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Draco Lucius Malfoy

"I should've built a home with a fountain for us, the moment that she told me that she was in love too young. I was too young."

- Alec Benjamin -

Draco Lucius Malfoy. What a name.

Some believed it came with hatred, death and destruction. Some believed it was fame, money and honor. Some thought it was prejudice and darkness.

He used to believe it was everything he ever wanted, as well as the looks, the name came with luck, charm and power.

She thought it was him, heated kisses and…

Love.

She didn't think that anymore. Nor did he. He now knew what Malfoy's name was, it was loneliness.

Utter, thick, loneliness.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the fancy couch in their living room, which his wife - his now-dead wife - had chosen for their broken family when she thought he had the chance to live again. How could he?

"Dad?" young Scorpius Malfoy, his son - his blood and flesh, called out to him and Draco opened his weary eyes. He could feel a pulse in his temples - blood flowing around his body as if he didn't feel the pain, as if he was perfectly fine. He wasn't.

"Yeah, buddy?" he softly said as he looked at the fifteen-year-old in front of him, worry and burden of a world in his grey eyes as the older man tried to smile. He had no right to make his son worry about him, "Are you okay?"

"Perfect," Scorpius choked the words and his face flushed. A sign that he was lying but Draco was too crushed to push him more. So he threw him another half-hearted smile. Scorpius knew something was wrong - "he has your intelligence," Narcissa Malfoy used to say - but he was too polite to ask it. Draco was too lost to tell him, himself. So they both let it go. "I am going to my room, to… um… you know, sleep. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, pal," He still had that week smile on, "go ahead. I, myself, will go to sleep soon enough. Good night." he patted Scorpius on the shoulder and squeezed it a bit. The young boy nodded and headed to his bedroom. Draco grinned, he wasn't going to just sleep. He was absolutely sure that his young son was just going to talk to the young Granger girl for a while before letting himself rest. Granger-Weasley, he reminded himself.

The man stood up and walked to the small bar he had in the corner of his living room. A shot of fire-whiskey was very much needed. Or several shots. He could simply use Accio but he was so used to making his own drinks.

Sipping from his very much liked drink made him break down. No! Seeing Granger today (Granger-Weasley, he reminded himself again) made him break down. He always knew she would be the death of him. The drink burned his throat, stomach and honest to Salazar, it made his heart burn. Or maybe it was the pain's effect - the pain that memories brought back - and drink was merely an amplifier.

That morning, when he woke up, he had no idea he was to face Hermione Granger - now the minister of magic - again. In fact, after the adventure they had to share for the sake of their children, he had promised himself to stay away from her for the rest of his life because, even though he had mastered hiding his feelings, being near her made him lose his mind. Being near her and her husband made him murderous.

And then McGonagall sent him an owl, saying,

"Mister Malfoy,

I am writing to you, to inform you that your immediate presence at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is needed, in regards to your son Scorpius Malfoy.

Please use the flow powder and get yourself to my office as soon as possible.

Yours truly,

Headmaster

Minerva McGonagall."

Draco had gotten ready all in a hurry, his heart racing. What had Scorpius possibly done? He appeared in her office (from the one of his own) just to see Hermione Granger on the other side of the room, all so shiny and glittery as if she wasn't on the edge of forty - all charming and sexy.

He had promised himself not to see her again.

Not to think of her even.

But how could he resist when she was there standing in front of her, yet again so beautiful. So breath-taking. He nodded a greeting, "Minister." what else was he supposed to say? Her surname, Weasley? He couldn't do that.

He finally got himself to look away from her, to focus somewhere else, "Headmistress." he said with gratitude. This woman always made him wonder if she was human. All powerful and rational. All motherly.

"Draco," Hermione said with a flash of a polite smile on her face. As if it was forced… as if he didn't deserve it. To be honest, he didn't. Minerva McGonagall's voice was the only thing that forced Draco to look away, or else he would stare at her for the rest of his life.

"Well, thank you both for coming," she started calmly, "the reason I have requested an urgent meeting called is in relation to your children made a huge mess out in the Great Hall. Young Scorpius jumped on the poor Nott boy and I can assure you that he needed a couple of stitches and a great load of healing spells to recover."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Scorpius wasn't a fighting-type (he would give anything away for him to be able to throw a punch) and now there was a fist fight? Moreover, Scorpius had won? There must have been an explanation. He couldn't help but grin at the mere thought of his boy fighting. It was more of a Potter-thing.

"That is unfortunate, really," Hermione cleared her throat, "but I don't see how this is related to Rose."

Draco didn't dare throw a glance her way, it was too dangerous, but the fact that she was there because of the same fight didn't even cross his mind.

"Well, minister, I'm afraid your daughter was the reason this fight started in the first place," she coughed as if she couldn't imagine her best-student's daughter would cause a fight, "and at last, she did most the collateral damage."

Shite, Draco thought with amusement, the girl fought the battle? I knew Scorpius couldn't throw a damn punch. Hermione flinched next to him, "Nott must've said something to provoke her," she reasoned with the old woman but her tune was revealing that she found it as unsettling as the Headmistress did. His father was the same git, Nott, and Draco knew it. So, perhaps, she was right.

"There was a reason, indeed," McGonagall said dryly, "but the reason doesn't justify the things your children did. Nott called Rose man-ish or something between those lines," Headmistress blushed and Draco immediately knew what she was called. He could in fact imagine Nott-junior saying it. I am pretty sure you are filthy-blooded, Gryffin. It was his father's trick in fact. "And Mister Malfoy threw the first punch." she concluded.

Hermione sucked in a breath and Draco no longer could resist it, he looked at her and damn, her face was flushed red (showing that she probably knew what Nott had told Rose, too) and she looked… mesmerizing. "I will talk to her, ma'am," she finally said, "and make sure it doesn't happen anymore."

"Me, too," Draco said, still feeling unable to take his eyes off the beauty in front of him. And then McGonagall nodded and let them go. But he was pretty sure his heart was still there, in that office where they had been together just years ago, while the first blossoms of love grew - their third year.

Now that he was sitting on his comfortable chair, in his lonely mansion, he still reviewed her face, her tune over and over again. Their story was like a rhythm in his mind which he would never forget. It was like beauty in its fullest strength, pain in its mildest degree.

He knew she would be the death of him the moment he laid eyes on her. Eleven-years-old and still he could feel the strong feeling of pulling between them. He seeked beauty in her messy curls, in her sweet smile, in her… Good Lord, everything. And he hated her for it.

Back in third year, when he first kissed her, he turned all that hate into love; epic, poetic, burning love. He still could close his eyes and picture her full pink lips on his, their tongues intertwined. He could close his eyes and see her brown curls when the dawn sun ray highlighted them.

Years later, when he stood before God to be bound by marriage to Astoria, he had closed his eyes and seen Hermione Granger walking towards him. Maybe, that was why he never kissed Astoria with closed eyes. However much the lust was, fear was more. He was afraid he would picture Hermione instead of the woman who was his wife.

He loved Astoria, how could he not? She was the mother of his son… their son. But what he felt for Granger… it was always there. Astoria knew it. She knew it and loved him despite it. She knew it and she thought she could make him fall in love with her. Yes, Draco loved her but he wasn't in love with Astoria Greengrass. And she knew it.

He remembered the last moments with Astoria, when death was tightening its grip on her, she looked at him with teary eyes (how much he hated himself that moment) and told him, "Draco, I don't blame you for not loving me the way I wanted you to. What I feel is enough for both of us." and then life had taken away one more precious thing from him. Astoria Malfoy died. She died knowing that her husband didn't love her enough and it was killing Draco.

He remembered staying up the whole night crying.

And now, Hermione Granger, all golden and lovable, had a husband, two children and a happy life.

He closed his eyes and leaned into the soft back of the sofa. Memories filled his mind as soon as his body relaxed and he relived the happiest days of his life.

When he took Hermione to the Yule ball, one hand tight around her back and the other laced with her hand. He was aware of his fingertips on her body and he would give away all he had just to be alone with her at that moment so he could take off that dress of hers.

She looked all shiny and hot with that gorgeous blue dress, making Draco go mad with lust. He remembered Weasley being dead jealous and damn, who wasn't? He was the luckiest boy alive.

He still recalled that one time at Hogsmeade when he forced her to secretly try fire-whiskey and when she got drunk afterwards. How she kissed him in front of their whole class that day. Alcohol was really a good thing for her, Draco always thought. It made her cheeks red and her eyes golden. It made her alive - more alive, actually.

She always was the most alive thing ever, as if she radiated life and happiness and love. She was… Hermione Jean Granger. The mud-blood who stole his heart.

He yearned for the nights they spent in the room of requirement, his mouth on hers, his hands slipping under her garments. Hearing her soft humming when they laid down between the sheets, oh, how he missed her body against his even after twenty-some years, the memory was still the most fresh thing in his mind. The nights when she sneaked out, when she cheered for him… when their hands were tangled like the love-sick teenagers they were.

He longed for her… he had longed for her every second of his miserable life since he broke it off. Yes, Draco Lucius Malfoy broke up with Hermione Granger. Being a Death-Eater and wanting a relationship with the Chosen One's best friend wasn't the easiest job to do. Nor was protecting her. She was in danger and if she was with him, she would be considered a corpse.

He broke it off.

Opening his eyes, Draco Malfoy snapped back to reality. He found himself in the huge, empty mansion where the clock was ticking, where the mirror revealed that he no longer was a teenager. He was a widowed man, with a son and a still-warm love - dead, though - in his heart.

He looked at the clock above his head. It was almost midnight. How hadn't he realized the cruel passing of time?

He doubted if anyone was awake at this time and a memory struck his mind. He heard the young Hermione saying, "Do you know why we get insomnia some nights?" she had asked this when her head was on his bare chest, moving with every breath he took. When they just had the sweetest night ever.

"Because we have so much caffeine?" he grinned, "or maybe somebody has put a spell on you?"

She had shook her head and then raised on one elbow, her caramel eyes looking into silver ones of his, "No," she muttered, "it is because someone is thinking of you." Draco had raised an eyebrow and they both burst into laughter.

"Don't think of me late in the nights," Hermione had warned him, "I like to have a goodnight sleep." she mocked him and Draco put his arms around her naked body even more, feeling her warm skin.

"I can never stop thinking about you, Granger," he had muttered, "late night or not, you are always stuck in my mind."

That night, they had laughed it off but he knew it was true. She was there and she would never leave. Not until his breath was no longer, when the death had taken him away.

She was always up there.

Draco Lucius Malfoy stood up, no longer a teenager, and walked to the staircase to find his way to his bedroom. He, seeing his little boy asleep on his desk from behind the half-closed door, stopped and slowly walked in.

His son, Scorpius Malfoy, had a muggle phone in his hands - talking to Granger-girl for sure - and he seemed like he was at peace. That makes one of us, Draco thought. He slowly tried to move the young man to his bed, trying not to wake him up. He slowly growled.

As soon as Scorp was settled, Draco sat on the edge of his bed, his fingertips slowly tracing the hairline of the young Slytherin when blond gave away to the pale skin. His pale skin.

"I am glad that you are not like me," He muttered to the sleeping boy, "you deserve some good friends, mate. You deserve her." he felt tears pooling in his eyes and he took a deep breath. Malfoys didn't cry. Draco Malfoy wouldn't cry. He wasn't allowed to. "I didn't."

Scorpius flinched and his eyes slowly opened, "Dad?" he said in a sleepy tune.

"It is me, bud." Draco patted his on the shoulder and said, "You fell asleep, I just… wanted to take you to your bed. I think I'm going to go to sleep myself."

He stood up, feeling embarrassed and headed to the door but his son's voice stopped him, "Dad?"

"Yeah?" he muttered as he turned to look at him.

"Do you still have anything against Weasleys and Potters?" he asked, "Or… Rose?" he sounded nervous, "because I don't want to…"

"You should get the girl," Draco smiled sadly, "I support you, fully and completely. Do what you need to do." he could see a ghost of a smile passing his lips, "Sleep well, bud." he smiled again and walked away before his expression could reveal anything.

He wished somebody had said this to him once.

He wished he had gotten the girl.

He laid on his bed, head pressed to pillow, silver gaze fixed on the ceiling. Still reliving the past and promising himself that he will stay away from Hermione Weasley all over again. A promise he knew he couldn't keep.

But gosh, her eyes. Salazar's grave, he could get lost in them forever. For all eternity.

Because she was light. She was all the colors… at their brightest. Draco closed his eyes as he laid on his bed, a woman's empty spot heaving on his shoulder. He remembered that time when he finally had the courage to say it, It's exceptionally lonely, being Draco Malfoy. He slept… he tried to. And he longed for her, he yearned for her, he missed her, because she was everything he wanted.

But above all,

She was his.

.

.

A/N: So this is the first thing I am publishing here. This has a part two with the point of view of the female we all stan, Hermione Granger. So please, do lend me your thoughts.

Sanita