A/N: The time has come. The last two chapters are here. At the end of this year and the start of a new year, I give you an Ending and a Beginning. I hope they do you justice.
Thank you all for your support over these past few months. Your thoughtful reviews have brought me many, many smiles. Your excitement has spurned me to keep writing and revising. Your favorites and follows have filled me to the brim with joy. I'm sorry to see it end, but I'm also terribly nervous and excited to see what you think.
Happy New Year! 3
April 1999—
Time is a fickle thing. When sick with anticipation, it oozes its molasses seconds drop by single drop. When overthrown by bliss, it bursts forth in a rush of hours. Time will march on, and, with a heaping dose of liquid luck, it will stand still. Sometimes it heals, but more often, it hurts. In the end, it has only one constant: time is never on your side.
This is how Hermione found herself face-to-face with Easter break, overwhelmed and over-prepared. Her N.E.W.T.s were not until the second week of the holiday break, but she still drafted rigorous study schedules, requested preparatory meetings with all of her professors, and revitalized her floor stacking system with notes dating back to first year. The stacks began as eight neat piles in a single row, but day by day they spread in perfectly rational patterns sprouting from Hermione's mind, infecting the floor until Draco threatened to use his broomstick to fly from her doorway to her bed. She grumbled as she reorganized back to the original eight stacks.
The support from her friends, for once, had been unparalleled. Every Monday since her announcement began with a giant roll of fresh parchment and an encouraging note from Ron. He also sent her a pair of charmed earmuffs that George had in testing for the following winter, which were designed to block out noise but allow important sounds to filter through. Ginny rushed to meal times and reserved a space for Hermione and her books. She went so far as to pre-serve her plate with options, so Hermione would not have to waste time making food selections. Padma and Ernie worked with Draco to schedule availability for study and quizzing sessions as well as take over her assigned patrols. Harry somehow snuck a copy of her class schedule and personal study planner and wrote Hermione every morning with reminders, jokes, and ridiculous doodles. Luna remained Luna—caring and present in her own unique way—but showed very practical support by reminding Hermione to take breaks, show Draco affection, have an occasional meal without books. And, above all else, everyone in her year reminded her to sleep regularly. Apparently, a sleep-deprived Hermione Granger had a bit of a reputation.
Her biggest support, though, was Draco: helping her focus, planning her rest, finding little pick-me-ups exactly when she needed them, anticipating the time she needed alone, finding time for quick yet satisfying love making, soothing her nerves, encouraging her, and showing constant, supreme confidence in her abilities. Night after night, she wished she had the energy to properly show her appreciation.
When Easter break finally had begun, it was with a frenzy of studying, quizzing, writing, and practicing. Ron volunteered to act as a practice dummy for her. He allowed Hermione to cast absolutely any spell she needed on him (since all others steadfastly refused). To do this, he made the trek to Hogwarts every night of the first week from Hogsmeade.
Every night, that is, except for the first Wednesday—April first. Ron spent the day with his family. While Harry and Hermione were invited, they made their excuses, both unspokenly knowing this was a time for parents and siblings only, not even honorary ones. Later, they all spent that night with George at the Hogs Head helping him survive turning twenty-one alone by drinking themselves into oblivion while George alternated laughing and sobbing at breakneck speeds in a way that had even Blaise Zabini focusing all his attention on supporting the solo twin.
That night, Draco clung to Hermione in a desperate sort of way.
"I shouldn't be here," he whispered to her.
"Of course you should," she admonished.
"No. I— I shouldn't be allowed t—"
"Helping with grief," she interrupted, "is one of the hardest things. This is how you make amends."
Draco froze for ten whole heartbeats. Then he took a shot, released her waist, and moved to sit beside George. Whatever he said caused George to guffaw and shove Draco, ending with the both of them toppling off their stools.
Ron took his place at her side.
"He's a good man, Draco."
Hermione nodded.
Ron looked to her and grinned. "Only the Golden Girl could inspire a twat like that to turn his whole life around and become one of the best of us."
"I hate that monicker."
Ron had taken a swig of his butterbeer and snorted, spraying himself all down his shirt. After much coughing, spluttering, and finally drying himself off (staying Hermione's wand to cast the spells himself), his goofy grin returned.
"You think it'll get any better if you marry a fucking Malfoy!? Everything around you will be solid gold! You'll probably have gold sodding bathrobes, Hermione. Get used to your life being amazing from here on out, because you deserve it."
She rolled her eyes with a grumble about no one getting married and continued to sip at her firewhiskey.
"Listen, I know I've been the worst all year." (She raised an eyebrow.) "Okay, my whole Godric forsaken life. But, I also know Draco can't travel yet. Harry's got a lot going on with Auror training. Ginny's trying out for the bloody Holyhead Harpies. But, me? It's just me and George, and I can get away if you need me."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak. The sentiment was touching.
"Just as a friend!" he practically shouted. "I'm done being an idiot, I swear. I'll even talk to Draco about it if you want. I just want you to know, you're not alone in Australia. I can pick up and leave whenever, if ever, you want."
"Ron, that means a lot to me. Thank you."
He wrapped her in a bear hug. "Don't thank me. I figure it's my turn to step up and be your right-hand man, seeing as you were always Harry's—and mine."
For once, she knew that he meant it. Something akin to tingling warmth spread through her chest.
The night ended with glasses raised. Last gulps of liquid sloshed safely in near-empty glasses. George's voice held the crispness of a strong, glacial wind on a late-summer day.
"My bastard brother just had to one-up me. He came into the world first, and damn it all if he didn't have to leave it first too." His jaw tightened, then he pressed on. "Not content to best me, he went and out-martyred even Saint Potter—" he threw a smirk at Draco "—and actually managed to stay dead. Really, Harry, can't you do anything right?" (This was met with whoops and jeers.) "Freddie, you've outdone us all, and you've even managed to become holey-er than me. To Fred."
George threw back his glass as his audience raised theirs a fraction higher in the air, and slurred choruses of "To Fred" rang out around the room.
"To Fred," Ron said. "Holey-er than thou."
George smirked and clapped his brother on the back while a second chorus of groans rang.
Draco's arm returned to Hermione's waist like a vice. Looking up at him, his eyes glistened along with the rest of the room. Hermione, for her part, had cheeks full of tears.
Sitting N.E.W.T.s was nothing like O.W.L.s. There was a practical portion and a written portion to both. That was where the similarities ended.
Hermione took two tests per day (six hours each), Monday through Thursday, which left her Friday and Saturday to rest and prepare for her imminent departure to Australia on Sunday night.
As it turns out, they were called Nastily Exhausting for a damn good reason. The beginning three hours of written exams were a breeze compared with three hours of spell casting. The Defense Against the Dark Arts practical constituted fending off a full-blown attack by two skilled witches in addition to demonstrating myriad spells. The first portion of the Transfiguration practical involved a multitude of animal attacks, during which the test taker had to fully transfigure the animals into various inanimate objects to avoid maiming or death. The second portion, taken after a five-minute rest break, involved transfiguring random bits of junk into the exact items needed to escape from a series of interlocked rooms. And that was just day one.
By the end of each night, Hermione was too exhausted to revise for the following day. She was never more thankful for her organizational skills, which meant she had already crammed so much time studying into the previous weeks that the extra sleep was what she needed most. The week stretched on horribly for her, but by the end of Thursday, all was done, and aside from her usual twinges of doubt, Hermione felt confident. Her friends cheered and hugged her and begged her to join them in the Gryffindor common room for butterbeers and games, but Hermione declined with a yawn against the back of her hand.
"Tomorrow, then!" Neville demanded. "Please say yes, Hermione."
Her eyes flew to Draco's. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with him before she left. Her lips moved to form a "No," when he spoke first.
"Go on. You won't get to see them either in Australia."
She frowned. "Oh, all right."
Draco smiled at her, and if not for the tiny pinch behind his eyes, she would have believed he was happy.
Friday passed with a blur of celebrations. Hermione was present for each one, but only in body. Her head was full of noise.
What if they hate me?
What if they never can be fully healed?
What if I've damaged their minds and they end up in a recovery ward for the rest of their lives?
What if I can't do this?
What if we don't last?
The doubts that ran through her mind cycled in this pattern nonstop. Every time they turned towards Draco, her heart seized. She would forcefully turn her thoughts away from him, where they solidly landed back on her parents. At around midday, Ginny marched her wordlessly to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey had Calming Draughts waiting.
Later, in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione sipped her butterbeer and clung to Draco (who was permitted inside as a one-time exception for her) while inane frivolity exploded around them. The only time she joined in was when Draco pulled her to her feet to slow dance with him. As the evening wound down, drunken couples started to pair off. She swayed in Draco's arms in their corner of the room until exhaustion hit her.
That night, they slept in her bed, holding each other until well past morning.
Saturday was a desperate sort of day.
When Hermione and Draco both finally abandoned their attempts to sleep in, they stripped down and made love in the brilliant morning sunlight. Their movements were hard, pushing and pulling, and deep, as they forced every ounce of feeling they possessed into each other. Hermione's release was so intense that her room quaked with reckless magic, though she could not tell if it came from only her or from the both of them together.
How they spent the rest of the day, neither could tell you. Hermione found herself back in bed with Draco for the night—their last night.
"This is too hard," she whispered to Draco, with her cheek against his bare chest.
"The best things in life are hard to attain," he said, stroking her back without pause.
"We'll be too far apart. How will we survive?"
"The same way we did before. We're what, eleven, twelve hours apart? We can write every morning and every night. And every other second you want. I'll be here for you."
"Draco, you have to study for your N.E.W.T.s. Even if you don't have to work, you need to be prepared."
That got a look from him. "When have you known me to be unprepared?"
"Okay, fine." She closed her eyes against his scrutiny, against her own racing mind.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. Some, though not all, of the tension left her brow.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too," she whimpered in return.
They held each other in silence, willing the morning never to come.
But, the morning did come.
The afternoon chased it. The clock hand progressed towards eight at an unyielding pace. Night came upon them all too quickly.
Hermione looked at Draco, and she really took him in, much like she had all those months ago in their kitchenette. His body was tense and taught, and she imagined him ready to spring and snatch her like a Snitch out of the air. His eyes were fluctuating between still, empty pools of gray and swirling, molten storms of silver. His face was calm, impassive, except for a slight clench in his jaw. He was an absolute mess, and yet, he was perfect.
"Is it supposed to be this hard?" she asked him. "Is this harder than it's worth?"
He frowned. "I—"
"I don't mean that. I'm just worried about my parents. I need to focus on them right now."
"I understand that. I've always understood."
They stared at each other, and the inches between them grew to miles.
Hermione's lip trembled. "This feels an awfully lot like goodbye."
Draco shook his head. "It's not goodbye. It's never goodbye for me."
He reached for her, and she fell into his arms. He was warmth, and he was safety, and in these few short months, he was everything she wanted. Almost.
"I have to help them." She spoke these words out loud, though only she needed to hear them.
"Hermione, I am the last person you need to convince here. If there's any good left in being a Malfoy, it's that we'd do absolutely fucking anything to protect our family." He meant it. Of course, he meant it. The angry red splotch on his arm proved his devotion over and over again—just not to its intended master. Hermione could see that now. She could look at his biggest mistakes, his biggest failures, and see the love behind them.
"Listen," she heard herself say, "let's just see how things are when I get back. If it's meant to be, it will."
Instead of responding, he leaned in, and she accepted his kiss. In that kiss, she felt everything. Draco's lips were passion and comfort and heat and heartbreak and pure, blissful magic. Their bodies melted together. She never wanted to pull away, but everything has as ending.
Their kiss was more heated than it should have been, considering they were not alone in the Headmistress' office. They pulled apart, panting.
"Minx," Draco whispered into her ear.
The corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up. She knew it was only a ghost of the smile that she should have given to him. He deserved dazzling sunlight, but all she had left was a single twinkling star.
"This isn't an ending, you daft wench." (But will there be a new beginning?) He shook her. "I'll be writing to you by quill every second of spare time I have, and, when you're able, I'll be right next to that fireplace ready to receive you."
A single tear dripped down the side of her nose, and he brushed it away.
"I can't ask you to do this. To wait for me," she said softly, even though every word hurt.
He laughed out loud. "You can't be serious." But she was, and he stilled at the look in her eyes. "My family's actions—my actions—caused you to do this to protect your parents. I'd be quite the fucking tosser if I couldn't wait a year or two for you to set them back on track. We can do this. You can do this."
They embraced and made promises of love until her portkey shivered and shone blue. Some of the promises, she knew they would keep. Others, they would not.
Hermione landed on two feet in the designated arrival corridor of the Australian Ministry. It was daytime, and light streamed in through the windows in visible rays. She kept her eyes forward, since it was not possible to turn back.
'I know you arrived okay. McGonagall got confirmation. I miss you already. When you're ready, tell me when you get to see them. No rush. I'm here.'
'I miss you. I'm too exhausted to think straight. I'll tell you everything tomorrow.'
'Until tomorrow. Get some rest. I love you.'
'I love you.'
'I can't stop thinking about you. It's been a whirlwind here. The Australian Ministry workers are so helpful and friendly, but it's so different from home. I'm so lonely.'
'You've got this. You'll be home for a visit before you know it.'
'Two months!'
'That's nothing.'
'When did you become Mr. Optimism?'
'The moment your lips touched mine.'
'Okay, you win. That was a good one—even if you're full of shite.'
'They remembered my name today. Mum first, then Dad. They looked me in the eyes and said "Hermione" like they knew me, not like we had just been introduced.'
'That is the best fucking news.'
'Is it stupid to feel hopeful? Am I just fooling myself to think we're making progress?'
'Hermione, love, breathe. Just last week, you sent me the full report on their progress. It's measured. It's real.'
'You're right. I'm just second-guessing everything.'
'Everything?'
'Ha. Maybe not everything.'
'In that case, why don't you tell me about the skimpy pajamas you must be wearing to combat the Australian heat?'
'Draco…'
'So, none then?'
'It's winter here.'
'Fuck. I forgot.'
'Would you like to hear about the hot baths I take to stay warm instead?'
'Fuck yes.'
'Six more days.'
'Yes, just six. I can't wait to see you!'
'Are you sure you want to come to the Manor?'
'You made a very specific promise to me involving that library, and I intend to see you keep it.'
'Minx. Is it Saturday yet?'
'Almost.'
June 1999—
Draco had been standing in front of the Malfoy family library fireplace for over an hour. Well, perhaps not standing. Pacing like a maniac; sitting, then standing, then sitting again; jumping up to wander through the aisles; checking his hair and outfit in a conjured mirror every few minutes; creating a stack of books for Hermione, then returning them to their shelves for her to select herself. Basically, Draco was doing everything but standing in front of the fireplace.
Salazar's sack, this wait is going to kill me.
He sat in an armchair and sunk his head into his hands.
At that moment, the floo roared. He looked up. Righting herself from the fire was the most breathtaking witch he had ever beheld. She was sun-kissed and positively radiant. His Golden Girl. He smirked at that thought.
Draco was on his feet approaching her before he ever remembered standing. In three long strides, he was before her. The nearness of her body sent lightning crackling through his. She looked up and met his eyes. She bit her lip.
His mouth went dry.
Fuck, she's stunning.
"Hi," Hermione whispered to him, a question in her eyes.
"Hi," he whispered back and licked his lips.
Her gaze dropped to the flick of his tongue, then back up to his eyes. Her breath puffed out of her. They crashed together with the force of two planets. Hermione's taste was his antidote. The touch of her tongue against his was all it took to cure a mountain of desperation and loneliness. She wasted no time in divesting him of his carefully selected tie. His perfectly fitted blazer was cast aside. Her nails were in his hair and raking down his back and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. All the while, they took step by measured step towards the aisles of books. Hermione breathed in deeply and ground her pelvis against his. If Draco had his complete faculties through her dizzying lust, he might have wondered whether it was the scent of him or of the old books that aroused her—or both. He might have also smirked at that thought. Instead, he plucked at the hem of her shirt until she let go of him long enough to slip it over her head.
Hermione stepped back, breaking their kiss, breaking their contact, breaking an embarrassing whimper free from Draco's lips, and appraised him. Suddenly, her wand was out and in his face. In an instant, he flew backwards to third year where a slap and a well-timed threat first taught Draco to truly fear the witch before him. He opened his eyes, apparently having squeezed them shut, and willed himself to watch her. His panic increased as her wand dropped to his manhood, but for only one betraying second. Consciously, deliberately, he focused on his breath and (rather indeliberately) raked his eyes over her half-naked form. It turned out to be a rewarding exercise in trust as she used her wand to cast his contraceptive charm, then laid it aside on a nearby bookshelf.
"Draco…" she said in a hungry, throaty way that went straight to his groin.
For one blissful moment, they stared at each other. It stretched taught until time itself threatened to break. Then, they snapped back together in a tumble of limbs. Hermione's bra was cast aside ("I love your perfect tits"), and Draco's back was pressed against a bookshelf as she made quick work of his belt. The next thing he knew, she was pressing hot, snaking kisses down chest as she dropped to her knees. His pants fell to hisknees, and he gasped in anticipation as she freed his cock. It twitched in her grip. She met his eyes as she kissed his tip, and every thought in his mind disappeared except for his sense of touch.
Draco moaned as Hermione's tongue circled his tip. She laved broad strokes up and down his shaft before taking him in her mouth. He panted at the erotic heat and wetness. Merlin, this is heaven. What she could not fit down her throat, she gripped with her hand and began moving synchronously. His knees went weak. Hermione moaned, and he nearly came. As much as he loved—loved—the way she made him feel, he knew he could not last for her like this.
He hooked one hand under her arm and pulled her back to her feet. Then, he dropped to his own knees and unzipped her skirt. As it pooled around her ankles, Draco's cock throbbed at the sight before him. Hermione had worn no knickers and was glistening wet for him. His need to taste her overwhelmed him, and his tongue went to work like a man starved. The moans he pulled from her lips fed a deep need in him. He hooked one knee over his shoulder, giving his fingers access to her beautiful cunt, and he did his best to start fulfilling one of Hermione's most avid fantasies. He made her come twice with his fingers and tongue before he finally sunk his cock into her welcoming warmth. She gripped her legs around his hips as he braced her against the bookshelf. Thank the gods that all of the bookshelves in his library were immovable. He slammed his hips against hers as she screamed for him to go harder and faster until they both fell to the floor utterly spent.
"Fuck, you're amazing," Draco wheezed. "How many times can I have you before you leave?"
Hermione smirked at him. "How many times do you think you can come over the next three days?"
The answer turned out to be six.
Hermione was wonderfully sore by the time she kissed Draco with tears obscuring her vision.
"I'll come back as soon as I can," she promised.
"I'll be here."
With a last look, then another last kiss, and then a second last look at Draco, she flooed to the Ministry to get ready for her portkey back to Australia. She did not need more resolve to heal her parents, nor did she think having more was possible, but she somehow found it anyway.
