A/N- See, I can update quickly!
Ok, so this is the last chapter before the epilogue (cries). I'll save all the end-of story mumbo-jumbo for next chapter.
BUT I have reached a decision on where this story is going. For now I'm going to end it, because the epilogue wraps it all up very nicely. I will leave it open for a possible sequel, but don't get your hopes up! Sorry, I just think it's time to move forward in my writing.
That being said, thanks to all those who reviewed to give me input! I appreciate it a lot.
Thanks so much to those who have stuck with this story to the end. It's been awesome y'all.
Oh, and I don't own Harry Potter. Sucks, right?
P.S. I love the thought of Orion not being able to say his 'L's properly when he's excited. It's so cute!
Chapter Twenty Six
Two weeks.
Fourteen endless days of waiting. 336 hours of worrying. 20160 minutes of pacing about his study.
"Draco, stop. You're going to give yourself an aneurysm,"
Draco sighed, covering the hand on his shoulder with his own. He felt calmer already; she had never once expressed her own nervousness. She'd reassured him these past two weeks, reassured that he had nothing to worry over. That everything had already fallen into place.
The night proceeding the day he fought with his father was when he'd explained everything.
"There's a world out there, a world that parallels yours. It's not that different from yours, really, although it's taken me a few years to see that. It's a world of magic. A world of wizards and witches. We were recently at war, you see. And these people you saw here, they were some of the last of the 'Dark Side', if you will. They're evil—Bellatrix Lestrange and… and my father. But they're going to be locked up, with no hope of escape. They'll never bother you again,"
As Draco looked about at the shocked faces- Elderly Mr. Xaing, who was stricken, and Jasmine, who was sobbing and clutching a Holy Bible- he made a decision.
"And if you wish, I won't either,"
"It's alright, Draco," Hermione's other hand was on his shoulder, covering their conjoined hands. Releasing his shaky breath, the blonde nodded.
"Ok… Ok,"
Hermione shuffled around the desk that was in her way, coming to look him square in the face. Her eyes were honest, but when had they not been? She was smiling softly at him, rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand with her thumb.
"They forgave you, Draco,"
The unspoken words settled between them like a cloud of fog. All but one.
Jasmine had given him a solid hug. Mr. Xaing had given them cordial nods. Mr. Davis had shook his hand. Even Lucy had approached Draco in the end, whispering, "How could I possibly stay mad at you, Evan?"
But Madam Quincie had slipped from the room before they'd gotten a chance to speak with her. Soon after, Hermione had given her final payment to Jasmine, who promised to pass it on, gathered up her things and was moving into Draco's spare bedroom. It was temporary, or so Hermione said, but it had given Draco time to bond with Orion. Or 'Ronnie'. It's not like he'd begun calling his son that. Not at all.
"It'll be alright,"
Draco managed to smile, slipping his hand from between hers. Hermione straightened his tie, smoothing her hands over the black jacket, "You look good,"
Fighting a familiar smirk off his face, Draco willed his gaze to stay on her eyes as he muttered, "So do you," He dipped his head teasingly, and Hermione pulled away instantly.
"Oi, not funny Malfoy!" She cried, whacking her hand against his chest, "Stop laughing so hard, you bastard!"
Draco calmed down enough to wrap an arm around her shoulder, pulling her tightly to him. He glanced at the wall clock across the room, and sighed ruefully, letting her go.
It was time for the funeral.
X
Hermione had been to a funeral once before; her grandmother's on her mum's side the summer before fourth year. She hadn't known her very well; visits had been few and far between because of a row her mother had a long time ago with her father. It was an uncomfortable affair because her grandfather couldn't look Hermione's mum in the eye. She barely remembered it anyway; Hermione had a touch of the flu (how she'd managed to catch it in the summer was a feat all on its own) and was feeling peckish throughout the entire thing.
As for Malfoy Manor… there were to services held for those fallen. They'd simply thrown the bodies into ditches dug by the other prisoners in the manor.
No headstone to mark their bodies with a name. Not even two sticks tied together to make a cross. Hermione hated herself for not remembering them, not knowing their names. How many had been buried just outside the property line (because they didn't want filth to be there forever, oh no that would be simply barbaric…) without a second glance? Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred?
Hermione didn't even know.
This funeral was a different ordeal entirely. Hermione had not known Benjamin personally, seeing as they'd only met in person a handful of times. However, she felt tied to him somehow. Maybe it was the fact that he'd recognized her. That had to mean something, right?
He'd probably looked up to her in some way. Or if not her, Harry. The golden boy of the English wizarding world, who always had 'that Weasley kid' and 'the Mudblood' in tow. The only person to defeat the evil Avada Kedavra curse. The first time around, that is. It didn't matter. Either way, Benjamin had known who they were. He'd also known Draco, albeit not well. In fact, well was probably not the right word for it.
Even though Draco had worked at, even lived in, the Boarding House for several years, and Hermione had stayed there for a short time, she still felt awkward as they sat down at the back of the church in a pew. The service had just started, and the choir was singing a beautiful melody about Jesus. Hermione resisted the urge to laugh. Perhaps it was that big brain of hers, always managing a logical answer for everything, but she'd never believed in an upper power of any sort.
"Do you think we made the right decision, leaving Orion home with that teenage twit?" Draco breathed into her ear, causing her to shiver at the contact.
"Er… uh… yeah, I… I don't want him exposed to any more death," Hermione managed to whisper back, reaching for Draco's pale hand. She squeezed it softly, taking it into her own, "He didn't know Benjamin very well anyway,"
The choir had stopped singing, and the pastor approached the pulpit, "Friends, family members, we are gathered here today to celebrate not death but the end of a tragically short life…"
"Ugh, I hate church," Hermione muttered, inclining her head towards Draco so she didn't have to announce to the whole congregation about how much she despised the theatrics religion has turned into, "It's so overdramatic these days, nothing like it was intended to be. I don't remember it being like this when my parents dragged me along on Christmas and Easter, in any case,"
Draco stifled a snort, threading his fingers through hers as a silent response.
"… Benjamin was an amazing young man, who was extremely smart and willing to assist with whatever help the community needed…"
Hermione rested her head on Draco's shoulder, ignoring the way he tensed when she did so. She wasn't trying to be sexual (they were at a funeral, for merlinssake!) but she needed some support. And she could imagine how he did, too.
Draco blamed himself, but he shouldn't. It wasn't his fault that he'd been dragged into all of this. He had just been a confused and scared kid. Sure he'd been a prat, but that was quite over with at this point. Growing up usually took that childish behavior out of people.
Hermione didn't blame him that was for sure. She knew he'd made mistakes, but he wasn't a bad person.
"… and we will all miss Benjamin. He was a truly individual man. Now, we will open the floor, for anyone who wants to speak…"
There was a shuffling from up front as Madam Quincie stood and made her way to the podium. She squared her shoulders, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. It was odd, to see someone as strong as Madam Quincie look so broken.
"I… Benjamin was always special. From the moment he was born, he never stopped moving. He drove his father insane, poor boy. Sometimes… sometimes I'd read to him, you know, so he could sleep properly, without nightmares…"
Madam Quincie laughed shakily, glancing out at the crowd for reassurance. A few people were chuckling fondly, as though they too were privy to such a memory with Benjamin. Others were sniffling, trying to be strong for Madam Quincie, who could no longer be strong for herself.
The older woman's eyes were drawn to the back, where Draco and Hermione were sitting. They seemed to lock with Draco, and Hermione watched as a sort of silent exchange passed between them. Hermione scrutinized Madam Quincie's expression, but there was no hatred there. In fact, she seemed to relax.
"We… we were good friends, Benjamin and I. When he was little, I mean. We grew apart as he got older, because of that damn boarding school we sent him to…"
Madam Quincie rose a shaking hand to cover her mouth, wiping it slowly, "I wish I could say that I regretted doing that, sending him there. He was special, you see, too special to be ignored by such a place. It took him away from us for nine months out of the year. But… but I'm not. I don't regret it. I don't regret any of the decisions I made on Benjamin's behalf. Except… except for not being able to keep him safe,"
Madam Quincie broke down after that. Jasmine helped her off the podium and back into her seat in the front row. Draco relaxed beside her, his shoulders sagging. Hermione peered up at him, surprised to find tears swimming in his eyes. One had even escaped down his face, leaving a salty trail behind it.
Sometimes, it's chivalrous to comfort someone when they're crying. Other times, it's just as noble to pretend you'd never seen their sadness at all.
Hermione turned her attention to the front of the room, where the pastor was reading a Psalm from the Bible. Hermione didn't look at Draco again until the service was over.
X
After the burial at the town cemetery, Draco took a walk.
He left Hermione, who was chatting quietly with Jasmine. He didn't want to head back toward the cars, so instead he ambled toward the thicket of trees, where headstones sprung from their roots like grass.
The grave markers were older here, the names and dates eroded away. All that was left were the sad slabs of slate and granite, dirty and mossy with age. Nature had grown around them; vines slipping through cracks in the rock, dandelions sprouting at the base of headstones, grass growing so high in some places that the top of the stone could barely be seen. It was peaceful, and Draco soon found a well-walked path to set out on. He didn't get very far; a two minute jog and he'd be back at Benjamin's grave, but it was quiet enough that all that could be heard was the chirping of birds.
The wind was picking up, and it shifted direction so suddenly that Draco was nearly blown to the side when the gusts blew in from the east. Sighing, the blonde adjusted his suit jacket. He was tired of summer, of the stifling heat. He wanted it to be autumn, with the multi-colored leaves and the crisp air, fresh with promises of winter. He loved the cold, the numb feeling he'd get when the air hit his nose, turning it a bright pink…
"Pst… Draco!"
Draco startled, reaching for his wand on reflex. The figure stepped from the trees, his travelling cloak drawn tight about him.
It was Blaise.
Years of training didn't equal nothing, and Draco didn't lower his wand until he asked, "Who's the girl Blaise Zabini was completely obsessed with in third year?"
To which Blaise responded (with an eye roll), "Daphne Greengrass,"
Draco tucked his wand into his suit pocket, nodding curtly to his friend.
"Blaise. What're you doing here?"
Blaise smiled, stepping closer to his blonde friend, "Well. I came to give you some good news,"
"Thank Merlin for that,"
Blaise chuckled, reaching into his coat pocket. He withdrew a small stack of papers, thumbing through them experimentally. He proceeded to hand them to Draco.
Case Files.
The top one had the name Bellatrix Lestrange printed across it in bold lettering. Below it there was a picture of Bellatrix sneering at the camera, baring her teeth. There were several paragraphs, typed, describing her case, what she was convicted of, past offences, et cetera. Draco flipped to the next file, which surprised him.
Theodore Nott.
"But… Theo helped us?" Draco asked, brow furrowed in confusion. Alright, so Theo was a two-timing bastard. But he'd been helpful. Draco had thought Blaise would've given him a pardon or a lighter sentence or something.
Convicted of: Murder in the first and second degree, the rape of over a dozen women, associating with Death Eaters…
"Theo was a Death Eater just like the rest of them, Draco. Had he been underage when these events occurred, been a spy, or under the imperius, a pardon could've been given, but he was well aware of what he was doing. Just because he gave us information does not mean he's a good person. We have to keep everyone safe, and how're we going to do that if there's a twisted, ex-Death Eater on the loose?"
Draco supposed he had a point.
The last file was unsurprising.
Lucius Malfoy.
Draco didn't have to read this one. He knew exactly what his father had done.
"Why did you bring me these?" Suddenly feeling sick, Draco turned the papers over, allowing his arm to fall to his side. He didn't want to see the picture of insane Bellatrix, or dead-eyed Theo, or sneering Lucius.
"Because I wanted you to know that they'll never be bothering you again. We locked them up in Azkaban for life. With… what's it that the muggles say? 'No chance of perall?"
"Parole," Draco corrected swiftly, "It's 'No chance of parole,'"
"Ah," Blaise nodded slowly, as if trying to remember something, "Oh! We also found out who sent that picture,"
Draco raised his eyebrows, "Oh? And how'd you do that?"
"During the interrogation, we used Veritaserum per usual, and we got an answer out of Bellatrix. She said that she'd gotten Avery to send it, to intimidate you. I don't know why she sent it via muggle mail, so don't ask me. Who knows what goes on in that crazy brain of hers,"
Draco nodded. It made sense, after all. Bellatrix was off her rocker.
"I just have… one last question," Draco asked, voice hushed. It was something he'd been wondering for a long time, but he'd waited to ask because it was not relevant to their mission.
Blaise raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow (did he pluck them himself? What an odd thing to do), "Alright… what?"
Draco released a shaky breath, "Do you… have you heard from my mother?"
Blaise's face seemed to fall, and Draco knew. He recognized that look, the 'no I'm so sorry mate I feel for you I'm just as upset as you are' look. Draco shook his head, pressing a hand to his mouth.
"No,"
"Draco—"
"Where," Dammit, he was getting choked up, "Tell me where you found her!"
"The dungeon of Malfoy Manor. Your father must've killed her before he came over to the States, because her corpse'd been there for what looked to be a month or two. I didn't examine it, because I'm no mortician but… it was pretty bad, mate,"
Draco felt sick. The sight of his mother, being chained up and… and tortured day after day nearly caused him to be sick to his stomach. He held it together, by some miracle, but it was impossible to hold back the tears.
"Ok… that's… that's all I wanted to know. T-thanks… thanks Blaise," Draco said, when he could speak again. He wiped his cheeks anxiously, wanting the tears to disappear forever.
Blaise reached forward, pressing a hand to his shoulder. The dark-haired man then turned, as if to walk back into the wood.
"Wait… Blaise… I have one last request of you,"
Blaise stilled, waiting.
"I want you to find the painting of my mother, on her wedding day. It's not very big and it's in a gold frame sitting on my father's desk in his study, if I recall. Please… if you could just… I dunno… mail that to me. That'd mean a lot,"
Blaise nodded, "Of course, Draco. I can do that,"
"I'm not finished,"
"…"
"After you've retrieved the picture, I want you to burn the house down. With a lighter and gasoline, if you can manage. I want my father to know that his beloved magical home was taken down in the most humiliatingly muggle way possible,"
Draco saw the curve of a smirk on Blaise's profile, but the man was retreating into the trees so fast that Draco barely caught his reply.
"Of course, Draco. I can do that too,"
X
Hermione was standing over the grave, exchanging hushed words with Jasmine.
"I'm going to miss him, stupid asscrack of a brother," Jasmine muttered, kicking some leftover dirt into the hole. It would be filled later by someone who didn't know Benjamin; forever sealing him inside the earth.
Hermione put a supportive arm around Jasmine, pulling her close.
"You left Zoe and Braden at home… why?" Hermione knew it wasn't the best question to ask in a situation such as this, but if it would distract Jasmine from her dead brother, then so be it.
"The same reason you left Orion at home, I reckon," Jasmine replied, shrugging nonchalantly, "Who wants their three year old kid exposed to so much death,"
No one.
"True," Hermione agreed, "No kid should be around a corpse for too long, anyway. Give 'em nightmares,"
Jasmine laughed softly.
They stood in silence for several moments longer, until they heard the sound of footsteps behind them. Hermione turned, coming face-to-face with Madam Quincie.
The older woman was dressed entirely in black, down to the tips of her gloves. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Jasmine reached forward to comfort her mother, but Madam Quincie pulled away.
"Jasmine, dear, if you could give us a few minutes, please?"
Jasmine turned away without a word, walking toward where her husband stood. They embraced for a moment, before she put an arms distance between them. Hermione sighed, facing Madam Quincie.
"M—"
"Julia," Madam Quincie reached for Hermione's hand, pulling her close. The young woman found herself wrapped in a hug, her arms stuck awkwardly between herself and the woman trying to suffocate her.
"Madam Quincie p-please I can't b-breathe…"
Madam Quincie released her, somewhat reluctantly, and adjusted her wrinkled dress.
"Sorry about that, dear. It means so much that you came,"
This surprised the brunette. She wasn't resentful? She wasn't angry?
"It does?"
Madam Quincie smiled sadly, patting Hermione's shoulder, "Yes, it does. I've learnt a thing or two in my time, Julia,
"When my husband died, I was so angry and bitter… I needed someone to blame. The doctors and nurses who treated my husband, the scientists who came up with the treatment in the first place, even myself, for not loving him enough while he was still well. We used to fight, you see, especially after we found out about Benny's… abilities. He didn't want to send him away, but I did because I thought it would be a good opportunity for him…
"I was consumed by fury, so consumed that I lost sight of myself for a while. Despite our differences, I loved my dear departed Eddie dearly… I got over it eventually, but I'd torn apart a fair number of relationships with friends and family at that point. Benjamin and I weren't as close as we once were. In fact, the only person to stay completely loyal to me was Jasmine. Now I realize how I've neglected to see all she's done for me…
"That's why I opened the boarding house, I think. To give other's a fresh start at life, a temporary space to stay while they figured themselves out. Not too long after, Evan showed up at my door with a ratty satchel and not a penny to his name. He reminded me of Benjamin, I think. It was odd, to see the parallels between the two; both young men without their family's support.
"I called Benjamin later that night. We reconciled, and I offered him his old bedroom whenever he needed it. A few days ago was the first time he'd taken me up on the offer… I never expected things to turn out the way they did…"
For the first time throughout the story, Madam Quincie looked close to tears.
"What I'm trying to say, is that although Benjamin's end was tragic, it wasn't Evan who caused it. He didn't ask that… group of loons to show up and attack my son. He didn't say the… spell… that killed him. Evan didn't ask for it. And neither did you, dear, nor your son. I don't understand much about your world, but I can figure that there are psychopaths there just like here. It's not your fault,"
Now Hermione was close to tears.
"M-Madam—"
"I know Evan needs to hear this too, but I don't think I can be around him for a little while. I hope you understand, it's just he looks so much like—"
"—Like Lucius," Hermione finished, "I understand. For a while, I couldn't look him in the eye either. But I learnt to get over it, because… because of Orion,"
Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm. She'd never intended to reveal Ronnie's father to any of the boarders, much less Madam Quincie. But she'd just bared much of her emotional history with Hermione, the least she could do was admit a minor piece of hers.
"I… it was an accident, and not his fault. I mean, we were at war, and the kind of people his family were involved with… it was sadistic, really—"
Hermione was shaking.
"It's alright dear," Madam Quincie interrupted, placing a soothing hand over top Hermione's own, "No need to talk about such things now,"
There was a moment of silence.
"I want you to tell Evan that I don't blame him, alright? He did what he had to do to keep his family safe," A soft smile was upon Madam Quincie's face again, "I would've done the same,"
They were interrupted by Clara, who was an absolute mess. Hermione took this as her cue to leave, and she caught Draco's eye across the crowd. He was standing near a thicket of trees, arms crossed in a casual manor. When he spotted her, he untangled himself from the position and made his way toward her.
"Ready?" He asked softly, taking her hand. Hermione nodded.
"Definitely,"
X
When they got back home, Orion was sitting at the kitchen table drawing.
While Hermione settled up with the babysitter, Draco sat across from his son, studying his movements.
The boy might look like a Malfoy, but his behavior was similar to a Granger. Careful, not dramatic or off putting. Draco sighed, wishing that he'd been less of a prejudiced child. There was no changing the past (at least, not without a timeturner) so there was no point wishing for such a trivial thing.
But still.
He felt Hermione rest her head on top of hers, her hand reaching down to caress his cheek. Draco released the breath he'd been holding, settling back in the chair. Her gentle fingers worked their way up and down his cheek for a few seconds before moving it down to his chest, where her other hand joined it.
"Ronnie,"
Orion glanced up at the pair, as though it was his first time noticing they were there. The boy smiled, setting his crayon down.
"Hi mummy!"
Draco could feel Hermione's smile, and that made him do the same.
"Hey, Orion. Whatcha drawing there?"
"Oh, this?" Orion held up the picture, which was nothing more than scribbles. He could vaguely make out a flower, and the sun.
It was beautiful.
"It's our house, mummy! With you-" He pointed to a scrawl of brown that somewhat resembled Hermione's hair, "And me-" The smaller, yellow scrawl had a blue shirt on, Draco noted, "And daddy!" The taller yellow scrawl had was smiling.
"Orion, there's… actually something we wanted to tell you,"
There is?
"Mr. Draco… he's… you know how he said he could be your 'fake daddy', you know, because he looks like you?" Orion nodded, smiling innocently. Draco released Hermione as she approached her son, threading her hands into his hair, "Well, honey, I know this might not make sense, but he's your real father, sweetheart, not fake or—"
"I know,"
The words were so simple, so honest, that Draco nearly fell out of his chair.
"You… know?"
"Of course!" Orion said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "That mean man said so! Plus you wook wike me,"
Draco stood and approached Orion who was positively beaming up at them. He reached down to pull his son into a hug. Orion squealed, Hermione laughed, and Draco, well, Draco was completely content for the first time in months.
X
Draco's eyes shifted over the words, rereading the same sentence over and over. He couldn't get what Orion had said out of his mind. The fact that he'd just known who his father was…
Although he did say that Lucius had told him. And they did look remarkably alike, Draco and Orion. It wouldn't take a genius to figure it out.
Sighing, the blonde flipped the page. He was reading a particularly graphic scene in a horror novel called The Shining, which was incredibly good. Muggle literature was far superior to wizard literature because most wizards disliked writing about muggles. Their world was quite dull in comparison to the wizarding world, which was true in many ways. But muggles… muggles had no idea that the wizarding world existed, which left their minds open to anything and everything. They could write about a faraway land that didn't exist, with dragons and trolls and elves, and it would all come from their own thoughts. Not based off something that was real.
Wizards did that too, of course. But it was a less common occurrence.
"Draco," The whispered words accompanied with a knock on his bedroom door forced the blonde to stop musing over culture differences. He sat up in his bed, setting the book on his end table.
"Yes, Hermione?"
"Might I come in for a moment?"
Draco nodded, flushing when he realized that she couldn't see him. "Yeah, come on in,"
Hermione opened the door a crack, sliding into the shadowed room. She had changed into her night clothes; a baggy t-shirt and fleece pants. She'd taken a shower earlier in the evening, and her hair was still damp. It left wet spots on her t-shirt.
"I just…"
"Come here, Hermione, we're not strangers,"
She stepped forward so she was standing next to his bed. Looking unsure, she tentatively took a seat on the edge.
"Alright, well, I wanted to tell you about something that happened at the funeral today,"
Draco remained quiet, anxiously awaiting what she had to say.
"I spoke to Madam Quincie,"
Draco felt his heart rate spike.
"She doesn't blame you, Draco," Hermione's voice was soft, a gentle tone that the blonde had only heart when she was speaking to Orion, "She doesn't blame you at all. It wasn't you, Draco, you didn't ask for it, you didn't do it…"
"But I moved here in the first place, Hermione! I engrained myself into their lives, like I said I wouldn't and dammit all, it would've been just as bad had I been the one to fire the spell—"
"No!" Hermione half shouted. She breathed through her nose slowly, exhaling with a shaky breath, "N-No… Draco… you can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault what happened. It was your father's doing,"
Draco did know that, he did. He knew that it wasn't really him who caused the accident to happen, to cause Benjamin to lose his life. He knew that he could've not gotten close to anyone, have isolated himself to prevent such an event from happening in the first place. But those things weren't what actually made Lucius kill Benjamin not really.
Draco did know all those things.
The funny thing about guilt, is that it doesn't pay attention to the facts. No matter how much the brain screams You didn't DO IT!, the rolling, churning, hideous emotion counteracted with an I don't CARE!. Draco knew the facts, but the guilt, the guilt was telling him otherwise, that everyone was going to hate him because of what he'd done and godohgodohgodohgod-
"Draco," Hermione placed a hand on his arm, shaking him lightly, "Draco relax!"
The blonde forced air into his lungs, and then out again with a tremor. Hermione had pulled him into a hug at some point, and he was panting like he'd just finished a Quidditch match.
"Sorry…"
"Don't be," Hermione breathed, pulling away so she could look him in the eye, "You don't have anything to be sorry for,"
Draco nodded in agreement, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Yeah,"
He pressed his lips to hers, softly and briefly, reveling in her warmth before pulling away.
"I shouldn't have done that—"
Hermione glared at him, tipping her chin forward, "No, you're right. You shouldn't have. You should've done this,"
And with that, she grabbed his face (rather forcefully) and pulled him into a fierce kiss.
It lasted but a few seconds, but it was one of the best (if not THE best) kisses he'd ever had. Her mouth was warm, and Draco missed it the moment he had to move away to breathe.
"I… Damn,"
Hermione laughed, and fell onto the empty space next to him. Draco wrapped an arm around her so he could pull her closer, kissing the top of her head.
"Hermione, I know you didn't want to start anything—"
"Shut up, you prat," She muttered, tipping her chin higher for another searing kiss.
"You know I don't blame you, right? For any of it,"
Draco's chest was suddenly too tight for his liking. After all that he'd done to her, after all the suffering he'd caused… And she could still say such things. Such beautiful, selfless things.
"Hermione Granger," Draco whispered to her lips, praying she couldn't hear him, "I just might be in love with you,"
He could feel her smile, and was she going to leave oh Merlin no…
"You know," Draco held his breath, "That sentiment might just be returned,"
Draco released a shaky giggle, which soon turned into belly-shaking laughs. Hermione whacked him with a pillow, and Draco threw a blanket overtop her head in response.
It wasn't perfect, of course. They still had quite a bit to figure out. But Draco knew, without a doubt, that things were going to be fine.
"Ach, you bastard, why I oughtta—"
"Calm down, Hermione, you don't want to injure yourself now—"
"Oh, get back here—"
Yes. Things were going to be just fine indeed.