Please note the time jump for this chapter.
Chapter 3
Four months later: September 19th, 2001
Hermione gave a hard tug on the dark green onion shoot.
Just one more, she thought.
She wasn't going to run out this time and give Draco an excuse to complain. Not that he ever really fussed. Well, maybe once or twice he did, she recalled, a slow smile growing across her face. But how was she to know the aristocratic pureblood would have a such liking for onions? He was quite mad about them. Wanted them in his eggs and as an accompaniment to his meat. Said they enhanced every flavor. She didn't know how he could tell, because the pungent little things overpowered everything else in her opinion. But he was adamant about it, the stinker.
She snorted. Stinker is right.
Needless to say, it made for very fragrant conversations. She'd started eating them in self-defense, telling Draco she'd had no choice. Otherwise, his breath would have knocked her out cold. The memory of his face after she'd said that caused her to laugh, her slight shoulders shaking in amusement.
That had been a good day.
Thankfully, she had more of those now. More days of quiet, of calm. The past weeks had seen a change in Hermione. For one thing, she was more aware of the passing of time. The minutes of each day began to carry weight. They now marked the time between the hours she spent with Draco versus the hours she spent alone. The beauty of nature beckoned once again to her traumatized soul. It spoke to her, whispering secrets that were just outside her range of understanding. But she thought they had to do with the wizard who was now such a presence in her life.
When she would wake up to a new day, she now noticed the pale sky overhead, sometimes filled with geese flying in formation. Was it just her imagination that their 'v' always seemed to point in the direction of Draco's home? Why the changing colors of the leaves brought to mind the chrysanthemums that grew around his front door? When the crisp fall breeze played havoc with her curls, she would recall the many times she'd had seen it rifle through Draco's hair.
And the many times she'd been jealous of the wind.
Hermione was no expert when it came to romantic relationships, but she knew alot about love. About trust. She knew she now had plenty of both for Draco.
She realized it the day she'd been harvesting some freshwater gillyweed from the pooled off part of the river by his home. He'd come home from scouting for berry bushes to find her in a full-fledged panic attack. She didn't remember what had brought it on; she'd not even noticed the whimpers coming out of her mouth; only the feel of his hands when he'd gathered her up in his arms. Only the rhythm of his gait as he walked into the river. Only the earthy, yet comforting scent of his sweat as he held her close to his chest. Only the chill of the water as he lowered both of them into the depths of the rushing stream, the cold of the water doing what he'd hoped, shocking her out of her nightmare. She'd clung to his neck then. And cried. He'd said not a word of disapproval or censure; but he did say he was sorry. Alot.
She surprised them both when she pulled his head down to kiss him. Kissed him with teary eyes and a snotty, swollen nose. But somehow, it hadn't mattered when he kissed her back. Draco's response was hesitant at first. But then she felt it; some sort of restraint broke within him. Giving in to it, he roughly angled her head and kissed her deeply. Desperately. Divinely, so much so that Hermione felt her toes would curl from the intensity of it.
When he ended the kiss, he asked if he needed to apologize. She'd said yes, but only because he'd stopped too soon. She'd felt his deep-throated chuckle as he pulled her closer to him. And closer to healing.
Most days were spent in each other's company. Hermione loved tending to his garden; in return, he worked on their stock of meat and firewood. Draco had rigged a complicated series of racks for the meat to dry on so that they would have a source of protein for the cold winter months. Now that he was hunting for two, he didn't want to run out. Not that Hermione ate it often. She still had moments when the sight of it would bring back a battle. The idyllic view of a butterfly-filled flower bed would give way to a grayish, acrid, smoke-filled sky, the jarring thuds of fighting giants reverberating through the ground. Or the heart-pounding recollection of Nagini coming out of Bathilda Bagshot's body, its body coiled to strike.
If that happened when Draco was near, he would drop what he was doing to sit her on his lap. There, he would try to bring her out of her memories by describing all he could see around them. He would hold her snugly and whisper in her ear. She had not known what a poet's soul he had. The way he would paint the woods and the garden with his words was beautiful. It wouldn't take long for her to relax and come back to the present. And if that didn't work, he would kiss her.
She'd faked it a few times just to get that kiss.
Now, here they were, a season later. Summer had transitioned to Autumn. Today was her birthday. Draco said he had her something. She'd honestly forgotten all about the day until he mentioned it. Then she asked him how he knew. He'd told her he remembered the strange muggle packages she received at the beginning of each school year. She supposed they would look odd to him. And what was inside them, even odder. Her Tamagotchi pet hadn't lasted long in the magical air around Hogwarts, but her Beanie Babies had, and for the rest of her time at Hogwarts, they'd made their home on top of the pillows on her bed, keeping her company. She couldn't recall what had happened to them.
That was probably for the best.
Finally getting the last stubborn onion out of the soil, Hermione put it in her sack with the others and began to make her way to Draco's home.
Her heart was waiting for her there.
000
Draco checked the persimmons in his basket, feeling them one more time to confirm their ripeness. It wouldn't do to offer Hermione one that wasn't ready. He'd too many times endured the dry, jaw-hurting awfulness of biting into one that was still green. He chuckled to himself. How he'd changed; the younger version of himself would have loved nothing better than seeing Granger pucker and grimace.
But that was when he'd been Malfoy. And she, Granger. Personalities that had died in the flames of war. Now, it was Draco and…...Hermione.
Beloved, corrected his heart. Draco ignored its whispers. He had no right to think it. Not yet. Even though the former Gryffindor had wiggled her way into his affections. Or maybe the feelings had already been there and had only needed a little time to ripen, much like the fruit he was carrying.
For there had been a time before. A time he'd kept to himself; one that he'd never thought possible until the day he'd found Hermione among his flowers.
A time that occurred while they'd still been at Hogwarts.
That fateful night had been in the library, of course, during their sixth year.
It had found Draco like he'd often been that year; tired….worried…..scared. His guard was down. He'd gone to the library seeking additional information to help him in his task. Of course Granger was there; when was she not? Ignoring her, he went to the restricted section. A minute later, he heard a sniffle. A soft sob followed. She was crying? He wondered why, but then shrugged his shoulders. It was no business of his. He had other, more horrible things to do than pick on the swot. He grabbed a book and began to make his way to the door but felt something stop him. Looking back, he gave Hermione a glance. If that had been the end of it, he would have been none the wiser. If he had just left, he might would have never known. But he paused; that was when he felt it. It was Hermione's magic, seeking solace for its witch. He felt it when it curled around him. He felt it even more when his own magic rose up to meet it. The two magicks twirled around the other, bonding instantly. Draco gasped at the same time Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. One comforted, the other terrified; for even if she didn't know what had just happened, he did. They were like magicks.
He and the mudblood.
Draco fled from the library, sickened in heart and mind. How had that happened? It shouldn't be possible. He was a pureblood, from an untainted line of purebloods; she was an…..an….abomination. A freak of nature.
Did it mean there was something wrong with his magic? With him? Was that why he couldn't fix the vanishing cabinet? Why he had never been able to beat her in any subject? He momentarily panicked until common sense broke in and reminded him that Hermione had bested all the purebloods of their year, not just him.
For the rest of the year, he fretted over the memory of that evening, but never told anyone. Later, when things got bad, he thought often of that night. How things might have played out if there had never been a Voldemort or beliefs in blood purity. He and Granger could have gotten together. He would have never taunted her to begin with. Maybe they would have been study partners. Maybe Draco would have never been placed in Slytherin.
During that dreadful next year, Draco often escaped within himself to his maybe life, seeing as he didn't believe he was going to survive the actual one he had. Then it happened. One day, the golden trio was brought into the Manor. Draco's magic quickly rose up in defiance to all the other ugly, twisted magicks in the room. It wouldn't allow him to name Harry, although he knew it was him. When Hermione's torture began, so did Draco's. Within him, his magic writhed and shivered and screamed along with the witch. Draco began to sweat profusely. Narcissa noticed and looked at him worriedly. Draco thought he was going to faint. He prayed he would. When his mad aunt grabbed the Malfoy blade to use against Hermione's flesh, his powers finally stilled. That had puzzled Draco until he realized the answer; his magic knew that knife could not kill anyone belonging to the family. Hermione was his whether he ever accepted it or not.
From the moment he had seen her gathering his moonflowers, he had known it would come to this. He had known he would succumb to the inevitable. He guessed it was his opportunity to set things to rights. Draco saw what the war had done to the former feisty witch. Hermione was fragile. When they'd first reconnected, he'd felt a misplaced word could send her spiraling into a flashback or something even worse. But that had been months ago. He knew she was better now. He'd worked hard all summer to make sure of it. He'd done it because he'd felt she was due penance from him. His blackened soul cried out for a chance to redeem itself. His magic urged him onward. But it wasn't long before Draco felt another motive. When she would place her head on his shoulder, a fierce possessiveness would come over him. Draco would put his arm around her, feeling the need to protect Hermione. To comfort her. To cherish her. For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Draco lived the vows of marriage, even though a wedding was no longer an option for him. Hearts and happily ever afters were a part of normal life. Part of a world he was now denied. But if he could have chosen that life, he would have. With her. Hermione completed him; she gave him purpose.
He roused from his daydreams when he heard her coming. When not riding Deema, her mare, she liked to kick off her shoes and walk along the edge of the river, splashing and making enough racket to scare all the fish away. Draco grinned. His witch was still such a little girl. It was one of the things he adored about her. Even now he could hear her singing.
" Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts, teach us something please…."
"What lesson would you like to learn then, Miss Granger?" he asked as he rose from the bench to meet her in the garden.
Hermione's cheeks dimpled. "Why Professor Malfoy, I really can't say. What would you have me know?"
That I've fallen for you? That our magicks are mated? was what he wanted to say. Instead, he answered, "For you to learn how to be punctual for a birthday dinner given in your honor. I'll have you know you're fifteen minutes late."
Hermione giggled. "That's your fault. I had a tug of war with some onions. They were stubborn, but I eventually won." She held out her bag for him to see. "I need to wash them off."
He led her inside his home. A bright fire was burning in the fireplace. Hermione breathed in the aroma of roasted duck and vegetables. Humming in pleasure, she took her sack to the kitchen sink.
"So….when do I get my present?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Draco snorted. "Not so fast, Witch. Dinner first."
When it came time to eat, Draco plated her food, making sure she had the choicest pieces before he served himself. Hermione couldn't help but watch Draco while she ate. The candle glow reflecting on his hair gave him an ethereal appearance.
He looks like an angel. Unbidden, her heart began to ache with longing. My angel.
Draco looked up from his food to see Hermione staring at him with an expression of deep affection. Gryffindors never could hide their emotions. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. Her look bolstered his courage, but he felt things could still go wrong. What if his gift backfired? What if it wasn't enough? What if she said no?
Finally, after they both had eaten their fill, he pushed away from the table and cleared his throat.
"Would you like your present now?"
She smiled. "I would."
"Then give me your hand." Hermione held her right one out. He shook his head. "No...the other one."
She gave Draco a puzzled glance, but did as he asked. Taking her hand, he raised up the arm that had been cruelly carved by Bellatrix. Draco gently traced the scars with his fingers. "This was done with the Malfoy cursed blade…..not one belonging to the house of Lestrange."
"Draco…..what are you…"
"It was crafted to destroy our enemies." He looked up at her then. "Not family members."
Her heart began to race at his words, but she managed to calmly reply. "I'm not a Malfoy, Draco."
He took a deep breath. Here it was, then. "Actually, magic says you are. You have been since our sixth year."
He would have laughed at the expression on her face if he'd been less nervous. Even so, he couldn't help but smile at her look of pure incredulity.
"Have you gone mad?"
Perhaps he had. Nevertheless, he went on to explain to her what had transpired that night in the library.
Hermione listened quietly, her mind disbelieving, while the rest of her desperately wanting to it to be true. Deep inside, she sensed her magic quivering with excitement and anticipation. It had long waited for this time of symmetry.
"Our powers bonded, Hermione. If the rest of us follows suit, your scars will disappear. I...I want to give you that."
"Why?"
Draco swallowed. Although he felt it, it wasn't easy to say. Leaning over, he brushed her lips with his. Before he brought them away, he whispered, "Because I love you."
Hermione hadn't felt such widely differing emotions since the war. Joy, desire, unbelief, fear…...they were all clamoring to get her attention. She grasped at the one thing she had taken from Draco's words.
"So…...in essence….you're….proposing to me?"
He sadly shook his head. "I wish I was…..I wish I could offer you marriage. But I can't."
Hermione's heart sank with bitter disappointment. "Oh."
She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp.
Draco saw she was quickly formulating the wrong idea. "I would if I could," he said quickly. "It's what I want. But I care too much to burden you with that."
"What do you mean?"
"Think, love. All official weddings are recorded in the ministry. Even private bondings. If we performed the ritual, they would know. They would know you married me, a death eater. You would be branded a traitor. Bounty hunters would start searching for you, too."
"Then….I don't understand. What are you offering?"
Draco cradled Hermione's face with his hands. "Myself. There is a way. More…...ancient and one that can't be traced. That won't be recorded. It all hinges on intent." He added softly, "To protect you, I can't give you my name, but you can have the rest of me. You already have my magic."
Hermione gazed at Draco's face. A face she was now so intimately acquainted with. His earnest, searching eyes roved over her features, gauging her response. She knew this was not a ploy or an attempt at seduction; he meant what he said. Draco was too much impossible choices and losses and sorrows to pretend at romance. Life had not been kind to either of them. But he was unfailingly honest; he was tender. He was real.
He was the most real thing in Hermione's life.
"Okay," she whispered.
"You will?" He couldn't quite believe it. "Are you sure?" The thought went through his head that she might not have understood what he'd been offering. The modern world no longer considered the act alone to be one of commitment.
But she had. While he'd been speaking, a bible verse from an old Sunday school lesson had come to mind. Then Isaac brought her into the tent….and took Rebekah, and she became his wife, and he loved her."
Her next words proved him that. "Take me, Draco. Make me your wife."
000
AN: Only one chapter left. The Chosen One returns. So do the bounty hunters.
A recurring theme in so many of my stories is a soul connection of some kind or another; mainly because I believe it exists. I can truly feel the kindredness I share with some. I can sense it when they have a need or when I'm about to hear from them. And vice-versa. Freaky, huh? But true. So, you know what they say; write what you know.
This incarnation of Draco is patterned after my husband when he and I were first married. In matters of love /romance, he felt very deeply, but articulating it was difficult for him. Back then, he was not a man of words, but actions. With them, he was very eloquent.
Also, he used to eat onions like a fiend.