11 Reasons General Theme: 11 Reasons why Draco and Hermione Belong Together
Pairing: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger
Title: The One Who Knows
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter
Word Count: 1637
Prompt: Table 4 (Sins & Virtues)—Hope
Notes: Many thanks to my betas, Z and eilonwy!
Additional Note: I realized I didn't actually explain this upon posting the first chapter, so I need to take some time to do it.
A few weeks ago, I joined this really fun community called on Live Journal called "11 Reasons." Basically, you choose a pairing (Draco/Hermione), then a statement you want to prove in 11 fics. I chose (the very generic, I know) "11 Reasons why Draco and Hermione Belong Together." Then you're given five tables with various themes (Human Anatomy, Moods & Temperaments, Favorites, Sins & Virtues). You choose two words from each table to do your fics, making 10 fics (or drabbles, or whatever). Then there is a wild card table that changes every month. You can write them in any order you want, do basically whatever you want.
I chose a song by Dar Williams called "The One Who Knows." It's incredible. I divided the lyrics into 11 "verses", and am writing a ficlet for each "verse." The lyrics for each chapter will appear at the beginning. Also, the chapters are out of chronological order, but they go with the song lyrics. Which are important.
All that said, I really hope you enjoy this series. I've had a blast working on it. This story will not be posted in chronological order. This chapter takes place before they're married. :)
ooo
And if I had the world to give, I'd give it all to you.
Dar Williams – The One Who Knows
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Draco realized immediately that Hermione was no longer in the room. It was a large room, full to the brim with all kinds of people, but he could sense her absence in the way the light didn't reach the outer edges of the room. She took the sun with her.
He knew she had to be upset. Hermione didn't care much for these publicity events, but she felt a duty to Ron and especially to Harry to be at every single one. Tonight she had made her speech, given her wave and practiced smile and sat pleasantly through dinner surrounded by dignitaries and Ministry department heads. Now that the party was in full swing, she was nowhere in sight.
Draco finally found her outside on the front steps of the building, her head on her knees, crying her eyes out. Rain was pouring steadily beyond the overhang that jutted off the building, sheltering her. He watched her for a moment as a few drops of rain splashed on the edges of her wrinkled dress. He knew she didn't care. With a small smile, he sat beside her, pulling her into his arms; she continued to cry.
Eventually her sobs slowly turned into sniffles and she pulled back from him.
"All right, love?" he asked softly, handing her a handkerchief.
She shrugged. "It – it's the same thing," she managed.
"I know."
"They—they always throw these stupid parties," she said, sniffling. "Every other week, it seems. The War's been over for nine months and they still want to celebrate like it was yesterday." Hermione scowled and crumpled the handkerchief in her fist.
Draco sighed and took her hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers.
"They want to glorify the War, and Harry. Ron and me, too. Turn it into some kind of… of holiday!" she said angrily. "They want so much to forget what the War was really like, what it was about. What we fought for. What some people died for, Draco. Throw a party, get wasted so you can forget for one night the screams and the horrors and the nightmares.
"I don't want to forget. Don't want to forget what Harry died for. If we forget, it's going to happen again. It always does. This – this night, he died for tonight, so we would be free to throw a bloody party and get bloody plastered and not have to worry about bloody Death Eaters attacking us as we stumble to our homes. Only, Merlin—he had to have died for something more than that, right? Like freedom, and no more fear. Not being filled with dread at just the thought of going out at night; no more fear of a nasty, green glow over the house of someone you love."
She started to cry again. "I'm so bloody angry, Draco. I don't want to cry over this anymore, but I don't want to not cry over this." Her shoulders slumped and he put an arm around them and pulled her back to his side.
"I love you," he whispered finally. He'd heard it all before, and he ached for her. He wished she could let it go, put it behind her.
"I know. I think you're a bit crazy for it, but I know."
He kissed the side of her head. "Your speech was good."
She chuckled. "Thanks. You're getting better at writing them."
"When are you going to say what's inside you?" he asked quietly. He knew Hermione had a story to tell about Harry and the War and everything that had happened—most importantly why it had happened. He agreed that it shouldn't be forgotten, or swept into dark corners just because it was ugly and Dark. And he knew she had a lot of truth to tell, but was very hesitant to put it to parchment. She feared most that people wouldn't read it, wouldn't care to learn the truth about Harry, about what he went through.
She didn't say anything for a few minutes. They just sat there together and listened to the steady rhythm of the rain falling.
"I love the rain these days," she said finally, snuggling closer beside him.
He frowned slightly. She always avoided answering that particular question. "Why is that?"
"It's how I think the world should feel. We shouldn't be having constant parties and celebrations. There's a time to mourn, too. Just because there's no body doesn't mean we can't bury him. It feels like the earth is crying for Harry when it rains; the earth mourns him the way the people who live on it should."
"They had a service for Harry," Draco pointed out, somewhat needlessly.
Hermione scoffed. "No, they had a party. They ran over Harry. Ron agrees with me. His name has been used for everything the Ministry has wanted to rush through. No one even knows who Harry really was."
"So tell them," he said. He felt her stiffen in his arms.
"Draco…"
"I have something for you," he interrupted, and reached into his robes to retrieve a long, thin, plainly wrapped box.
Hermione gasped and sat up, looking at him with wide eyes.
"It's not what you're likely thinking. Just open it."
She hesitated before taking the box and carefully, meticulously, started to unwrap it.
"Oh, come one," Draco teased. "Rip!"
She smiled and continued her slow unveiling. A simple black box was revealed, and Hermione looked up into Draco's eyes before opening it. When she finally pulled off the top, she couldn't hide her surprise as she stared at the contents.
"A… pencil?"
"Yes."
Hermione laughed. "A pencil." She picked up the completely unremarkable, yellow-barreled pencil and examined it. "Number two, Faber-Castell. A pencil."
"I can't tell you how long I looked for that," Draco said. "I refused to accept that Diagon Alley didn't carry them – as you'd told me once – so I scoured every inch of every shop looking."
Hermione smiled at him.
"Most people I asked had never heard of a pencil before, so I had to swallow my pride and go to a Muggle shop. First place I went, too. It – it is what you were talking about, right?" he asked, suddenly unsure.
"Yes, Draco. It is."
"You'd said you loved pencils. That there was something about the way they write, leaving a trace of the writer behind. Tiny, grey shavings, you said."
She nodded. "I – thank you. You're so sweet, to think of me. It's truly a unique and unexpected gift."
"There's…more. It's no ordinary pencil. I've charmed it to always be sharp and to never get smaller. I asked the Muggle who sold it to me if there was anything that could make a pencil perfect. He shrugged and said one that was always sharp."
Hermione kissed him. "I bet I'm the only witch in the world with a magical pencil," she said with delight, carefully returning it to its box.
"Hermione," Draco said taking a deep breath.
"Yes?"
"I – I really think you should write about Harry. You knew him, probably better than anyone. He wouldn't want you to still be mourning for him. He – "
"Draco," she said, putting a finger to his lips to stop him. "I – I know. I do. I've been thinking about this a long time, ever since you first mentioned it. And…I think you're right. I should do this. For Harry. You've been so good to me, so supportive. I'm still trying to figure out how it is that just when I need you most, you always say or do the right thing. Especially since most of the rest of the time, I want to beat your head in. You're so stubborn!"
"Me?" he cried, astonished. "I'm stubborn?"
"Yes, quite," she replied, eyes twinkling. "I love your stubbornness though. I wouldn't want you any other way."
"Hrmpf," he said with a frown.
"I'm quite certain I could live with your stubbornness for the rest of my life."
All of Draco's insides, his normal body processes – his heart beating, blood pumping, the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide in his lungs – froze. He could almost hear her words making their way through his ear and worming their way into his brain to take deep, firm root. He looked at her.
"You can't just take that back, you know."
"Why would I want to do that?" she asked.
"You'll come to your senses soon, I'm sure."
"Don't be silly," she said dismissively. "I'm hardly one to speak before I think." She cupped his face in her hands. "I love you, you silly man. And I think I always will."
As abruptly as everything had frozen, it now jumped back to life, double speed. Only his grin was slow to spread across his face and into his eyes.
"But yes, I will write this book you keep talking about. For Harry." She smiled at him.
He forced himself to focus. "Good. I think you should. A proper goodbye."
"Indeed," she said with a sigh, then cuddled closer to him. He knew the conversation was over, but that was okay. He had a lot to think about.
He knew what she'd said was right. Most of the people who knew Harry were struggling with the lack of closure, with trying to move on when the wizarding world wanted to pretend Harry had never happened, while at the same time touting him as their savior. He thought now—and not for the first time—about making her his. But then she nuzzled the crook of his neck, slowly planting soft kisses along his jaw, sweeping all thought out of his head. When it seemed she would stop, he pulled her back and covered her mouth with his. His only thought was of how much he'd come to like the rain.
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A/N: Hope you liked this one!