Chapter 31: Light in the Darkness

Draco stood outside of his mother's vault in the depths of Gringotts. He analyzed the cogs and gears that made up the complicated lock. He could turn back now. Go back to believing his life to be the way he remembered it. No missing time. But he couldn't. Not now that he knew that Shyla was his. He still hadn't been able to call her his daughter. Not mentally, and certainly not aloud.

"Sir, this is the vault, is it not?" The goblin was short, and had a nose that was likely once hooked, but now it was fat and bloated. Like an old man who had spent the greater part of his youth taking bludgers to the face.

Draco nodded slowly, "Yes. This is it." He produced a small black key from his pocket.

Before he could change his mind, the goblin took the key from his hand and opened the vault.

He took a deep breath, listening to the remaining locks click and and the last gears whir. The door swung open, revealing a dimly lit room.

There were various trinkets of the past. Memoirs from the dark times were not exactly desirable to have on display in their homes, and certainly no one would be caught paying for them, or selling them in shops. So much of the Death Eater masks, cloaks, and tools of hatred and torture were stored in Gringotts vaults. Hidden from prying eyes and curious youth. The Malfoy vault was certainly not an exception to this.

Draco whispered "lumos" as he proceeded into the vault. His eyes quickly adjusted, taking in his surroundings. He opened a large wooden chest, out of sheer curiosity for what his mother had saved. A blanket from his childhood was folded gently inside. It was a symbol of when times were happier. Before Voldemort had returned. When his father had even smiled on occasion. Beneath the blankets were various story books, along with his old knit hats and scarves. Always Slytherin green.

Another chest held dresses that he had never seen Narcissa wear. They were old and worn, smelling of aged dust. His mother never appeared to be sentimental. Draco could only imagine that these were items that reminded her of Lucius.

He sighed and let the lid to the chest fall shut. In the past twenty-four hours, his perception of what his life entailed had been completely shattered. Draco let his head fall into his hand before sighing and playing off the movement as if he was merely running his hand through his hair.

In the far right corner was a small wooden box with a hinged lid. Draco had seen it a thousand times before in the parlour of the Malfoy Manor. He hadn't even realized it had gone missing, or could even begin to guess as to when he had seen it last. Yet, something about that box screamed out to him. His past was in that box.

Draco gently lifted the lid, revealing stacks of unopened letters, amongst what appeared to be journals filled with his own hand writing. It felt as if an anvil had been dropped on his chest, suffocating him.

Draco found himself needing to be alone as he delved into the contents of the box. He had made arrangements with his mother to see Evangeline back to the Hogwarts Express, despite his building anger towards the woman who had raised him.

He rented a room above the The Three Broomsticks, where he sat on the lumpy bed next to the box that would change everything. A sudden urge to have Hermione there filled him. But as rapidly as the urge came on, he diminished the very thought. This was something he had to do on his own, despite the pain that it was causing.

He dumped the contents of the box onto the bed and stared at what had to be at least a hundred letters. Along with three worn journals. He had no idea where to even begin. Finally, he broke the seal on the first letter he could bring himself to pick up. It was addressed to Miss Hermione Granger.

Hermione,

I have not heard from you. Despite all of that, I keep writing you letters. I don't know if you are even receiving them, but I can't stop. I think of you always. I think of the way that you were able to smile at me, when I never deserved such a smile. Everything about you makes me ache. I want to know you are okay, to know that I did not cause you pain. Forgive me, if I have. I will wait as long as it takes. Time cannot eliminate the affection that I have developed for you. I will always be here, waiting.

Draco.

It was dated five days before he had supposedly woken up in St. Mungos. How was any of this even possible?

He opened letter after letter, revealing desperate attempts of communication. All written to Hermione. Had she returned his letters without even reading them?

Damn it, Granger. My letters aren't coming back, so I know you're getting them. Stop being stubborn and tell me what is going on. You left. That's on you. All of it. It's been two months since you left. And I still don't know why. I don't even care why, just come back to me.

Draco.

That certainly answered his question.

His letters were interchangeably manic and desperate. Often they were stained with what was likely fire whiskey. Why did his mother even have these letters? Had she read them? How much did she know about his feelings towards Hermione?

Hermione,

I love you.

Draco.

Every single letter was addressed to Hermione. All of them sealed with red wax, which even after all these years, had not been broken. It was painful to read the letters that he still had no recollection of writing. Letters confessing his feelings for the bushy haired Gryffindor.

Only half way through the pile of letters, Draco turned to the journals. Maybe they would have more answers. He flipped through the pages to get a sense of time, before he dove into what could have been novels.

Pansy recommended I start writing down my thoughts and gave me this journal. This feels stupid. But I promised her. So here we are.

I don't even know how or why I fell in love with Hermione. But I did. And then she left me. She left me with nothing. No explanation why. At this point, I am mad that I care. I am mad at her, at myself, at my stupidity to let her in.

I let her in. I let her see the pain that I hid from everyone. In some ways, I think it changed how she looked at me. Before, she had looked at me with sad eyes. Pity is the best way I can describe it. But, after that. Things changed. She looked at me with softness.

When I kissed her, I expected her to hex me, maybe even put me out of my misery. But she didn't. In fact, she giggled. Like she was suddenly hiding a very funny secret. The sound of her laugh gave me hope. Hope that I had never felt before. I wanted to do everything in my power to hear it again.

I miss hearing her laugh, her voice, the breath of her asleep next to me. Merlin, I loved waking up next to her. It was like knowing that despite all of the darkness in our lives, we could find a few moments of pure happiness.

Page after page described a sad and lonely Draco. A Draco that desperately missed his friend, the source of his happiness.

I dreamt about her again. I always wake up crying, despite my attempts to leave it behind me. I stopped looking for her. I wish it didn't end this way, but it did. I've thought about what I would do if I did see her again. It pains me to say that I do not know. I of course would want to run to her, and hold her in my arms one last time. That's all I ask for. One last moment to see her smiling face.

Mother is beginning to catch on. I told her I was getting better. That I was going to be okay. It was a lie.

Draco couldn't bare to read anymore at the time. He shut the journal and let his mind clear as he closed his eyes. Tears pushed against the barriers that were his eyelids. Despite all of the sadness that came with the letters, it was accompanied by a strange relief. A relief that he could not explain, but one that made him want to forget his anger and embrace the witch that he would always love. Disregarding the pain and years that separated them.

Hermione found herself outside of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. She wasn't even sure what she was going to do there, but Fred and George's smiling faces were exactly what she needed.

The bell on the door jingled as she let it fall closed behind her. For once, the store was quiet. "Hello?" Hermione called out.

"'Mione!" Fred greeted. "What brings you here, today?"

Hermione gave a half-hearted smile, "I just needed to get out of the confines of my office today."

George pulled Hermione in for a hug and kissed the top of her poorly brushed hair. "Hang out as long as you need."

Hermione lifted herself to sit on the shop counter, appreciating that the shop was quiet today. "How is the family?"

"Dad and Mum finally went on holiday." George replied, rearranging a shelf of small stone boxes.

"Oh, that sounds lovely! Where did they go?"

"Luxembourg." Fred chimed in, "Mum has a very, very distant relative that lives there."

"They should be back in a week. I think they would like to see you, if you're willing to." George glanced over his shoulder, gaging Hermione's response.

She nodded, "I think that would be a good idea."

George assisted a young witch in purchasing a set of joke quills. He waved as she left the shop, and turned back towards Hermione. He leaned against the counter, his red hair close enough for her to smell. Strangely it smelled faintly of butterbeer and ink. Fred joined him on the other side of her, making Hermione feel suddenly under inspection.

"Tell us," Fred inquired.

"Why exactly do you not want to be at the office?" George continued.

"Not that I blame you."

"Offices are stuffy."

"And boring."

Hermione couldn't help but let out a laugh, "I needed this." She gave a general gesture towards everything, "I needed the two people guaranteed to make me laugh."

"We can provide laughs," Fred offered, fiddling with his wand.

She rested the side of her head on the top of his, "You always have been able to."

"What would make our honorary sister need a laugh, though?" George pried further.

Hermione sighed, "The past caught up with me, I suppose."

"Interesting how that occurs." Fred sighed back, "But I have an idea that if we ignore our ghosts for too long, they become a poltergeist."

"When I die, I want to become a poltergeist!" George announced, "We could join Peeves!"

"It won't work." Hermione stated, holding back a smile.

"Why not?"

"Yeah, Granger, explain."

"Poltergeists were never living. You could become a Hogwarts ghost, but you wouldn't be able to move things." She draped her arms around their shoulders, "Besides, you two could never be malicious. Mischievous, yes, but you would never hurt someone on purpose."

George sighed, "I suppose she's right."

"Know-it-all." Fred teased. He playfully grabbed Hermione's knee causing her to release an uncharacteristic squeal.

She breathlessly slapped away his hand, "Not fair!"

"Fair!" George disagreed, holding her in place to allow his twin to carry on.

The chime of the door became Hermione's savior as she fell off the counter from suddenly being released from George's grasp.

"What's going on?" A familiar voice asked calmly.

Hermione quickly picked herself up and straightened her clothes. "Ginny!"

"Hermione," Ginny's face softened. Her hair was brighter than it had been in years. Her face full of life and color.

"Ginny's helping out in the shop a few afternoons a week." Fred picked up the objects that had inadvertently been knocked over in their rambunctiousness.

Hermione let her guard down and crossed the shop, embracing Ginny in a hug. "You look wonderful."

Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione ridding the years of distance, "I feel wonderful."

A/N: Writer's block has been lifted! Praise the writing deities!