weeks." Oddly enough he understood what she was talking about.
"That doesn't make you a failure."
"What if I can't ever stop them?"
A quick pause, then, "They'll fade when you're off the farm."
"And your hand tremors. Will they fade too when you're off the farm?"
"No. But, maybe there's a potion out there to help."
"If there isn't, I'll invent one."
He chuckled. The vibrations felt nice. "You weren't always at the top of Potions class. I know someone else that could brew it up."
"That's only because Harry cheated with Snape's old textbook. Apart from him, I was pretty unbeatable."
His fingers traced the word, LIAR, on her back. She nuzzled into his neck feeling less heavier than before.
"When was the last time you saw Snape?" She asked.
"A few days before the battle was called. He knew I was turning. I didn't tell him but he knew. Somehow he has always been three steps ahead of me my entire life."
"He was your godfather, wasn't he?"
"Some days more of a real father. Snape was the one to explain why I shouldn't do something rather than simply hit the bad behaviour out of me. As much as it looked like I got away with shit in school, he'd pull my head in almost every day after class."
"He never really seemed like the caring type."
"Because you were blinded by hate. Not the first time you've made a habit of doing that, either."
She lightly slapped him on the back. Her arms still felt weak. "You are no better. We are both as prematurely judgemental as each other. Besides, Snape technically is a Death Eater, therefore my hate is valid."
"Not all Death Eaters are there out of choice, Hermione."
A conversation from months ago with Ginny came back to her. She'd brought up the theory that Snape was the spy for the Order that McGonagall had been in contact with.
"Draco—do you think that there is a possibility that Snape could be the spy for the Order? You were up there on the astronomy tower the night that Dumbledore died. Did he do it to protect you, or did he do it for You-Know-Who?"
"It was always You-Know-Who's intention for me to fail. Snape never would have been up there if it wasn't for the Unbreakable Vow he took with my mother."
"I always found it rather jarring that Snape killed Dumbledore. You'd think that You-Know-Who would have wanted to do it himself. Was Snape punished for taking that away from him?"
Draco sighed, contemplating. "Not from what I know. Most punishments were done publicly to make an example."
"Were yours?"
"Yes."
Hermione forced herself not to think about what it would have felt like for him to lay on the ground in his own childhood home, tortured for doing a good deed. She'd been crucio'd three times by Belltrix, a part of his soul would have been ripped out after fourteen.
"That night," he interrupted her thoughts. "On the tower. It felt as if Dumbledore and Snape were communicating without saying words. They had a connection. Dumbledore didn't fight it at all. He was fully capable of taking the wand back from me but he didn't. It seemed as if he wanted to die."
A wild idea came to Hermione's mind. "Perhaps Dumbeldore had asked Snape to kill him so he could win You-Know-Who's trust."
"But how come he never did it sooner?"
"Maybe he wanted to show Harry the horcruxes first."
"Yeah. Maybe."
It was a far fetched theory, but possible nonetheless. Dumbeldore was a wise wizard who was more powerful than all of those people on the tower combined. Everything he did was laced with intention. His death no doubt would have had a purpose too.
Draco pulled out of their embrace and made an attempt to wipe away the tears from her cheeks, but they were dry and sticky.
"Weasley loved you, Hermione. Even I could see that clear as day from across the Great Hall."
"I miss him so much, Draco."
His lips twitched with sadness.
"Not in a romantic sense," she added. "In an everyday sense. I wish he was here to yell at us for being together. I wish he was here to help Harry walk again. I wish he was here just so he was here."
"I understand," he said softly.
"Pansy?"
"Mmm. She was a hard arse, but she was my hard arse. No matter what I did, she never let me feel lonely. That was both good and bad depending on my mood."
I'll give you as much time as you need. But please—come to bed tonight. I won't touch you, or try to talk to you. Just don't stay down here.
Hermione made a mental note to never let him feel lonely ever again. No matter how angry they got. She can only imagine how much he would have missed Pansy then. At least she would have come to bed that night.
Draco flicked between looking at her eyes, and her lips. He hesitated in wanting to lean in.
"Was she your last kiss?" Hermione whispered. "Is that why you can't kiss me?"
A small shake of his head, "I never kissed her."
She wanted to ask why. It was hurting her not to know at this point. He never had to look at her lips ever again, but she needed to know the reason why.
"My parents never kissed," he explained.
"You told me that. You said they pressed their foreheads together."
He swallowed. "I read about snogging when I was a child, it was in one of my mother's books that she kept in her wing of the manor. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew that people who fancied one another did it. There was a girl that came and visited our house when my father had meetings. She was older. Half blood."
"Ophelia?" Hermione asked.
"No. No, this girl never went to Hogwarts."
She was a little relieved, but worried as to where the story was going.
"Her name was Avriel. Her family lived in France but did business with my father. The time that they visited after I began reading my mother's books, I took Avriel to the gardens and asked her if she knew why people kissed. She said her parents kissed because they loved each other."
Something was swirling inside Hermione's stomach. Something stronger than the pixies from before.
"Your parents weren't in love?" She asked
"Most pureblood couples never are. Their lives are arranged for them. They don't know the difference, or if they do it is at the cause of an affair."
"Keep going with your story."
He ran his thumb down her lips, dragging the bottom one. "We were nine and Avriel told me that she loved me. I assumed I loved her because I thought her hair was pretty. It had curls that bounced when she walked. We were in the gardens again when I kissed her a few months before we were sent away to school. It was just after my birthday. My father caught us."
"I take it that he did not approve of her half-blood status?"
"He did not," he confirmed. "I was beaten so badly that my mother had to take me to St Mungos. I couldn't open my mouth for two weeks and could only drink liquids. When I came home, despite that letter he wrote to me, my father told me that I was his greatest mistake in life."
Hermione's glass heart officially shattered.
She stroked his face telling him how sorry she was. He accepted the apologies knowing he was drawn a bad deal.
Their heads had tilted to the side, and they were inches away from being those people he read about in his mother's book. Hermione was careful with how she moved her chin, only hovering but not touching.
"And you haven't wanted to snog anyone since?" She asked.
"I've wanted to," he replied. "Only with you. Everyday."
"I've always found the build up to a kiss is better than the kiss itself, anyway."
The corners of his mouth lifted. "Someday, I will, Hermione. When I don't have his voice in the back of my head."
"And I'll wait. Even if it takes ten years, I'll wait for you."
They were breathing in each other's air at this point. This was far better than any real snog Hermione had ever had. As long as he held her like this, she didn't need him to close the gap.
She moved to whisper in his ear, "Take me to bed, please."
"Do you want to sleep?" He asked.
"No."
He raised them from the ground and placed her on the edge of the mattress. They took each other's clothes off without hurry, and stopped after every item to devour one another's skin. It was slow, and sensual.
Laying back on the bed, Hermione would have labelled this as making love, not sex. Draco was careful with his hold on her. She clung onto his shoulders and kissed away every tear that he cried.
He whispered sweet nothings in her ear and she trembled on the possibility of telling him she wanted him forever.
When they finished, they finished together. He held back on letting go before her, and when that release came it was wonderful. A new type of wonderful that she had only ever read about.
This was different to any other sex they had before. It was healing, and had a fiery sensation to it that carved both of their names into their bones. Engraved for the rest of eternity.
Draco helped her into the shower afterwards but did not join. He left her in solitude, and she was grateful. It gave her a chance to reflect on how much has changed in the past year, and how much will continue to change in the next.
She thought back to all of those years at school when he had used his father's name as a form of protection, and bragged about his wealth to people who did not care. Now she could see that he had been wearing a mask, hiding behind the fact that his father hated him just as much as he loved him.
Draco never knew where he stood.
Tonight was his night to cook dinner, so when she came downstairs, he was in the kitchen. He looked to be in a trance, stirring something in a pot, so she let him be and went to find Cho.
Cho was in her room, and Hermione asked if she could braid her hair.
"Today must be hard for you," she said as Hermione was propped in between her legs on the floor, while she sat on the bed. "All of you."
"The twins would be hurting the most, but don't want to show it. Ron was their play toy for many years, they'd miss him in a way that Harry and I wouldn't relate to."
"No doubt their mother and every other Weasley are feeling a little heavier today, too."
Hermione had come in here mainly because she needed Cho's advice. It wasn't until today that she realised just how deeply Draco was embedded under her skin, and that scared her.
"Cho, did you- did you feel guilty being with Harry after Cedric died?"
"Guilty isn't a strong enough word. Shame seemed more suited. The first time Harry and I snogged, I cried the whole time."
She laughed. "Yes, he said it was rather wet."
"Drenched more like. Are you asking me this because of Draco? Because you feel bad that you're happy and Ron's not here."
Cho tugged on her hair to twist it into place. It didn't hurt though.
"The weight of my feelings toward him hadn't hit me until today," Hermione answered.
"I see you are calling him Draco now, and not Malfoy."
"Yes, we changed those habits without much recognition."
"What about Theo? Did you feel ashamed when Theo kissed you? Before everything went down, of course."
"Not at all," she sighed. "With Theo I could tell it was purely physical and without my permission he took the burden off my shoulders of being the first person to do that since I snogged Ron before he died. I didn't have any connection with Theo."
"And you have a connection with Malfoy?"
"Like a tether, tied around the pair of us. Too thick to be cut by any spell."
Cho finished her hair with an elastic at the end. She came and sat next to Hermione, and held her hand.
"What you and Draco have reminds me of this painting that I saw in Paris with my aunt. It was a daffodil in the centre of a warfield. From the description at the bottom of the canvas it said that daffodils symbolise new beginnings. A rebirth if you will. I couldn't stop staring at the yellow flower for hours. It was so beautiful."
Hermione caught on to what she was trying to say, and let her go on with it anyway.
"Seeing you two together reminds us all of what we are fighting for. A new beginning. Don't let ghosts of the past hold you back on falling in love, Hermione. I didn't know Ron very well, but I'm assuming you wouldn't have been friends with him if he was cruel and would have stopped you from moving on."
"I suppose."
Ron would never have cut ties with her completely. He would only need to see evidence of how much Draco had changed.
Maybe he has. Maybe wherever he is now, he can see the change.
"Can I tell you something?" Cho asked.
"Of course."
"I snogged Dean on New Year's Eve."
Hermione jolted forward, "You what?! That was two months ago, Cho! How come you never told me?"
"Because it was silly and we were drunk. I wasn't even sure that he remembered that it happened until he pulled me aside after we finished playing games last night."
"What did he say?"
"He said that he wanted to try again. He thought he was too sloppy the first time and knew he could do better."
Hermione's jaw fell ajar. She blinked a few times and half screamed, "What?!" as she laughed.
"Shh!" Cho giggled. "I know, I know. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since."
"Do you fancy him?"
"We've been stuck in this house for almost a year with these boys, and you took the best looking one. I'd never try and start anything with Harry ever again, he is so smitten with Ginny, it's sickening. George and Fred are maniacs, so I've only been left with Dean."
"Sooooo?"
"So yes, I fancy him."
There was an abundance of joy pouring from Hermione so badly that she had to hug Cho just to relieve the pressure. Cho accepted the hug with a roll of her eyes, but a smile that was undeniable.
"See, now do you think I shouldn't tell Dean that I fancy him because I owe it to Cedric?"
It was a rhetorical question. Hermione flattened her expression and exhaled. "No."
Cho raised her eyebrows that didn't need translating. "Alright," said Hermione. "I see your point."
"Good. I won't press you on it any longer. Let's go downstairs, I'm starving and whatever Malfoy is cooking smells divine."
Draco's green curry truly was divine. Hermione actually ate the whole serving on her plate.
Later in the evening, while people went to play cards, she made herself a cup of tea and stood on the back porch, admiring the stars in the sky.
The door creaked before Draco spoke from its hinges. "Everything alright?" He asked.
"I'm okay," she said, looking over her shoulder to him. "Just wanted a bit of fresh air."
"Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you, though."
He hung there for a second. She wouldn't mind his company, but she also wanted to be alone. He could sense that.
"I'm calling it a night. If you need, I can go to the attic."
"No, please. Don't go up there. Stay in our room."
"You'll come to bed tonight, won't you?"
She left her tea on the porch for a second to kiss him goodnight. On the back of the hand. "I promise."
He left her alone without another word.
Hermione let the day wash away from her with the sounds of the farm falling to sleep. She'd never really been one to talk to herself, but when her grandfather passed away, she talked to him at night, hoping he was listening.
Tonight she wanted to try that again.
"Happy Birthday, Ronald," she said quietly. "I'm sorry you aren't here for me to say it to you in person, but a part of me hopes that you can hear me now. I owe you an apology for fighting your death for so long. I guess I thought that if I ignored it hard enough, it wouldn't be real."
Her breath hitched.
"I miss you. I wish you were here, complaining about how stupid this farm is and how pointless it is that we're stuck cleaning up after animals. You would have hated it."
With every ounce of his being, Ron Weasley would have detested this farm.
"Please don't hate me for being with Draco. I know that you and I never got to know who we might have been, but I don't regret what he had. Maybe in another life, you and Draco got to be friends as well. I would've liked that."
They would have had fun throwing playful insults at each other over weekend dinners.
"If there's any chance that you're listening, could you send me a sign? Something small to tell me that you're okay with me-"
Before Hermione could finish her sentence, a gush of wind flew her hair into twirls. The curls twisted like tornados.
"Oh, okay! I got it!" She smiled through tears. "I hear you."
The wind settled immediately.
"I'll always love you, Ron. You'll be with me forever, I want you to know that. No matter what happens after the war, or what happens with Draco, I'll never forget you. I'll never let anyone forget you."
The wind softly brushed her cheeks, and spoke a thousand words.
When she finished her tea and went up to bed, Draco was curled up on his side of the mattress. She slid herself under his arm and he naturally pulled her in closer.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Feel better?"
"Mmmhmm."
"Good."
"Thank you for today."
"Pleasure."
"Draco?"
"Mmm?"
"I'm sorry that your parents never showed you what real love should look like."
He softly huffed, "I'm sorry yours didn't either."
