August 2009

What was the proper reaction or facial expression to have when seeing one's dream realized? Hermione couldn't say, nor could she have properly prepared herself for the sight before her.

She stood on the front steps of Hogwarts, looking down upon the vast grounds, and everywhere she looked she saw Muggle parents and family members and young, eager magical children.

Down by Hagrid's hut, she saw Rolf Scamander introducing a group of children to nifflers and crups while Hagrid himself showed off a unicorn in the paddock.

Out over the quidditch pitch, Hermione spied an airborne Maureen Tyler as she gave a flying demonstration with a few of her Harpies teammates.

Dennis's father, Mitchell, bustled past her with a group of Muggle parents, beginning the tour of the first floor of the castle.

Dennis was sat down on the shore of the Black Lake, a casual and inviting atmosphere with blankets on the grass as he entertained the non-magical siblings and answered their questions, encouraging the children to toss bits of bread to the giant squid lurking beneath the surface.

Behind her, inside the entrance hall, Hermione heard Astoria and Dean Thomas talking logistics for the luncheon to be served inside the Great Hall. They'd poached yet another disillusioned Ministry worker away from the government in Dean, who'd jumped at the chance to become the volunteer coordinator for the fund. He'd already pitched several wonderful ideas to attract more volunteers, like offering extra credit to Hogwarts students for Muggle Studies (soon to be renamed Understanding Non-Magical People) and an internship program for Seventh-Years.

This was real.

Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat and promised herself that she would invite her parents to attend the orientation next year. She knew they'd have loved something like this and perhaps it would help build further understanding between the three of them about what Hermione wanted to accomplish as a witch.

She'd shed enough tears this morning when a huge bouquet of flowers arrived from Harry and Ginny. Harry himself penned the card, writing that this program would have made all the difference to a scruffy-looking orphan from Little Whinging with bad hair and taped glasses. Draco vowed to hex Harry and his stupid glasses for making Hermione cry the next time they all met up.

Ron and Padma had sent champagne and Ron's note brought more tears, but this time from laughter, when she read: "Still overachieving aren't you Hermione? I'm sure your program is great and all, but if it doesn't include locking these kids in a girls' bathroom with a fully grown mountain troll to force a few friendships, then I think you've still got some work to do."

Seeing as the staff had everything in hand and thanking all the deities for the resourcefulness and ambitions of Astoria, Hermione decided to find Draco. She knew just where he would wander to, and was therefore unsurprised to find him seated with Wesley Macnair in the quidditch stands, observing the awed little ones on the pitch.

Draco gestured vaguely to the stands across the way where another man sat, looking delightedly up at Maureen as she skillfully flew around. Even from a considerable distance, there was no mistaking that he was tall and broadly built with neat lines of well-defined muscles.

"Do you know that man over there?" Draco asked Wesley as Hermione joined them.

"Aye, that's Mo's father. He's a real decent bloke, loves watching her fly."

Draco's brow furrowed. "He's a Muggle, right? What does he do for a living?"

"Len's a weight-lifting coach at a university. Mo grew up going to the gym every day from when she was just a wee thing. How do you think she got into such good shape? That man knows his strength-training."

"I'll say," Draco muttered and Hermione saw an idea forming behind his eyes as he lapsed into silence.

"Well I'd better go find the wife," said Wesley as he stood. "She'll be wanting to have you two over for dinner soon, I expect."

"Oh how lovely! Please tell Lara thank you for all her assistance with scheduling the Hogwarts Express trip!" Hermione said in parting and Wesley saluted her.

Hermione contented herself with watching the excitement of the soon-to-be Hogwarts' students on the grass below, most faces wide-eyed in wonder at the thought of one day being able to actually fly.

"If I were a team owner, I'd hire that man straight off," Draco piped up suddenly, and Hermione saw he still looked across the way at Mr. Tyler.

"Even though he's a Muggle?"

Draco shrugged. "An expert is an expert. Imagine an entire squad trained by him…"

Draco didn't often talk about the complexities of his job or quidditch with Hermione, despite her insistence that she wanted to hear about his work.

"Is that something you'd like to do one day? Own a team?" she asked, latching on to what he'd revealed in his statement about Maureen's father.

To her surprise, a flush rose to his cheeks. "I mean… yes, one day. Scouting is nice and all, but since my dream of being a professional player was never realized… yeah. I've given a lot of thought to one day being an owner."

"What's stopping you?"

Draco snorted. "Certainly nothing on the financial front. But no owners have been eager to sell in the last decade, really. Although there are rumors the Falmouth Falcons owner is looking to retire from ownership and none of his children want to take on the team. But still, they'd have to be willing to sell to me… but it doesn't matter anyway. It's just a silly childhood dream of mine."

Hermione stared at him pensively. The occurrences were fewer these days, but she sometimes still detected that Draco held back from fully pursuing things he truly wanted in life, as if he still felt he needed to be punished.

"I think you should have a chat with Mr. Tyler. Couldn't hurt right?"

Draco shrugged but Hermione pressed on. "Oh, go on, have Wesley introduce you. I've got a couple more groups to observe so you'll be left to your own devices anyway."

She pecked his cheek and wandered off to check in with more of the volunteers, hoping Draco would take her suggestion to heart.

Hours later, Hermione waved goodbye to their first ever group of visiting families, as the Muggle family members were escorted down to stay in Hogsmeade and the incoming students being shown to the dormitories. This part of the introduction to the magical world had been an unmitigated success and she hoped the tours of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley would prove just as fruitful.

Draco caught up with Hermione just outside the Entrance Hall, having just concluded a lengthy chat with Mr. Tyler.

"I gave Len my card. We'll see what happens I suppose."

Hermione shot him a grin. "On first name basis already are we?"

Draco playfully nudged her shoulder with his own. "Yes, yes, you continue to be right about all things."

The easy smile on his face warmed her heart and seized her with a sudden surge of affection. She reached down and intertwined their fingers.

"I don't quite know how to thank you for all this…" Hermione said quietly. "It's everything and more… it's exceeded my wildest expectations and I… I just…" She took a steadying breath and held his gaze. "Thank you."

Draco shook his head and gave her a small smile. "No love, this is all down to you. Your vision, your desire to see something this comprehensive become reality. This is your legacy, Granger, relish in it."

They walked a bit further into the castle, finding themselves in a deserted corridor off the front hall. "Although," Draco mused. "I'm thinking the Creeveys are going to find themselves with another exorbitant delivery from my personal cellar quite soon. Would that make you feel better?"

Hermione nodded emphatically. "Oh yes, I truly couldn't have asked for a better team. But even so," she brought them to a halt. "I couldn't have done this without you," Hermione insisted. "I love you… so much…"

She tugged him forward then dragged his head down to capture his lips. Draco responded eagerly, and they soon found themselves in the exact same position from the inaugural gala the year before: pressed against the stone wall and blissfully unaware of their surroundings and snogging each other senseless.

Indeed, they were once again so unaware that neither noticed Minerva McGonagall pass by with a scoff and a muttered, "You'd think the novelty would have worn off by now…"

December 2009

Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade would not be in the cards for Hermione this year and she'd do well to accept that fact.

While happy for Ron and Padma and though their wedding in India may have been her favorite (don't tell Ginny), the subsequent media circus made it quite impossible to be seen anywhere in wizarding public for the time being. If the commotion and press attention, positive though it may be for now, didn't abate soon, then everyone in her life would receive either her horrid attempts at knitting or she'd have to brave the hustle and bustle of the Muggle shopping world near holiday time.

Although, owl-order catalogues could help, especially if it meant she could pick out magical gifts without hearing, "Miss Granger, when do you and Mr. Malfoy plan to makes things official?" shouted at her or have strangers shove photographs of her with Draco from the recent crop of pictures from Ron and Padma's extravagant nuptials under her nose for her autograph.

Part of her felt slightly bitter that Ron and Padma had embarked on a month-long honeymoon to Japan immediately following the wedding and therefore did not have to suffer the press attention that the rest of their family and friends now endured. Still, Hermione was beyond ecstatic for her friends and wondered if by the time they'd returned for Christmas whether Padma would already be expecting the next Weasley.

The fall had swept by in the blur and excitement of her best friend's wedding, and now with their return from India, Hermione and Draco finally found themselves with a weekend free of obligations. And when Hermione didn't have anything pressing to occupy her, her idle thoughts constantly wandered back to the same subject.

In hindsight, Hermione probably shouldn't have tested Draco's patience immediately following a tattoo removal session, but her curiosity ate at her.

His forearm rested in a bowl filled with essence of murtlap; an idea of Hermione's that accelerated the healing process somewhat. Draco had a faraway look on his face as he seemed unable to concentrate on the novel in front of him, his gaze flicking back to his arm every few minutes.

So when Hermione suggested that now would be an excellent time for a proper introduction to his house elves so she could plan for their Christmas gifts, she shouldn't have been surprised when the immediate reply was a surly, "For fuck's sake Granger, whatever for?"

"Language, Malfoy, and I just want to properly meet them, I don't understand why this is a big deal."

Draco sighed and shook his head, exasperated. "But you've already met Crick. Many, many times. He's not exactly a sociable personality."

Hermione rolled her eyes, undeterred. "Well of course not, he only exists to serve the household and we wouldn't want to give elves ideas above their station," she tossed out bitterly. Draco merely fixed her with an indifferent stare, not rising to the bait.

She decided to go a different route. "Please?"

He made a show of cleaning off his arm and rolling his sleeve back down and then heaved a dramatic sigh. "The things I do for you, Granger," Draco muttered under his breath. "Crick!"

The elf appeared instantly. "How may I be of service sir?"

Draco sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hermione wants to talk with you so—"

Hermione shot him a glare, causing him to hastily edit his wording so it wouldn't come out as an order.

"—if you wouldn't mind indulging her for a bit, Hermione would like to speak with you."

"And Watson as well," she chimed in.

At this statement, an uneasy look passed between Draco and Crick. Crick seemed to be looking for permission that Draco seemed hesitant to give. Finally, Crick gave a brisk nod and Draco relented.

"If Watson wouldn't mind, she'd like to have a proper introduction to both of you, apparently. Erm, that is, only if he feels up to it."

Crick leveled Hermione with an unreadable stare. "I shall ask him."

After he'd gone, Hermione turned to Draco with a puzzled frown. "I don't understand," she said. "Is there a reason you can't call him? You always send Crick off with instructions."

Draco looked uncomfortable. "I am unable to call Watson."

A pop signaled the return of Crick, this time with a second elf. If Hermione had to guess, she would say Watson was younger than Crick, though the two appeared so similar that she recognized that they must be closely related.

Watson bowed to Draco and then Hermione.

"My brother, Watson," said Crick and his hands made a flurry of movements as he spoke.

The elf turned to his brother this time. "This is Miss Granger," he said, and his hands once again gestured in a series of odd moves.

Watson nodded his head and looked up at Hermione with a wide smile. "Of course I know Miss Granger, lovely to meet you." But Watson did not speak. Crick interpreted the gestures and movements of Watson's rapidly moving hands and facial expressions and it dawned on Hermione. Watson communicated via signing.

"I always enjoy your cooking," said Hermione warmly, Crick continuing to act as an interpreter.

"Thank you," translated Crick from Watson's signs, puzzling Hermione. She was familiar with a few signs from British Sign Language, and this "thank you" looked quite different.

"Pardon me for asking, but I am curious," Hermione began and she heard Draco snort from somewhere behind her. "Your sign language is different from the ones used by humans."

"Yes," signed Watson. "It was invented by my mother and brother."

"Pardon? You don't use the ones created by humans? Are you saying there isn't a universal signing guide?"

"No, miss," signed Watson. "Deaf elves are rare. Most masters have no use for an elf they cannot summon. My mother and Crick came up with a system of language so they could give me the meal instructions for the day."

"But that's brilliant!" Hermione enthused and Watson gave her a tentative smile. "Would you be willing to teach me?"

Once Crick finished signing her eager request, both elves immediately looked to Draco.

"It's fine," he replied shortly. "You can…" he struggled with his wording as Hermione bit back a smile. "Can… work with Granger or… whatever. You don't need permission, if that's what you'd both like to do or… it's your choice, I suppose… I'll just… be in in my chambers…" He trailed off awkwardly and exited the library muttering under his breath, "Daft, she's bloody daft…"

Hermione turned back to the two elves with her excited grin returned by Watson. She summoned a quill and parchment.

"Perhaps we could begin with your alphabet?"

Hermione joined Draco in bed later, head reeling. What Crick, Watson, and their late mother had accomplished without any sort of formal guidance, resources, or reference books astonished her. There was complexity in the simplicity of their invented signs; created for the original purpose of ensuring Watson could fulfill a household duty, but obviously also with the intention for a mother and a brother to communicate with their loved one.

Though the two elves were extremely forthcoming with their sign language, they remained evasive on their familial history, and Hermione eventually backed off on the personal questions. Still, she gathered a lot from what they did not say. There was an unfortunate paucity of research on elves and elf magic, which Hermione had come to learn was intentional on the part of wizards.

"Well, how did your little tutoring session go? Are you fluent yet?" asked Draco, looking up from the book in his lap.

"Hardly," Hermione replied tartly. "I've got the alphabet down, but it'll take much more time before I can form proper phrases and have conversations."

"Hmm," he said, non-committal, and tossed the book onto the nightstand.

Hermione shifted closer to him, intent on continuing the conversation. "Why did you never tell me?"

His lips formed a slight frown, an expression that Hermione always read as his tell for when he found a situation awkward.

"Crick is rather protective of him, as you can imagine," he offered haltingly. "Elves aren't generally openly discussed in the magical world. Talking about the help is considered rather gauche."

She looked thoughtfully at him, unable to stop her curiosity from spilling forth. "And you don't mind? That he can't be summoned or communicated with directly?"

Draco averted his eyes, clearly not keen on this topic. "Granger, I have elves to make me dinner and keep my house, not to engage in conversation. What do I care as long as he makes a good meal?"

His answer, elitist though it may have been, gave Hermione a bit of hope that he wasn't as unfeeling as he pretended to be about the welfare of Crick and Watson.

"Do you know how Watson lost his hearing?" pressed Hermione and Draco shook his head.

"I finally asked… he caught an ear infection as a young child. His mother didn't want to alert Mr. Franklin, your house's previous owner, to the fact that her child was sick because in those days, a sick elf meant a dead elf. They weren't permitted to St. Mungo's—still aren't, actually—and most masters wouldn't trouble themselves to seek treatment. She had no way of healing him, even with her own magic. Luckily he survived the infection but lost his hearing permanently. When Mr. Franklin found out, he even tried to help, but it was too late for any potions or human medicines. Your predecessor here was quite the eccentric wizard."

She left out her personal observations that Crick and Watson still harbored a great loyalty and affection for their deceased master; less in the vein of Winky's slavish devotion to the Crouch family or Kreacher's obsession with Walburga Black, and more on a level of deepest respect. Though she burned to know more about the reclusive Franklin, Hermione was wary of appearing nosy about the private man's personal affairs. The elves clearly held him in high esteem, so she repressed her urge to pry.

"Not only did Watson lose his hearing," continued Hermione. "But apparently the infection also damaged the same neural pathway in elves that intertwines with the human-elf summoning bond. That's why he can't be called. His hearing loss is a separate side effect, but that bond severance could have been catastrophic with the wrong owner."

"I see."

He settled onto his back but Hermione couldn't stop her thought stream from pouring forth. "I mean, it's just so barbaric that but for the cleverness of his mother and benevolence of a wizard and your decency to keep him on… who knows what would have become of him…"

She felt Draco shift beside her. "Hardly makes me a decent person… I already told you he came with the deed and obviously knows his way round the kitchen… don't make me out to be a savior," he muttered.

Ignoring Draco's discomfort, Hermione laid her head back on the pillow, her mind whirring with ideas as she felt that familiar call to action deep within her to reignite her advocacy.

"I'm going to publish a book."

Hermione announced this a week later from one of the plush reading chairs in Draco's library.

Draco looked up from the end-of-year closeout report for the Wimbourne Wasps. "Based on your research with Pescaro? I thought you were still waiting to hear back from that Runes journal about final publication?"

"No, not on the Mermish research. I'm going to publish a book on elven sign language."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think you have rather enough on your plate at the moment?"

"You misunderstand me. I'm not writing the book. Crick and Watson are. I'm then going to shop it around and use all the unnecessary clout behind my name to see this thing published. They can list me as editor or contributor or some other such nonsense, but those two will be the authors. Do you understand how fascinating this is from a communication sciences and linguistics perspective?"

She'd had only two more lessons with the elves, trying to be mindful of their personal time, but the idea that rooted in her brain suddenly became more about recording their system of communication rather than learning it just for herself. Hermione had already pitched the idea to Crick and Watson, and though Crick took some cajoling, Watson seemed thrilled with the prospect of publishing their book of signs.

The more she spoke with Crick, the more Hermione suspected that he'd received some sort of education in scientific theory and language development. Whether it stemmed from textbooks, journals, or tutelage under Mr. Franklin, Hermione could only guess, as the elf had no interest in specifying.

"You think I'm mad, don't you?" she asked Draco suddenly.

"Ah, well, not exactly," Draco hedged. "But you realize there's never been a book or writings of any sort by an elf in the magical world before, yes? This may be another uphill battle for you, Granger. Especially if Watson is as rare as you believe he is, I'm not sure there's really a market for this type of book."

She knew he wasn't trying to discourage her, and had raised rather salient points, but Hermione felt this could be an important step in bridging the empathy gap between wizards and elves.

"All the more reason for me to see this through. Especially since… since I'm no closer to securing freedom for them… I suppose I can at least do this…" she trailed off, slightly defeated.

"You really need to stop downplaying your achievements, love." Draco countered sternly. "Those Welfare Laws are leaps and bounds beyond what was in place before."

"They don't go far enough," she intoned hollowly then stood to pace in front of the fire. Draco did her the courtesy of putting aside his parchment and giving her his full attention.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley and I worked together on the precise wording of the proposed laws. He's rather brilliant you know, he's got his law degree from both a magical and a Muggle university. This was my first big project for the department and gods, we worked so many hours on that proposal… a comma didn't get put down unless we both agreed it to be necessary. We were so, so careful."

She wondered if Draco knew yet that showing him this side of her was much more intimate than even giving her body to him, far more vulnerable than being physically naked in his presence. Hermione never did well with showcasing her flaws. Ah, so the Brightest Witch of Her Age is human after all? The constant pressure to keep that veneer of brilliant infallibility could wear anyone out.

She finally stopped her frantic pacing to meet his patient gaze. Draco might never fully comprehend her stance on elf rights, but he would never laugh at her or mock her intelligence. Hermione took a deep breath and ploughed on, revealing her greatest shameful failure.

"Do you know how Justin and I had to frame those laws? We practically lifted the language from Muggle animal welfare laws!" She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but found her long-buried frustrations had boiled over after being repressed for years.

"I remember drafting those arguments with him… it made me sick to my stomach. I wanted to campaign for their outright freedom but the best we could do was have them treated on par with pets. With animals," she finished bitterly.

"By the time we presented to the Wizengamot, Justin and I had our arguments down pat. Of course, our request for testimony from some of the freed elves at Hogwarts who earned wages was denied, but that was to be expected. We carried on with the rest of our arguments and I remember one of the elder pureblood members agreed with us. I was… shocked. I thought, goodness, finally, I'd made some inroads with these stubborn families. But do you know why he agreed with me? 'Beaten livestock will yield bad product. Much better to ensure they're well and able to perform their intended service.'"

Hermione hugged her arms around her middle. "These laws were meant to be a stepping stone, a foundation to build other legislation on. But every measure thereafter was swiftly shot down, as the courts felt these went far enough. I'd set out to free them and all I came away with was a guarantee that their owners couldn't torture them. I simply granted them non-lethal slavery."

She dashed at her eyes then, furious that she'd succumbed to tears. Draco shot out of his chair and wrapped her in his comforting embrace immediately, a silent gesture she appreciated more than he would ever know.

"They deserve a choice. That's all I ever wanted to achieve. I'm not trying to upend societal paradigms or stomp on sacred traditions. Elves should be given a choice in this life. I wish more people could appreciate that," she murmured all this into his chest. "But I don't think many do."

Draco tilted her chin up and held her gaze. She could see the thought process occurring behind his serious eyes, as he contemplated very hard on some notion, weighed and counter-weighed responses, sifted through ideas, balanced different emotions, warred with preconceived beliefs, and when his mouth set in a grim line, she knew he'd drawn some definitive conclusion. Whether he'd share it with her was another matter entirely.

He blinked once and his expression cleared.

"You're too good for this world, Granger," he said and kissed her temple.

Two days before Christmas, Draco asked Hermione a question she'd never in her life thought she'd hear from him.

"What would you consider a fair wage?"

"Sorry?" she asked distractedly, looking up from her draft outline for the table of contents for the signing book. There were months of modeling and sketching work to be done to capture both hand gestures and facial expressions, but Hermione needed a way to organize the content first.

"What would you consider a fair wage for work done by house elves?"

"Well," she began slowly, putting her work aside for the moment. "It would depend on the work they perform, obviously. They need a fair wage on par with the amount of work they do for a family. Whether that be cooking, cleaning, gardening, child care, general household maintenance… the amount of work needs to be taken into account as do the hours involved. Most elves don't have a set working schedule, so obviously, they aren't paid overtime even though they're expected to work round the clock. They'd also need proper sick leave and days off."

She sighed and fiddled with her pen. "Yes, I know it sounds complicated but it's what is right. And unfortunately, too many in our world see this as burdensome work and can't see past the inconvenience of treating elves the way they deserve."

Hermione offered him a small smile, pleased he'd shown an interest in her project, then bent her head over her notes again.

"Would you be willing to help me draft a contract? I know it would be more work for you, but I've no clue where to begin."

Her head snapped up again at his odd question. "A contract? For what?"

"An employment contract. To present to Crick and Watson."

She stopped breathing. Her pen fell from her slackened grip. He'd said the statement so decisively, so clearly, that there could be no mistaking his perfect articulation, but Hermione's brain refused to process Draco's pronouncement. After several long moments of silence during which Hermione repeatedly reminded herself that she had not entered a fantasy realm, Draco's face flushed.

"Er… or I could inquire with my solicitors instead? I'm sure they have the necessary expertise to—"

"This isn't funny Malfoy," she said sharply.

"What isn't?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Don't… just… you can't… you're not…" Hermione leapt out of her chair and came to a halt in front of him. She stared to gauge his sincerity, searching his entire face to detect any trace of mockery or deceit but found none.

"You're serious?" she whispered hoarsely. "You'd… you'd pay them? Properly?"

Draco drew a piece of parchment towards him. "Well we'd have to agree to terms, first. And actually that set me to thinking about your book as well. The other day I asked their preferred surnames, as I highly doubt they'd take mine, even though that's traditionally how it's done, and then I thought perhaps they'd prefer 'Franklin' but that's a bit offensive as well isn't it? The point is, they'll need proper, full names to be listed as authors, especially when you've said their given names are some famous Muggle historical reference and Crick sent me back a note with this—"

Hermione tried to pick up the parchment with the words Crick Elven and Watson Elven in neat script, but her hands shook too hard. Draco, groping along his desk for a pen, didn't notice.

"—and once you start the publishing query process—and yes I'm aware you're months out from even a submission draft—you'll want to list their names as such. But I digress, I'd meant to have a sample contract sent over, but wasn't sure if the considerations, legally, might be different given their status as part-human and—"

"Stop. P-please s-stop."

Draco's head jolted towards her in concern at her frantically breathless tone.

"Why are you crying?" he asked in alarm.

Hermione couldn't catch her breath because there was a hole in her chest and now she knew why.

She felt so stupid then; so hopelessly naïve and furious with her past self for having the audacity to mock people who claimed they'd found their "other half" or "missing piece" or some other clichéd tripe because the man in front of her was quite possibly her soulmate and she'd happily duel anyone who dared contradict her.

Actually no, upon further thought, there was nothing "possibly" about this at all.

This wasn't a feeling, this was a veritable, definite fact and she knew, sure as her hair frizzed in humidity, sure as magic ran through her veins, and sure as the sky was blue, that her soul cried out to only ever be connected with his.

He ran his large, soothing hands up and down the sides of her arms and through the buzzing sound in her ears had awareness of phrases falling from his beautiful lips like "breathe, love," and "please, tell me what's wrong," and "I'll get you some water." She finally zoned in on the sound of his hypnotic voice and returned to reality.

Hermione's cheeks felt wet and Draco appeared perturbed, but she had trouble recalling a moment when she'd felt this centered with herself while simultaneously anchored to another person.

"No," she finally got out and he looked relieved that she could form words again. "No, I don't… I don't need water… I don't need anything."

She threw herself in his arms and he held her up easily. "Draco," she said seriously. "This is... to be honest I'm still coming to terms with the brilliance of this idea and the fact that you would do something like this for me."

He gave her a soft smile at her praise, but shook his head. "Not just for you. What you said to me the other night? About choice, and not being given one?"

He swallowed and glanced away. "I know the feeling all too well. And I don't want… I can't be a man who… who could do that to someone else."

Hermione cupped his chin to force his gaze back to her. "I love you."

She meant it more than she could ever possibly mean anything, but it still felt like an inadequate response to convey the depth of affection she held for this man.

I love you with all of my soul.

A/N: I'm sorry for those of you reading this on FFN, as the site has been glitching for days now, and Chapter 45 has still not appeared despite several re-uploads and emails to FFN Support. You can read it on their FFN mobile app, on Archive of Our Own, or on Wattpad. Thank you for bearing with me!

The next update will be November 8.

I hope you're all safe and healthy and taking care of yourselves. Thank you for reading. Throw me an ask or just say hi any time on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.