Hey guys, thanks for reading! This is the last chapter, and as sad as I am for that, everything must come to an end. I hope everyone is happy with the ending, and I hope I do this story justice. Enjoy :)
xEightx
After Hermione leaves Narcissa's garden, with Harry, Ron and Ginny, she goes straight home. She's crying, again, over him and she's pretty sure that if they weren't so worried about her and confused when it came to him that every single one of them would hex him into oblivion. They are confused and so is she, but she doesn't have time for that because she's upset. And she's hurt. And she's crying so hard that she begins to choke on her own sobs as her friends attempt to comfort her but it's no use. She's beyond being comforted. She's beyond hurt. She's devastated because she had truly believed in the man that he was when he was with her. She had loved him, and he has just ruined-destroyed-everything she had ever believed. It's like her heart breaks into a million tiny pieces, beyond recognition and salvation and by the time dinner rolls around she can't eat. Harry tried to get her to eat but she couldn't. Ron offers to order take away but she refuses and when Ginny offers to make her something special she tells them all to leave. She appreciates their concern, really, but they're hovering over her like she'll break into a million small pieces if they don't and it's driving her mad.
She breaks down again after they leave, sobbing into a pillow that smells exactly like his shampoo. That might make it worse, she thinks...but she doesn't care.
The next week is the strangest week she's witnessed in months; she later finds it a bit ironic that a week without 'babysitting' and making sure her boyfriend stays sober is stranger than a week without constantly stressing and worrying over something that ultimately isn't even her problem. But it's weird to her that he isn't around because she isn't used to being alone anymore. She's used to waking up with his head beside her on his pillow and his legs intertwined with hers. She's used to bickering over and playfully pushing each other away from the bathroom sink. She's just used to...HIM, as a whole. Him, just being there in her flat, in her bathroom and in her bed. It's like she's become so accustomed to him being her life, being a part of her routine, that she doesn't know what life is without him. Actually that's not true, she knows exactly what life is like without him. It's boring and it's dull and it's slow and it's lonely. So lonely. Because even though he didn't bring the sunshine to his own life, he brought it into hers. It was in the way he talked and bickered with her, in their intelligent and not-so-intelligent conversations. In the way he smiled and laughed when he was with her; in the way he made her smile and laugh. In the last few weeks of their relationship she had started to see pieces of the old Draco-not the selfish, spoiled brat from their school days, but the sophisticated and fun-loving teenager who pulled pranks (sometimes to hurt people but also just for fun) told jokes and didn't care what anyone thought about him. And that is who she was beginning to fall in love with.
And he had walked away from all of it. She knew he wouldn't handle the news about his father very well, she knew that there was a chance of him falling back into the bottle (so to speak) but she didn't think it would end the way it did. She thought that she would be the one to pull him back out, to help him realize (yet again) that he doesn't need the alcohol. She thought that she could through to him. She was wrong. She was so, so wrong.
X
Since the incident in his Mother's garden a week before today, Draco Malfoy hasn't touched a drop of alcohol. Mostly because when he woke up the next morning with a raging headache, a sore body and an upset stomach, he'd decided that he didn't much like being hung over. But it was also because of something Hermione had said the night before.
We believe in you.
Nobody, apart from his mother, has ever told him that. And even though he suspected it-hell he felt it radiating off of her sometimes-she'd never said it before. Not like that. And he'd realized that in order for him to get over...this...he needed to believe in himself first and foremost. And putting down the bottle for good was the only way he was going to accomplish that. Besides, he was beginning to find that he didn't even need it anymore...he felt no use for it. He did, however, need her. He didn't mean any of what he said to her that night and the only reason he didn't go straight to her the next morning was because not only was he fairly certain that she'd never want to speak to him again, but also because he needed to do this by himself first. He needed to make sure he could stay sober by himself before he dragged her back in, before he hurt her again. He honestly doesn't think he can handle any more of her tears; the completely heartbroken look in her beautiful, soft, brown eyes. He needs to make sure, for her and himself, that he would never hurt her again.
Most of what he'd said that night was to push her away, none of it was true. It was to make her think that he didn't care, so that it would be easier for him to walk away, easier for him to watch her walk away. Although he hadn't watched at all, he couldn't bring himself to do so. And the next morning only proved that he was wrong about everything. He needs her-whether he's drunk or sober.
He needs her like water.
Like the air that he breaths.
Because even though he told her that she couldn't save him, she has. And every day she continues to. Every day.
On the morning of his father's execution, after reading an article in the Daily Prophet about it, he decides that as much as he wants to stay far, far away from Azkaban and anything associated with it, including his father, he has to go. Not for his father, not even to see him. But for closure. To come to terms, once and for all, with everything the man had put him through. To prove that he's bigger and stronger than his father ever was. To prove that he isn't his father, that he is his own person and that he can make his own decisions.
This decision leads him right to Hermione's front door. He walks, giving himself time to think about what he's going to say before he gets there. He hesitates when he arrives and seriously thinks about turning around and walking away before he forces himself to knock. And once he knocks there's no going back. The door opens moments later to reveal a rather...dark looking Hermione Granger. Literally dark. She's wearing all black, except a white tank top underneath her favorite black cardigan and black dress pants. Her cloak, her notices, is hanging on the hook behind her. She's dressed like she's going to a funeral. He almost smiles at the realization. She looks at him, her eyes widening in shock and then narrowing in confusion before she shakes her head and closes the door on him. He sighs, nodding to himself because he had somewhat expected that sort of reaction. He knows she's still on the other side, leaning against the door and waiting for him to knock again. But instead of knocking he waits, leaning against the doorframe. The door opens again seconds later and he grins. "You are so predictable Granger."
"W-what are you doing here?" she whispers, looking up at his skeptically, curiously.
"Can I come in? We need to talk," he murmurs.
"Not until you tell me what this is about."
"You. And me. Us, I guess…"
She sighs, rolling her eyes as she steps aside to let him in.
He walks past her, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek but she turns away from him. He walks into the living room to find that everything has been changed around. He's not surprised, however, because he knows her and he knows that when she's stressed out about something or another she rearranges things-sometimes over and over again until everything winds up in the exact place it started. He shoves his hands into his jacket pocket and turns to look at her. She's looking at him, as if debating between snogging him senseless and punching his lights out. "You look good…"
"Thanks. You...you too," she murmurs.
"Where are you going?" he asks casually.
"It's none of your business," she replies shortly.
It stings a little, the coldness in her voice-the bitterness. But he'd anticipated that on his way over. "I tried to figure out what I was gonna say on my way over here. Didn't work very well..." he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"I want you to make an oath. I want you to swear to me that whatever you're about to say is the truth," she demands.
"I swear on my Mother's grave that everything I'm about to say is the truth," he responds, not even hesitating.
She nods her head, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.
He tilts his, motioning for her to sit on the couch but she shakes her head as tears begin welling in her eyes. "Don't, please don't cry," he whispers. "You have no reason to cry anymore Hermione... W-what I said the other day…about you, and us…none of it was true. I mean the stories about what happened-those were true, and the fact that you shouldn't care and you should've walked away-that was true. But everything else...it was lies," he admits.
Hermione blinks furiously, taking his advice to sit down on the couch as her legs begin to shake.
"You do know me, you probably know me more than anyone has ever known me. More than myself. And what we had...what we have, it's real. It's true. I lied about lying because I didn't think I deserved you. I wanted you to feel like I wasn't worthy of anything so that you would walk away and I didn't have to. But I need you...I've always needed you," he murmurs,sitting across from her, on the coffee table, and leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "I um...I told you once that you're in my head. You're always in my head-your voice, your face. But I never told you the real reason I needed you." He takes her hand, running his thumbs over the top. He then brings it up to his lips, placing a soft kiss against her palm before placing it against his chest directly over his heart. He looks at her directly in the eyes as she blinks back tears. "You're in here, right here. I've never let anyone in here, ever. But with you I didn't really have a choice, did I?" he whispers, looking straight into her eyes.
She smiles softly, her lips quivering as a tear trickles down her cheek.
He reaches out to wipe it away, cupping her face in his free hand. "I love you Hermione. And-and I don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't deserve a second chance and I sure as hell don't even have the right to ask for one. But I'm selfish, so I'm asking. Just gimme one more chance and I promise I won't ever hurt you again. Just one-"
He's thrown into silence when her lips, soft and delicious, crash into his. He freezes, blinking rapidly as her hands grab hold of his jacket and pull him closer. He reacts finally kissing her back eagerly, with so much passion that he thinks it might kill him. He buries his right hand in her hair, cupping his fingers around the base of her neck. She pulls back first, pressing her forehead against his while he attempts to kiss her again, both of then panting.
"Are you still drinking?"
"I haven't touched anything since you found me in the garden."
"You promise?" Her voice is soft, and hesitant. Her breath is warm on his face, and smells like mint chocolate.
"I swear."
She smiles, really smiles so that it reaches her eyes as she winds her arms around his neck. "I was going to go to the Ministry...to watch the execution."
He smirks, pulling back slightly. "Fancy that, so was I."
"Really?" She looks surprised.
"Well...only if you come with me."
"Of course," she smiles.
As if on cue the fireplace rumbles and Ginny, Ron and Harry walk through the green flames. All three of them stop dead in their tracks upon seeing the couple before them, wrapped up each other's arms. Ron steps forward first, his ears turning red in anger. "What the hell is he doing here?"
Hermione jumps to her feet, pushing back on the redheads chest as he lunges towards the blond, who also jumps to his feet behind her.
"Ron it's okay. We-we talked about it and it's okay now," Hermione replies, pushing herself to feet to stand between the hotheaded redhead and the blonde on the couch.
"You're sure?" Harry asks skeptically, glaring behind her at Draco.
"Positive."
Silence falls over the five of them for a brief moment before Ginny steps forward. "Right then, shall we get a move on? Draco, you're coming?"
"Yeah," he breathes.
X
The atmosphere in the Azkaban waiting room is cold and dark and utterly uncomfortable. Within minutes of the five of them arriving they're all whisked away, down a long hallway to a door. The door, they find out as a guard wizard opens it, leads to a large, white washed circular room. In the middle of the room was a smaller room encased in clear glass. Around the glass room were four rows of black seats. It's the execution room. When they arrive, all eyes are on them-reporters and journalists and friends and families (some they recognize and some they don't, although they all clearly recognize the five of them) of their loved ones who had been affected by Lucius Malfoy. And they were all present to watch the prisoner in question be executed. Most of the looks they receive are blank and neutral, and some are sympathetic while others are unforgiving. Draco suddenly feels extremely out of place and he used his left hand to pull at his collar as he grabs hold of Hermione's hand with his right. If ever there was a time when he needed her most, now was it. She looks sideways at him, smiling weakly before resting the side of her head on his shoulder.
"I have to pee. 'Mione?" Ginny offers, pushing herself to her feet.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah." She turns to Draco, whose posture is more rigid than usual. "We'll be right back, okay?"
He nods, his gaze trained on the glass room. She kisses his cheek, before walking back out with Ginny. He continues to stare blankly into the glass. Only when Harry claps him on the back does he look away and follow the two male thirds of the Golden Trio further into the room.
Hermione walks out of her own stall towards the sink to find Ginny standing in front of her own sink and adjusting her hair and makeup. "You realize we're attending an execution don't you?" the brunette teases.
"Sure, but that doesn't mean that a girl can't look hot, does it?"
"True. What about you and Harry?"
"Eh…we're taking a break. Sort of," Ginny replies casually, waving it off.
"Sort of?"
"It's complicated. Anyway, I wanted to ask, what about you and Malfoy? That was rather...sudden," the redhead notes.
"I know...but we talked about it-well, he talked about it mostly...and I believe him. There's this look he gets in his eyes when he's telling the truth and I saw it this morning, and then I realized I didn't see it last Sunday," she tells her best girl friend. "He loves me."
"Hmm honestly? I think we all could've told you that."
"It's gonna be different this time. I know it will," Hermione says confidently.
Ginny smiles back. "You know strangely...I think you're right. And I hope you're right. You guys are good for each other."
Moments later, everyone is gathered around the glass room, waiting for the execution to begin. Ron, Harry and Ginny look calm sitting next to Hermione. Draco on the other hand, sitting on the other side of Hermione with her hand clutched in his lap, is just as tense and impatient as he was when the Minister told him of the news. His shoulders are rigid and his left leg is bobbing up and down. He just wants this over and done with. He just wants to go home (preferably Hermione's home), take her to bed and just hold her until the end of time.
"Are you okay?" she asks softly.
"What's taking them so long? Honestly, how much preparation do you need?" he wonders aloud, quite impatiently.
She frowns, rubbing his arm with her free hand. Harry leans forward beside her, glancing sideways at them. "Any minute now Mate."
As if in cue, a bell rings above them and the entire world is swallows by silence. Draco's heart starts beating faster than it probably should and his palms begin to sweat tenfold and he holds his breath as a pair of double doors down below, just barely visible to the audience above, open up to reveal a guard. He walks into the glass room and behind him emerges the prisoner, Lucius Malfoy. The distinct sound of chains jingling echoes in Draco's ears; they're wrapped around the prisoner's ankles and wrists. He's wearing a black and white striped jumpsuit and black boots. His hair is longer, so is his beard, and it's dirty and stringy. He's walking with an air of confidence and smugness and Draco feels sick to his stomach knowing that even now, the man can't show some respect and dignity. On either side of him are two more guards and behind all three of them is the executioner, wearing a black mask over his face. The young Malfoy watches as the man he used to call his father is forced into a chair. His wrists and ankles are strapped quickly to the arms and legs of the chair but his head is hanging. The Minister appears then, seemingly out of thin air, announcing the events that are about to take place but Draco doesn't hear him. He's watching his father, staring at the man, willing him to look up. To look at him. But he doesn't, he doesn't even try. The minister steps aside then, disappearing into the background as the executioner steps forward, his wand at the ready. Draco jumps to his feet now, startling everyone around him, especially Hermione who looks up at him in shock and wonder. "Wait! Wait…"
Everybody looks at him, confused and incredulous. But Draco doesn't notice them, his gaze is glued to the older, spitting image of himself.
"Look at me!" His voice is loud enough for the entire room to hear, but it's directed at one man and the entire room knows this. "I SAID LOOK AT ME YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH!"
Hermione attempts to grab him and hold him back but he's faster. He slips away from her and lunges towards the glass separating all of them from him. He bangs his fists against the glass, making the entire wall shake and bounce. Everybody watches, too shocked to do or say anything. "I'm your son for fucks sake, LOOK AT ME!" he bellows.
He bangs on the glass again. That seems to do it because seconds later, the eldest living Malfoy (although not for long) finally looks up, his gaze directed straight at his son. His face his blank and his eyes are empty. There's nothing there, no anger, no despair, no sorrow or regret. No love, for his son.
That's all the closure Draco needs. He nods, backing away from the glass and for a split second Lucius' jaw trembles as though he's about to say something and his left hand twitches but it's gone just as quickly. Draco turns on his heel and leaves the room before the executioner even has a chance to recompose himself.
He's in the waiting room, staring out a window at the moving sea when a pair of warm, familiar arms wrap around his waist. She presses her forehead against his shoulder blade and he pulls one hand out of his pocket to run his fingers along her forearm.
"Are you okay?" she whispers.
"Yeah. Yeah, never better," he smiles, turning around to face her. He brings both hands up, cupping his fingers around the base of her neck as her strokes her cheeks with his thumbs and places a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you."
"For what?" she asks, looking at him in confusion.
"Saving me. I honestly didn't think you could do it."
"Guess that'll teach you, huh?" She smiles cheekily.
"Oh it has, plenty. Never underestimate Hermione Granger. Never defy Hermione Granger. Never say 'no' to Hermione Granger. Never-"
She cuts him off, pressing her lips against his fast and hard. Just as he goes to deepen it she pulls back, smiling innocently.
"Minx.. ." he pouts.
"I love you," she says suddenly.
He blinks once. And then twice. And then he opens his mouth to say it back but nothing comes out. He blinks again, shakes his head and then tries again. "What?"
"I love you."
He grins, pressing his forehead against hers. And suddenly, just hearing those three words on her lips, are well worth not being able to deepen her kiss.
He's pretty sure she'd never have to say it again now, because even just once is enough. He's also pretty sure that if she would tell him so every day, it'd sound just as beautiful as the first time.
Fin.