Ok. First and foremost, Alphabet love goes to MissyJAnne85 & Caitlincheri28. You know how important you both are to me.
Secondly, as we dive into this chapter, I want you all to practice this mantra in your head... "This fic is Dramione, this fic is Dramione." For those of you who hate Ron, I'm sorry. Just ride this one last chapter with me and you will have your HEA epilogue - that is a promise. I don't know if now is the best time to let you all in on this secret or not, but I am doing it anyway. This fic was always canon-adjacent. It is 100% my headcanon and coping mechanism for how shit actually went down. It was designed to slot perfectly in between the books we have that tell us how it really happened - even if we don't like it and choose to ignore it. Please, please - I know some of you will not be thrilled about it, but remember your mantra, my promise and that there is only one more chapter to go.
Songs can be found on this Spotify playlist. As usual, all songs used are listed in the end comments.
Monday, September 2nd, 2002
So. He'd done it. The prick Weasley had gone and closed the deal. It had taken the obnoxiously over-freckled git more than two years, but still, he'd done it. Draco stood, picked up his tumbler of whisky and hurled it across the room. It smashed upon contact with the wood panelling. Draco collapsed back into his chair with a huff. He braced his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands. The Daily Prophet was open on the desk in front of him. A full-page spread was dedicated to the announcement. He'd wanted this, hadn't he? Asked for it even. But seeing it all laid out in print, fucking pictures of the happy moment and all—it was too much.
Two of the Golden Trio Set to Become a Duo.
A tale of happily ever after, by Rita Skeeter
The tagline was accompanied by a picture of Ronald dropping to his knee, a ring box proffered, while a shocked Hermione lifted her hands to her face, gazing down at him.
Draco felt the bile rise in his throat. He couldn't even bring himself to read the fucking article. He pushed it aside and poured himself another drink. Like an open wound, his memories consumed him as he picked them apart. Hermione laughing. Hermione studying. Hermione as she brought a small cup of hot chocolate to her lips. Hermione with a Slytherin scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Hermione with her curls fanned out on the bed, naked as he lay next to her, over her, moving inside of her. Hermione cradled against him as she bled onto the stones. In his mind, Hermione over and over again.
Clutching his cure, Draco waved his wand at the study door, locking it against any who may dare to intrude. He picked the paper from the floor and spread it in front of him again, watching Hermione's hands fly to cover her mouth again and again. Every time he watched hurt so much more than the time before. Inside, confusion raged and tormented against him. This was what he wanted. He'd asked Weasley to make her happy. She would be happy now—Weasley could make her happy. He needed to let it go—he didn't want to be the one that the battles always chose.
Draco didn't know what was worth fighting for anymore, or why he felt the urge to scream. He stood from his chair and felt his legs wobble beneath him. A quick glance at the bottle of Macallan on the desk showed how much he had consumed. How long had he been locked in this room, drinking his feelings away? The newspaper was now scrunched up, lying in the waste paper bin, half-burned from a poorly cast Incendio. This was all his fault, he was always the one in the wrong, wasn't he? So, this was how it would end. Hermione would marry Ron, and he would... what?
Draco stalked towards the door, intending to throw it open and call for his mother. To cry in her arms as he had when he was a small child. The cool metal of the door handle warmed under his touch. Turning his back on the door, he slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. Draco pressed the heels of his palms against his eye sockets, wishing for some clarity. He needed to get past Hermione. He would never be over her, but he could break the habit that she was to him. That was it, he would break the habit tonight, and he would begin with a visit to the Malfoy family vault in Gringotts.
Monday, September 9th, 2002
Hermione was getting ready for work. Her job at the Ministry of Magic was taxing; with long hours, tedious research requirements and slim to none results. Hermione thrived on it. It kept her busy—both her hands and her mind. She was able to come home at night, eat a quiet meal with her parents and take herself to bed with ease. Every other night, she joined Ron at the Burrow. Molly was more than happy to accommodate her future daughter in law.
Future daughter in law, Hermione thought again. Because I am marrying Ron, she looked down at the sparkling ruby on her left ring finger. He is a good man, she thought. He makes me laugh. We have more than enough history and the chemistry is still good. I can be happy.
Unease blossomed in her chest. Was she making the right decision? Surely it wasn't too late to call it off—they'd barely been engaged a week. Nothing was set in stone—she had time to think. If it hadn't been for that bloody beetle, Hermione's engagement would still be a secret. The damn witch had too much time on her hands if she was still able to follow her all over London. Which she did—often. Lifting her coffee cup to her lips, Hermione shook out the day's edition of The Daily Prophet. Reading through the first few pages was simultaneously irritating and boring. There was nothing new to report. Flipping to page six, her coffee cup slipped through her hands and shattered on the tiles at her feet. Hot coffee splattered the legs of her pyjamas, and ceramic shards littered the floor around her. Fucking, fuck. Hermione couldn't do anything but stare down at the paper in her hands.
Malfoy Heir to Marry Youngest Greengrass, the headline screamed at her. The accompanying picture showed a stoic Draco sliding his arm around Astoria, his hand resting on the small of her back. The young blonde witch beaming with pride and joy, a massive diamond glinting on her finger. Hermione let the paper flutter to the floor, joining the mess of her forgotten coffee. She felt a sob rising in her throat and gripped at the kitchen counter. Her mother appeared in the kitchen, investigating the sound of the smashed coffee cup.
"Hermione? What is it, darling?" She asked, stepping over the shards and spilled coffee to place a comforting hand on her daughter's shoulder.
Hermione had covered her mouth with one shaking hand as if hoping that doing so would stem the pain that threatened to manifest in her throat.
Jean Granger spotted the offending article with ease, "Oh, sweetheart," she said, picking the paper off the floor, folding it in half and throwing it on the table. Ceramic crunched under her thick-soled shoes as she stepped into her daughter's embrace.
Hermione cried into her mother's shoulder, knowing she had little right to do so. Jean rubbed soothing circles onto Hermione's back and made small shushing sounds against her ear. Pressing a kiss to Hermione's temple, she pulled back. "Even after all this time? After agreeing to marry Ron? You're still in love with him?"
Hermione couldn't bring herself to meet her mother's gaze. Draco would always be everything to her, didn't she know that? She had been able to love him from a distance, love him from her memories, love him for the possibilities—if only she could bring herself to look at him—and she still couldn't. Not even his picture in the paper. Turning away and to the sink, Hermione searched for paper towels to mop up the mess on the floor. She stood at the rubbish bin, holding the remains of her favourite mug in her hand, and willed herself to stop crying.
Draco wasn't hers anymore. He hadn't been for a long time. And all of that had been her choice. She had no claim on him. No, that right belonged to the petite, beautiful blonde, pure-blood witch standing beside him in that photo. Hermione had known they were dating, of course. It had been splashed all over the gossip columns for months now, but engaged was far more serious than dating. She should know, after all.
The ring Ron had given her the week previous felt dangerously heavy on her finger now. She had no right to be upset about Draco marrying Astoria when she was marrying Ron. So, that was how it would be, then. Their fates were both sealed now, and there was no going back. Hermione could only hope that Astoria would make him happy.
Thursday, September 4, 2003
This was it, Hermione thought. She was standing inside Twilfitt and Tattings in Diagon Alley, with Mistress Twilfitt herself flitting around her. Hermione cringed as the witch took her wand to the bottom of her dress and snipped the over long tulle away from it. Her wedding dress. She was at her final fitting because her wedding was happening on Saturday. Three days from now, she would be a married woman. She would be a Weasley.
She'd had to tell Molly that she couldn't come this time. The last two times Molly had come to see the dress, she'd been a blubbering mess and nearly stained the delicate silk bodice with her tears. Ginny and Luna were in the next room over, fitting their dresses. Her mother was sitting behind her in the reception room, gripping the stem of a champagne glass, and her eyes finding anything other than what Twilfitt was doing. Hermione made sure not to make eye contact in the mirror with her mother, confident that the horror would be reflected in her eyes, too.
As the fabric fell away from the bottom of her dress, the bell over the door to the store sounded. The witch stepped away from Hermione to look up at her latest customer. In the mirror, Hermione saw the platinum blonde hair come into view. Spinning, she met the stone-grey eyes of one Draco Malfoy.
With his wedding this Saturday, Draco had been all but banished from the Manor, where it would be held. He was staying in Diagon Alley and had a list of things he was supposed to get done for the event. Picking up the groomsmen's robes from Twilfitt and Tattings was one of them.
That was where he was when he saw Hermione in person for the first time in three years. She was resplendent in her wedding gown, long brown curls trailing down her back, the full skirt billowing as she twirled to face him. His breath caught in his throat, his lungs seizing with the incapacity to function. She was the epitome of perfection, even more stunning than his memories led him to believe. Here she was, exquisite in her white wedding gown, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, devastatingly so. None of it was for him. She wasn't his anymore.
"Ah, Mr Malfoy," Mistress Twilfitt said, standing between Draco and Hermione. "I expect you're here for the formal dress robes? I'll go and find Mr Tatting to help you. Oh, and congratulations for Saturday, dear."
Unable to remove his eyes from Hermione, Draco nodded once in Mistress Twilfitt's direction, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly.
As Mistress Twilfitt darted away to find her business partner, Hermione wished that she could remove her gaze from the floor. A harsh sound broke her concentration on the ground. Ginny and Luna had emerged from the fitting rooms and clearly felt the tension in the room as Hermione's mother swivelled her head from her daughter to Draco.
"Oh, Luna, sweetheart. Is your zipper stuck? Ginny, come and help me get Luna's dress fixed." Jean Granger stood quickly and shuffled the other two girls out of the room, ignoring Luna's protest that her dress was just fine. Just a moment later, Hermione was completely alone with Draco for the first time in more than three years.
"I—," she started.
"You look lovely," he said, his eyes flicking over her, drinking her in. Breathtaking actually, is what he wanted to say as he forced air back into his lungs.
Hermione blushed deeply, suddenly embarrassed and wishing that the dress would just disintegrate. Of all the bloody times and places, now is when they had to see each other? An earthquake could occur right this instant, and she didn't think either of them would feel it—the floor was already trembling beneath her.
"Your wedding?" She asked, instead. "It's this Saturday?" As if she didn't already know that they would be wed to different people on the same day. The ground should have just split open and swallowed her whole. Seriously, Hermione, this is what you're saying right now? Was it not enough that her body was betraying her, that her mind and mouth needed to as well?
"Er, yes. And yours?"
"Also this Saturday," she nodded.
A moment passed where neither of them was sure what to say.
Almost of its own volition, Draco saw his hand reach out to her, his mouth forming her name as his feet carried him forward. Horrified, mesmerised, he watched himself tuck a curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.
A heavy sigh escaped Hermione as she leaned into his touch. Longing, pain and desperation coursed through her veins. Quickly, she caught at his fingers and removed them from her face. Draco stepped back immediately, cursing himself for needing to touch her. Everything would be so much worse now.
"Draco, I —," Hermione's breath hitched and tears sprung to her eyes, clinging to the lashes. "I miss you," she admitted to him, to herself.
"I miss you, too," he told her. "Do you think that —"
"No." The word rushed from her mouth before she could stop it. She registered the pain on his face. Hermione couldn't help it. She knew what he was going to ask, and the answer was still 'no'. Her years of regret couldn't erase the suffering of what they had been through together. They couldn't even be friends, let alone anything else. "I mean," she reconsidered, "it's been a few years now, and I think I have figured out how to think about you without it ripping my heart out—but I know, Draco—you know—that we weren't meant for each other, and that's fine," she choked on the last word. "We've both moved on now, haven't we?"
"In one way or another, I suppose," Draco agreed reluctantly. "But if the world was ending..?"
"I'd find you," Hermione answered, no doubt in her mind.
"You'd come over?" He confirmed, ridiculous hope blooming somewhere behind his ribcage.
"And I'd stay the night." This time, Hermione moved to him. Carefully, lightly she placed her right hand—the one not encumbered with a jewel—on his chest, over his heart. "I'd love you for the hell of it."
"All our fears would be irrelevant. If the world was ending—"
"The sky would be falling as I held you tight against me," Hermione whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she squeezed her eyes closed.
"And there wouldn't be a reason why we'd even have to say goodbye. If the world was ending..." Draco placed his hands on either side of her face and lowered his head to hers.
Hermione shivered as Draco pressed his lips softly to her forehead, a final kiss before he stepped away, his hands dropping uselessly to the sides of his body.
"If the world was ending," Hermione agreed, stepping back to the middle of the room.
"Ah, Mr Malfoy," Mr Tatting appeared in the reception room, Mistress Twilfitt hot on his heels. Hermione swiped quickly at the moisture in her eyes and turned back to the mirror. "There you are, I have the robes ready for your final inspection." Tattings placed his hand on Draco's arm and directed him to another room. Draco followed him without a backward glance.
Saturday, September 6, 2003
Saturday dawned bright and dewy. Hermione's hair was already in a state of disarray before she had even attempted to pull a brush through it. There was no need to do so, though, as Ginny bounded into her bedroom.
"Oh good, you're up," she grinned. "Today, Hermione, you become my sister for realsies!"
"That is sure one way to look at it," Hermione returned the smile. Today was her wedding day. Her wedding day and Draco's wedding day, yet they did not wed each other. No, Hermione was marrying Ron and Draco would marry Astoria. Just how it was always meant to be. And Hermione was happy, really, she was. Ron was wonderful, had been wonderful for years now, and Hermione knew he would continue to be so. He had been patient in waiting for her—for her to recover from her losses, to move on, to be ready for something else. After she had gone to him, told him that she was willing to try, he was soft, slow, gentle—everything that he had never been before. He was genuine with her, and slowly, she had come back to herself, had come back to Ron. She would have a happy life with him. She would have her career in the Ministry, she would have children, and she would have love. Hermione Jean Granger would have it all—she would have everything but Draco Malfoy—but she would be happy, she was determined.
The morning passed in a blur of movement. Her mother, Molly, Ginny and Luna all flitting around; helping her get ready, getting themselves ready. Molly made sure everyone was plied with breakfast and enough Mimosas to put a spring in each of their steps. Seemingly before she knew it, her hair was straightened, braided, re-curled into submission and her face had been painted in a concoction of makeup so thick, she knew the early September heat stood no chance against it. Her mother helped her into her undergarments, and Ginny and Luna stood ready with her dress. All she had to do was step into it and let them lace her up. She did.
Draco was sweltering in the late summer heat. His formal black dress robes were too tight around his neck, too heavy on his shoulders. Music swelled, and Pansy appeared at the end of the aisle, her bouquet of Baby's Breath and pink Peonies clasped in her hands. Briefly, Draco saw the life his father had planned for him. Then came Daphne, same dress, same bouquet, same slow glide toward him down the aisle. Lastly, Astoria arrived. Beautiful, she really was very beautiful. Her gown flowed behind her. Daisies were woven into her fine golden hair. He was a lucky man, he knew. He would have a long, happy life—it just wouldn't be the life he wanted, with the woman he wanted. Unbidden, the image of Hermione in her wedding gown entered his mind. He saw her as he had just the other day, imagined her in Astoria's place, her steps evenly paced as she approached him.
It was Astoria again, coming ever closer. Her smile was radiant as she took in her soon to be husband, her eyes dancing from Draco to their audience. Could he remember when he didn't care? When he and Hermione were just two kids, roaming the streets of Brussels—taking the moment when it was there. Could he remember them at all?
Miles and miles away, in the garden of a different manor house, another heart called.
Hermione glided towards Ron. Harry was at his side, George next to Harry. Luna and Ginny stood waiting for her, too. Her eyes flicked back to Ron, but he was gone. Standing in his place was a tall, platinum blonde. Hermione's heart seized as she willed her feet to keep moving. Memories flooded her. Memories from when she and Draco would steal the night—lying awake and dreaming together until the sun would wash the sky. But just as soon as she saw him standing at the end of the grassy aisle, he was gone. As deeply as she needed him, she needed her life with Ron more. Blinking once, twice, thrice, and it was Ron before her once more, his grin boyish and cheeky as he took her in. What could she do?
Say it's true, a deep voice so familiar to her whispered in her head. Startled, but not surprised, Hermione let his voice wash over her as she walked towards another man. Or else everything that matters breaks in two.
Hermione took another step before Draco's voice sounded in her head again. She had no idea how they were communicating, but she didn't care. She needed closure right at this moment, and so did he. They would always love one another, even if it had all gone to shit.
Say it's true, the voice demanded.
I'll never ask for anyone but you, Hermione promised to the voice, even as she handed her bouquet to Ginny and placed her hands in Ron's. Warm, sweaty, confident—Ron's hands in hers were what she needed to focus on—where her future lay. She banished the too intimate voice from her mind.
Draco's wand was in his hand, Astoria's in hers. Their left hands clasped and twisted over each other, as they chanted a spell of love, bonding, trust, honour and betrothal to one another. Golden wisps flew from the ends of their wands and wove a complex knot around their ring fingers, over their wrists, and into their skin.
As the spell sunk into his skin, Draco offered one last message to the woman whom he wished stood before him now.
I know that what you want is to figure it out. Merlin knows I do too... but what can I do? I'll never ask for anyone but you.
His hand dropped to his side, and Astoria looked up at him, her smile blinding in its beauty. The officiant pronounced them officially married. Draco smiled a genuine smile for his bride, leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against her lips. She grinned against him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him tightly against her. She was infectious, an otherwise perfect choice for him. Draco leaned into the kiss. He gave her as much of him as he could and roused cheers from their guests. His heart may long for another, but Astoria would make him happy, and he would do his best to do the same for her.
Golden magic erupted from the end of Hermione's wand, and she heard someone in the crowd gasp and sniffle—Molly, undoubtedly. Her eyes met her husbands and a nervous laugh trilled through her at the thought. Ron was her husband now. The celebrant had declared it so. Ron was leaning towards her, and he sealed their nuptials with a kiss. Forgetting the voice in her head, Hermione moved her lips against his, a tear of joy leaking from her eye. They pulled away from one another, laughing as the cheering and wolf whistles bellowed from the crowded garden.
Seventeen years later
Hermione found herself embroiled in yet another dangerous adventure. It had been years since they had been put to the test like this. It was all because Draco's insane aunt had done the nasty with Voldemort and spawned a she-devil, intent on reviving her father.
Hermione could hardly bear the thought that their children were living through a scenario similar to what they had done. It was all put into a horrifying perspective now that she was a mother, and she was immensely glad that her parents never had any idea of what she got up to in her school years. Her panic over Rose's involvement and Hugo's interest in the matter didn't let her dwell on Scorpius, or his father, even if she felt the still familiar ache in her chest at the sight of him.
But when it was all done and dusted, the bad guys vanquished, and the timelines set in their proper place, Hermione allowed herself a moment to look at Draco Malfoy. A moment for her eyes to meet his, for their hearts to reach out to one another. Just as they always had, even after all these years, just as they always would. She was tired of being here, in this emotional place—suppressed by all of her childish fears. Nearly twenty years on; a mostly happy marriage, two wonderful children, a fast-tracked career to the top... and her heart still throbbed at the sight of a man she'd had for less than a year. A year that had been filled with as much agony as it had happiness. She had to leave, to be away from him, away from his maddening scent, still of vetiver—of leather, and whisky, citrus and bergamot. Even away from him, his presence would linger in her mind—it wouldn't leave her alone. There was just too much that time could not erase.
Astoria was gone, taken a year ago by a blood curse placed upon her by an ancestor. And then the time warp fuckery had begun, and Draco had to reorganise his priorities. When it was all done and dusted, Draco was able to grieve for his wife, the mother of his child. She had been more than wonderful to them both during her time in this world—and the guilt ate at him every day. It ate at him because he was also relieved that he no longer needed to pretend. The hand he'd held through all of these years had not belonged to his wife, it belonged to Hermione Granger—even if it resided solely in his mind—Hermione still held all of him. Astoria had been too good for him. He didn't deserve her or her love. Draco knew this because he had never been able to return it, no matter how hard he had tried. And he had. He had really, really tried, but Hermione had him captivated—her resonating light filling his darkest dreams.
Now—now, he was bound by the life that was left behind. By now, in the world beyond, Astoria would know of his heart, how she had never held it in both hands, and she would hate him for it. He hated himself for it. Her face haunted his once pleasant dreams. Her voice chased away all of the sanity he had left. All Draco could do now was take the best care he could of his son, and dream of Hermione. Sometimes, in his darkest hours, with Scorpius at Hogwarts, Draco would feel Astoria haunting the halls of the Manor. She was still with him, but he had been alone all along.
Draco sighed. Hermione was still married to Ron. It seemed his plan had worked after all and she had entered into a happy, life-long marriage with the Weasel. Even after all of these years, he couldn't think of Ronald Weasley in any other way than a freckled thorn in his side. Sipping his Firewhisky, he mused once more over the situation. Until Hermione went her separate way from the greying redhead, he would leave her alone. Draco was a man of his word. He had carried out his responsibility to the Malfoy name and continued its pure-blood lineage. With his father gone from this world, he knew his son would never experience the same pressures.
Breaking The Habit - Linkin Park
If The World Was Ending - JP Saxe & Julia Michaels
Another Heart Calls - All American Rejects
My Immortal - Evanescense
Missy, Caitlin and I are working hard to bring you the Epilogue before the usual posting date. I have high hopes that we can get it to you this weekend, but as usual - real-life priorities must come first. We're nearly done here, friends! Thank you for sticking with me so far!
