Merlin, have mercy. It's here, friends. Early, as promised and a happy Friday to you all. Words can't begin to describe what I'm feeling right now. I've actually just welled up writing those few words... Bloody hell, get it together, Nat! Eff me. I can't believe it's done... My passion project, my ideal Dramione 8th year... Just slitting perfectly in between the canon cracks... Please bear with me while I say my thank you's.
ButterfliesAndShit. You guys. You have no idea how hard this girl worked on this moodboard. She is our Dramione moodboard Queen. Thank you, my sweetest! The image moves, but I am technologically challenged and cannot post the gif here. To see it, visit my tumblr.
MissyJAnne85. Dammit. I'm crying again. This fic was going nowhere. Then I met you and my world changed. We connected on a ridiculous amount of levels and suddenly it wasn't just this fic that was incomplete without you. You changed the fic and you changed me. You're an amazing human being with a great big heart and the best sense of humour. I adore you. Thank you for everything.
Caitlincheri28. Well, I'm still crying... Even though we met too late, you made our alphabet complete- you made US complete. God. We have laughed (a lot) together, cried (a lot) together and supported each other through so much. You leant not only your head but also your heart to the beta job - and to me. I don't know how we made it half-way without you. Thank you for everything.
Readers, where would I be without you all? Thank you, thank you for your love, thoughts, tears and laughter. It has all touched me more than I can say. Thank you for trusting me to see you through this emotional rollercoaster.
My friends, I am officially a mess. Before I write another novel, let's move on.
Songs from today's chapter have been added to the Spotify Playlist, which can be found here. We're now totalling over 3.5 hours of songs over 21 chapters of fic. An epic playlist, if I do say so myself - and only a fraction of the songs I had in mind for it.
Friday, May 14th, 2027
Hermione spread the morning's edition of The Prophet in front of her again. The tiny table was completely occupied by just the paper and a solitary teacup. The teacup itself sat empty, rimmed with hot chocolate as Hermione contemplated a refill. The headline screamed at her, and Hermione was sure that everyone within a hundred-foot radius must be able to hear it.
Newly Re-elected Minister Falls From Grace
Hermione had taken a sudden and immediate leave of absence from her position, citing that she, the Minister, was in desperate need of a holiday. In her shame, she fled to a city where she had only the fondest of memories. In Brussels, Hermione found a safe haven. She was far enough away from Britain to not be recognised, but not so far that she couldn't return at once if an emergency should occur. All these years later, she could revel in her memories of this city, no longer haunted by them.
The Minister for Magic, Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, drops the "Weasley" from her name as she files for divorce from her husband of nearly twenty-five years. According to a close, personal friend, Ronald Bilius Weasley, War Hero, is distraught over the split. It has been suggested for years now that their union was an unhappy one, but as this story unfolds, a source tells this reporter that the marriage has always been a sham.
Hermione slammed the paper back down on the table, rattling the china and startling the young chocolatier. So, Rita Skeeter had a protégé. The beetle had finally retired just a few weeks ago, but not, it seemed, before she trained someone on how to effectively lie and stick their wands in places they didn't belong. Her marriage had not been a sham. To insinuate so reduced her beloved children to nothing other than a phase in her life. Rose and Hugo were the best things to ever happen to her. She loved them more than life itself. However, though she had tried valiantly, she had also failed in her mission to love Ron as she had once loved another. Hermione signalled to the young woman to bring her another cup of the rich, sweet concoction. It tasted exactly as it had the first time she tried it, and as the smooth warm milk swept over her lips, Hermione stifled her moan of pleasure.
Slightly restored, she set her eyes on the article once more.
In her last year of schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Minister was heavily rumoured to be involved in a captivatingly serious romance with ex Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. The relationship apparently came to a crashing end once our Minister was grievously injured in a duel with Rodolphus Lestrange (Malfoy's uncle by marriage), resulting in the infamous Death Eater's capture and imprisonment in Azkaban. Perhaps, our dear Minister never truly recovered from her wounds.
Hermione had never been more horrified at the written word than she was right at this moment. She had been hoping to escape for a little while after filing the divorce, but just the next day, she could see she would need to write to the editor at The Prophet and request a retraction... Or at least a rebuttal. There was no way she could let this article stand on its own. Her marriage had come to its natural end as Hugo graduated from Hogwarts and left to study dragons with his uncle Charlie. Rose was almost finished with her own academic pursuits in France, her relationship with Scorpius seeming to be very serious. Her child-rearing days were behind her, leaving her with only work to focus on as her home life hadn't been a happy one in years. Ron kept himself equally occupied with George at the shop. There was nothing left of their marriage for him to be 'distraught over' losing. Hermione wasn't quite sure what she would say in her rebuttal, but she knew she needed to start on it straight away.
Folding the paper in half, and then again, she was just shoving it in her purse when someone recognised her. Here, of all places.
"Minister—?"
Hermione stared down into the depths of her handbag, hoping the man would go away. The blood rushing through her ears made it difficult to realise that it was a voice she recognised. A voice she loved, though it was deeper now—tinged with middle age.
Hermione slowly lifted her eyes from her belongings and met the soft gaze of Draco Malfoy. Morgana, even though age had weathered him, he was just as handsome as he'd ever been. At nearly fifty years of age, she didn't think her heart capable of skipping like it was—thundering hard against her rib cage as if it could escape her. Air fled her lungs, and her mouth betrayed her brain. Of all the things she wanted to say, what emerged was, "How did you find me?" And she sounded as breathy as a love-drunk teenager. She could have happily dissolved on the spot.
Draco's eyes narrowed for a moment—as if that wasn't quite the reaction he'd expected. "Why, hello, Malfoy. Thank you for your votes these last two elections, I've really appreciated them. How are you? Would you care to join me?" He canted his head to the side, "Yes, Granger, I would. Thank you." Draco pulled out the second chair that crowded the small table and signalled the chocolatier for a cup of his own. He turned his attention back to Hermione, a grin playing on his lips. "Tell me, Granger—is it still better than sex?
Hermione was still trying to find her lost equilibrium—his comment doing absolutely nothing to assist her. The blush rose up her neck and settled on her cheeks as the memory flooded her. Mentally cursing herself, she pulled it together. You're the fucking Minister for Magic, Hermione. Get it together. Just the sight of him up close after all these years had her mind reeling and her heart racing. Of all the things she could have countered with, her question remained the same. "How did you find me?" She asked again.
Draco accepted his cup of hot chocolate with a smile, one that fell from his face as he looked back to Hermione. She tried not to think too desperately about it, but she could hardly blame him when her tone had been less than friendly.
"Rose," he said with a shrug.
"Rose?" Hermione looked up at him sharply, surprised with his answer.
"Yes. I saw the paper this morning and wished to speak with you—"
"Draco, it's been years—"
"Yes. And have things changed for you?" He had cut her off quickly, his eyes a molten silver. His self-confidence had never left, it would seem. He was insightful and to the point. Hermione, usually so witty, so quick, struggled to keep up with his pace.
"No. Yes. I—what about Rose?"
"The Ministry said you'd taken a week of leave. Everyone understood why—but no one knew where you went. So, I contacted Rose, and she thought maybe you had gone to your favourite city. Why is it your favourite city, Hermione?"
His expression was some strange mix of amused, hurt and curious. He picked up his drink, and Hermione couldn't help but be drawn to the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips clean. Shifting in her seat, she was uncomfortable with her thoughts and her feelings. She was too damn old to be feeling like this.
"You know perfectly well why it is my favourite city, Draco." She said, reaching for her bag, intending to leave the shop. She was flustered and in desperate need of air.
He stood with her, leaving far too much money on the table for his drink, he followed her out of the small shop.
Hermione waited for him on the pavement, turning to him as he joined her on the street.
"And the chocolatier? How did you know I would be there?"
"An educated guess," he replied simply. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he fell into step beside her. This was easy—walking next to each other, familiar—even if her heart was still trying to escape her ribcage. Muggle jeans she noticed, and not for the first time, looked entirely too good on him. He was standing there like heaven, while she might as well have been wearing the clothes she slept in. "I'm sorry about your divorce," he told her.
"Are you?" She asked, her first smile threatening to break through.
"No," he answered immediately. His eyebrow quirked, and he had that pulse-quickening smirk already on his mouth. Hermione's traitorous heart skipped another beat.
"Well, I'm sorry about Astoria. Truly—"
"That was a long time ago, Granger."
Ah, so they were back to 'Granger'. Either she'd already put her foot in it, or Astoria was a topic he didn't want to broach.
He softened his tone. "Astoria passed a long time ago. She was a wonderful woman, but she was never you. I think—I think that maybe she has finally forgiven me for not loving her as I should have. I hope she is at peace now."
Hermione found herself reaching for his hand—a gesture of comfort, she told herself. But as their fingers brushed, she withdrew. None of it was lost on Draco.
"I think I went crazy—trying to stay sane, to keep my head out of the grave. I nearly lost who I was to the swirling haze when you left me, Granger. Astoria helped me heal."
"I needed to try to make some sense out of the mess in my brain, Draco. It took years and years. Ron helped me \heal."
"I know," he said, and then more quietly, "I'd hoped he would."
They stayed quiet for a little while after that, tracing the ancient streets of an older city, each lost in their own memories.
"How are you holding up?" Draco broke the silence and the mounting tension.
"I've fled the country that I'm in charge of," she reminded him. "How do you think I'm holding up?"
"I think I'd like you to answer the question—and honestly."
Hermione sighed. It was a good question, and she mulled over her answer for some time before she gave it. Draco waited patiently—which was something she'd never experienced before. This new side of him had her intrigued.
"I've never felt a time where everything I am has felt less defined. I guess I came to Brussels because it holds the safest place in my heart." Though she felt his stare searing through her, she refused to meet it. Her divorce wasn't even final yet, and here she was, accidentally reliving a romantic holiday with a man who still occupied her heart. Just keep on breathing, Hermione. She told herself.
"I'm sorry," he said after a beat. "Genuinely this time."
"Thank you. I just need some time to process it all. It's been over for a long time, but now it's final. I need to look for a new house, and I need to get on top of that press release. The utter bullshit they print these days—"
"Is absolutely no different to the bullshit they used to print. Listen, Hermione. I came looking for you today with more than one thing to say to you. Firstly, you should know that I am just as in love with you as I was twenty-seven years ago."
Hermione stopped walking, her hands searching for something to clutch at and coming up empty. Gods, it couldn't be that surprising, could it? She was still as in love with him as she was twenty-seven years ago, too. Time had done nothing to diminish it for her, so why did she assume it had for him? But fuck, if he wasn't being forward. Love him still she might, but this was too soon. She needed time—didn't she? Or had they already waited long enough?
"Granger?"
"Second reason," she gasped, marching forward, "what was the second reason?"
Disappointed, Draco powered on. "Scorpius has requested access to the family jewels."
"And that concerns me how?" Hermione asked, confused. Still, it was better to focus on this than on... other things.
"The jewels, Granger. My son wants a Malfoy ring, and he wants to put it on your daughter's finger."
Hermione stopped walking again. Shock radiated through her. It really shouldn't have been a surprise. They were both young adults now, had been together for years, in fact—and they were very well matched. No, it shouldn't be a surprise at all.
"Alright," she said slowly. "What do you need from me?"
"I need the Minister's help in breaking a family curse. I don't want our children to suffer what we did," sincerity dripped from every fibre of his being and Hermione thought that maybe she had never loved him more than in that moment.
"You'll have the very best team the Ministry has to offer."
"Thank you, Madam Minister," he bent over in a half-bow before her. When he righted himself, his smirk was not lost on her. "And about the other thing?"
"Let's go and get some lunch, shall we?" Hermione asked boldly. She was feeling suddenly brave.
Whatever they had discussed at lunch had already buried itself in the depths of her mind. Back in her hotel suite, all Hermione could focus on was his hands on her body and her hands on his. Nearly three decades had gone by, and her body was not what it once was—especially after two children, but he was worshipping her in the same way that he used to. As if the last time they had been together was three days ago instead of nearly thirty years. The way that Draco touched her brought into focus how often he must have thought of her, finding all of her sensitive spots with ease.
Hermione arched her chest against his, clawing at his buttons, attempting to rip the shirt from his body. She pulled away from his mouth, needing to draw breath—and with it came a realisation like a high dive into frozen waves. Hermione pushed away from him, holding one hand in front of herself to stop his advance and the other braced on her hip as she came to terms with what she was doing.
The past was coming back to life in front of her, and she was panicking. Similarly, Draco was drawing air into his own unsteady lungs, fighting for some semblance of certainty. If she fought against this fear of letting him back in, she would be inviting a healthy dose of selfish pain—could it be worth it? Like an accident waiting to happen, she could see their clock ticking down until it broke the glass and she would drown in him again.
"Hermione?" Draco took a step towards her again, reaching for her. He needed to console her, to comfort her, to hold her against him. After all these years she was free and right fucking there, and he needed her. He needed her like he needed oxygen.
"Wait. Stop. Don't touch me just yet, please," she begged. Hurt and confusion flashed across his face. He found the nearest seat he could and sat in it, willing himself to be still. "When you touch me, it makes me forget all common sense. If you pull, then I'll push too deep, and I'll fall right back to you."
Apparently, this new, older version of Draco only had flashes of patience. He was back up on his feet again and talking quickly, his tone harsh as his emotions tumbled out with his words.
"Good, Hermione—good! You are the piece of me I wish I didn't need. All these years my heart has been chasing you, relentlessly—even when I begged it not to. But you're here now, we're both single again, we can move on with our lives—but you're still fighting it, and I don't know why! If our love is a tragedy, why are you my remedy?" He was breathing harshly now, waiting for a response from her.
She loved him, she did. She wanted him more than she wanted her next breath. Why was she fighting this so hard? To save face? Her reputation was at stake, of course. She was in charge of a whole country, and her name was currently rubbish in the papers. This would only fuel the flames.
"If we do this, no one can know. No one, Draco—not even Scorpius or Rose. Not for a good damn long while, anyway. My divorce isn't even finalised yet, but dammit—" she threw her hands in the air, frustrated, "in all this insanity you're still my clarity," she rushed to him and took his lips in hers once more. She kissed him fiercely, her fingers slipping through his hair and taking hold as he bunched his fists in her loose woollen jumper. His kiss possessed her, Draco was everywhere, his scent inhibiting her, his touch incapacitating her, and she was lost in him.
Somehow, they made it to the bed, their clothes littered around the room. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione was self-conscious of her body, of the fact that she hadn't had sex for at least year, but she couldn't bring herself to think on it. Draco was perfect even with all of his imperfections. His dark mark all but faded, the crisscrossing scars from a long-forgotten Sectumsempra still glistened faintly when the light touched them. Hermione could trace them from memory. Draco was still finely toned—as if he expected to walk onto a Quidditch pitch and take to the air at any given moment.
All of this fell to the wayside as his thigh slipped between hers, pressing against her wanton heat and his mouth took a breast as a willing hostage. "Draco," she panted, "I need you, please."
Draco removed his mouth from her breast and shifted a little, fixing his lips to hers as he slid between her legs. Opening her, stretching her, filling her, he waited for her body to adjust, to re-acclimate—and then he started moving. Slowly, at first. He wanted to enjoy it, he wanted her to enjoy it. He needed to give her everything he hadn't been able to in all of the years they had missed. But she writhed underneath him, locking her ankles around his hips and pulling him closer, urging him faster, harder—until his name burst forth from her lips and she stilled beneath him. He followed her one thrust later, falling to the side and pulling her in close.
"I love you, Granger. Always have, always will," he whispered against her neck. The way she slotted against him felt exactly as it used to, and she revelled in the feeling.
Thursday, June 1st, 2028
"Granger, it's been a year. Scorpius and Rose want to start planning their wedding. It's time. The curse-breakers are ready. Are you?"
"What would I do without your smart mouth?" Hermione looked up from her paperwork. She was drowning in it, as always. How Fudge seemed to have all this time to gallivant from The Leaky Cauldron and over to Hogwarts, she'd never understand.
Draco offered her a lazy smirk. "Hello, Granger? Are you going to answer the question? What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"
"Yes, ok. Let's do it," she told him, her smile dazzling. "But let the record show that you're crazy, and I'm out of my mind."
Draco crossed the room and plucked the parchment out of her hands, setting it back in her in-tray. "All of me loves all of you, Hermione. That's not crazy. You're my end and my beginning—so even if we people think we've lost it, we'll know that we're still winning."
"Alright, alright," Hermione laughed, suddenly giddy. "We'll call a press conference tomorrow. We'll let the whole of Wizarding Britain in on the secret."
"It's about fucking time, too. I'm ready to take you on a real date."
Hermione stood from her chair and moved around her desk. She threw her arms around his neck and leaned into him. "Are you suggesting that you're tired of Moppy's cooking?"
"Never," he said, placing a quick kiss on her lips. "Simply that I'd like to see you outside of the same sets of four walls. Plus, Scorp and Rose are sick of us. As supportive as they have been, I think they'd like a night away from seeing their parents act like lovesick teenagers."
"Mmm," she chuckled, lifting her chin for another kiss. "You're right about that. I guess I can let that slide, then."
The next day, Hermione called a press conference to be held outside the Malfoy Manor. Officially, it was to announce that for the last year, the Ministry's curse-breakers had been working on their hardest job to date, and it was all about to be put into fruition.
The cameras snapped away, reporters hovered in eager anticipation, their quick-quotes-quills flitting through the air. The team of curse-breakers stepped through the crowds and started to make their way over the white pebble driveway. With one last look at the reporters and photographers surrounding her, Hermione stepped off her podium and met Draco just inside the gate. With a last wave to the press, Hermione turned her back on them and took Draco's hand in hers. Quickly he leant down and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
Together, with their fingers intertwined, they strode behind the curse-breakers into their home, the lights of the cameras flashing behind them.
I know, I know that this may not be what a lot of you classify as a HEA. I get it, I do. But let's take a minute to breathe. Happily Ever After's don't only occur when you're young. Sometimes, life is shit and things get in the way. Sometimes, we can't reconcile our heart with our head. Sometimes, what we want isn't always what is best for us. Sometimes, you have to live a life before you can find your true love. Draco and Hermione might have missed 30 years together, but they're healthy - and they're wizards. Their kids are grown... They have the next 40+ years to love and be loved by one another. As my dear Alpha, Missy, said not too long ago - this was never meant to be a Disney ending... It was, after all - A Losing Game.
Clothes I Slept In - Luca Brasi
Clarity - Zedd ft. Foxes
All Of Me - John Legend
