Hello everyone reading, just wanted to wish you a very happy holiday season!
/
Harry Potter's wand whizzed through the air and landed in Draco's outstretched hand.
Of course Potter would find a way in.
Hermione shut the door in the faces of the gathered reporters and quickly resealed the wards. Potter waited until she finished to pull her into a hug. Draco bristled at the way the other wizard brought one hand to rest on the back of his wife's head as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
Potter's next words came out quietly, muffled by Hermione's curls. "Is it really you?"
"It's me, Harry, it's me," she said, trembling.
Draco twirled Potter's wand between his hands and tried not to glare, failing miserably. But as glares go, it lacked the heat he'd always had boiling inside him when it came to the Chosen One. It pained him to admit that Harry Potter, once again, had all the things he wanted: a wife, children, and the ability to walk down Diagon Alley or pop over to Hogsmeade without people cowering in fear, trying to provoke him, or assaulting him in some way.
Some people had all the luck.
After an eternity, Potter's eyes landed on him. "Out of all the spells available to you, I didn't think you'd go with Expelliarmus , Malfoy."
That smarted a bit. "Expecting Avada Kedavra ?" He sneered at his former nemesis and sent the wand sailing back to its owner.
"Not exactly," Potter caught the wand, deft as ever. "But now that he knows Hermione's here, Ron will want to show you a few of the new defensive spells they've developed in the Auror department. These wards were bloody tricky to get past, though." Hermione pulled away and, stifling a laugh at Harry's shredded robes, cast a quick series of Reparo .
"Sorry Harry, those were my handiwork." Hermione beamed brightly at Potter, and for a moment, Draco was fifteen again, peering longingly from the shadows at the tight-knit friends.
"I don't think I need Weasel's help, thanks very much," Draco sniffed, approaching the reunited pair. "I've got Theo Nott."
At least, he thought he did. His last letter to the solicitor had been returned with a terse reply from Wizarding Britain's most insufferable prick, Michael Corner.
Pansy pressed the back of her hand against her forehead as if she had a temperature. "I need to go see some photographers about some film. It might cost you, Draco darling. Good to see you, Harry. Give my best to Ginny and the boys."
"You too, Pansy. I've actually got Luna's nargle hunting equipment on me if you —"
"Please do not give that back," Pansy begged, and perhaps deciding she'd rather swim with sharks than let Potter return the borrowed instrumentation that would ensure more magical creatures joined their menagerie, she flung the door open and leapt into the waiting jaws of the reporters.
Hermione turned her eyes on him in a silent plea. Whether she begged for civility, sensibility, or anything else, Draco couldn't find it in himself to refuse her. Right now it seemed as if she needed privacy to speak with her friend. He cleared his throat.
"I actually need to catch up with Blaise. You remember Zabini, Potter? He's a Healer now, been here nearly a week actually, helping Hermione's parents, you know," Hermione shook her head sharply. "Well, it's been a pleasure. Feel free to make yourself at home. Any friend of my wife's..."
"Too thick, Draco." She didn't beam at him as she did for Potter, but he'd earned a smile that put a delightful crinkle in her nose.
"I thought as much. I'll see you in a bit?"
Without further thought or comment, he lifted her hand to his lips, sliding his thumb across her fingers. He winked at Potter for good measure.
As he left, he could've sworn he heard Potter say to his wife, "Did you just call him Draco?"
00000
Hermione led Harry to her room and took her seat in one of the tufted wingback chairs, offering the other to her friend. His eyes landed on the armoire, then the bookshelves, then the bed, where her pyjamas bearing the initials H.M. lay neatly on the duvet.
This was not how she wanted to see her best friend again.
She'd imagined a public place, maybe a cafe. Somewhere they'd both need to remain composed.
Hermione fidgeted, pulling gently on her fingers. Harry stayed perfectly still.
Weak sunlight washed over them both, illuminating Harry's face. Fine lines wove their way across his countenance, bursting forth from the corners of his eyelids like confetti from a Christmas cracker. They spoke of mirth, joy, cosy family gatherings and storytelling. These years had been happy for Harry, if his face told the truth. Of course the scar still situated itself between his brows, but it had smoothed and faded, no longer the first thing anyone noticed about him. And in a very small way, it broke her heart.
Harry didn't look at her when he finally spoke. "I thought you were dead, you know? When you first stopped writing all those years ago. Ron told me about the last letter he sent you, and suddenly your absence made sense. I thought maybe you were just heartbroken and needed space."
"Harry," Hermione leaned forward to grasp his hand.
He leaned away, and she flinched at the rejection. He'd hugged her so tightly just minutes ago. What changed between then and now?
"Hermione. I have to get this out. Please," he paused, his green eyes piercing. "And then you were back in the city with a Ministry job, but before I could see you, you disappeared. No note. No trace. Ron almost opened a missing magical persons case. He got the whole department in a frenzy, and they made enough noise that Kingsley got involved. He ran it all the way up the flagpole to Minister Podmore. That's when he implied that we should look in the archives for recent marriage certificates."
Hermione immediately regretted all the loose ends she'd left when she fled the city. "So this whole time…."
"I knew. I knew you married Malfoy."
The enormity of his statement had her clutching her stomach. He'd known about her marriage for years. She fought back the urge to dry heave. It took her a long moment to regain the power of speech.
"Who else knows?"
"Ginny, naturally. Ron, who went ballistic, so we had to tell Neville. I made them all promise not to talk about it with anyone until it was public knowledge."
She hung her head. "Harry, that's more than I deserved. That's so incredibly decent of you. Thank you."
If Harry hadn't kept her secret, everything might've been so much worse for her and Draco.
"My primary concern was your safety. The Minister allowed me to go to the Time Room with an Unspeakable."
"You visited the Time Room?" It had always been a dream of hers, ever since she held a Time-Turner in her hands.
"One of his better efforts to recruit me to work for him, I'll admit. I can't tell you exactly what I saw there, but it proved to me that you were safe, and since you and I hadn't spoken in so long, I let it lie. Plus, I had no idea where to even find you and Malfoy until today. How could you be here in London this whole time without telling me? Without coming by to see your godsons?"
"Harry, I haven't been in London, I promise. I just got here a few days ago, and it's been a whirlwind. Please believe me, I wanted to see you with all my heart but I —" she choked on her words. She did want to see him, but she was still angry. "Couldn't you have asked Pansy?"
"Asked her where you were? Did she know?"
"No, but she's Draco's friend. She could've asked for you if you couldn't find him," she paused, fixated on Harry's face as he clenched his jaw. "Don't be cross with her though, Harry. She didn't know about us. But you might've asked."
Why did he give up so easily? If the roles were reversed, she would've never believed Harry had gone willingly, Time Room be damned. Time could be manipulated, much like memory. It wouldn't matter what she thought she saw. She would have spent her nights like Draco, traversing continent after continent, looking for clues; seeking answers.
A new thought bloomed in the back of her mind. Draco would have never stopped looking for her.
Harry paused and carded a hand through his unruly hair, and the weight of all she had lost, already impossibly heavy, crushed her a little bit more. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I told myself you had your reasons, and you don't owe me anything. I'll never be able to repay you for everything you've done for me. But I hope, as your best friend, you'll tell me — why Malfoy? Why him?"
She swallowed and considered where to begin.
"I didn't tell you the truth about what happened with my parents."
"What do you mean?"
"I was honest with you and Ron when I told you I Obliviated them before the war. I went to restore their memories in Sydney not long after we defeated Voldemort. But it had been too long, I think, or the Obliviation was done with such powerful intent that I couldn't reverse it. I still haven't been able to reverse it. All the letters I sent you and Ron were full of lies," Hermione hung her head. "I lied to you for two years. I couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth, Harry."
Harry's knee jiggled uncontrollably, and his tone sharpened. "You couldn't tell me the truth? Or you didn't want to? Hermione, I've proved time and time again I have your back and I would do anything for you. For Merlin's sake, I just broke into Malfoy's flat and I'm sitting here, hearing you out!"
"I didn't want to, okay? I was scared, and embarrassed, and, and… jealous!"
He jolted back in his chair. "Jealous?"
"After the war ended, you were the hero. Bloody hell, long before the war, you were a hero, but it never bothered me until after we left the ruins of Hogwarts. The entire world loved you, anything you wanted was available to you. Any city, any job, any institution of higher learning. Ginny and all the Weasleys were by your side. And you lost so much, and I'm not discounting that at all, Harry, but I was without any options. I had no money, no family, no home, no connections. I thought surely McGonagall would offer me a position, although in hindsight that was a teenage delusion. I was desperate, surely you can see that?"
"I would've given you money! I'm the richest half-blood alive. You don't think I would've written a letter of recommendation for a job or a university?"
"I couldn't ask you, Harry. I needed you to offer," She gathered every bold bone in her body and met his eyes. "I have always offered you whatever I have. My books. My Time-Turner. I have dark magic permanently embedded in my veins courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange because I would give my life for you. And you didn't ask me to, but the fact is you never had to, because I love you. You and Ron are the closest thing I have to brothers. And I know it was another lie, but I told myself you were too busy for me. I wasn't useful to you anymore."
Harry's lips twitched. "It seems I haven't been very good at showing it, Hermione, but I love you, too. I'm sorry. I wish I'd gotten my head out of my arse and thought about all our futures more. It's just that even after Voldemort was dead..."
"The future was impossible to imagine. I know." Hermione considered reaching for his hand again, but the fear of facing rejection a second time kept her hand firmly in her lap.
"It's no excuse. I want to teach my sons how to be a good friend and I've been a poor example," Harry looked to the side and swallowed, some painful emotion she couldn't identify flickering in his eyes. Her heart sank, remembering she used to read him like a book. "What about your parents? Does he know about them? Are they with you here? Are they doing okay?"
She took a deep breath.
"He knows now. It was a shock at first but he's surprisingly supportive, actually. And they're… stable. It'll be a long road," she said, avoiding going into further detail. The last thing she needed right now was a lecture.
The tension in his face eased. "That's good to hear."
"After I came back to London I realised that even with a job at the Ministry, I couldn't support my parents on my salary, let alone provide them with the potions and healing they need. He found me at my lowest point."
Harry tilted his chin down and looked at her straight through his trademark eyeglasses, his tone like thunder threatening in the distance. "Tell me he didn't Imperio you."
"No, no, it was nothing like that," she assured him, relieved when his shoulders dropped and his hand moved away from his wand. "No one forced me down the aisle. We negotiated and drew up a contract. Then we married in his solicitor's office." That was as much as she wanted to tell Harry. He didn't need to know the finer details of her wedding night.
"Theo Nott? Malfoy mentioned him. I remember him being in the Hogwarts library a lot."
"He's not bad, for a Slytherin. None of them are, actually. In any case, it was very transactional." She waved a hand, attempting to downplay how she felt about her wedding night.
Unbidden, a memory flashed across her mind's eye. A pale hand twisted a black silk sheet, then, as if conceding a fight, skated up her stomach and kneaded her breast, the inquiring touch turning urgent.
She wondered what Draco's touches might be like now. She wondered if he knew she'd welcome them.
Harry's next words brought her back to the present. "I've befriended a few Slytherins myself. But this is Malfoy we're talking about. Why didn't you divorce him?"
"We married under the Malfoy family ritual. There is no divorce."
"That explains Narcissa and Lucius's relationship, I suppose. While he was raving about reclaiming his power in Azkaban, she donated quite a lot of money to the Hogwarts Restoration Fund. She was actually rather lovely to both Ginny and I the last time we saw her, before she passed away." Harry paused. "It was sudden. Maybe you should talk to Malfoy about this. It's not my place."
Hermione twisted her lips in thought. She'd have to tell Ron soon, so she may as well tell Harry. "He told me she was murdered."
"What?" His mouth hung open in shock.
"You can't tell anyone. He thinks it was a Death Eater, sent by Lucius."
"As despicable as Lucius Malfoy was, I can't believe he'd have Narcissa killed by one of his henchmen."
"There can't be that many of them left, can there? Why haven't they been arrested?" The endless rows of grimy wanted posters she'd seen on her journey to St. Mungo's fluttered to the front of her mind.
"I guess you didn't read the paper much while you were — where were you, exactly?"
"A cottage in the Cotswolds with my parents. And no, I avoided the news as part of our agreement. Draco's filled me in a little, but with everything going on I'm not fully up to date."
Harry sighed heavily and leaned forward in his chair. "Podmore is much more populist than any of us hoped. I wouldn't trust him to run a bath, let alone the Ministry, but here we are. He's passed loads of anti-Pureblood legislation and kept his position secure doing it. In the beginning, he only went after Voldemort's remaining followers. The public didn't think twice about rallying behind stripping former Death Eaters of their money, their land, etcetera. It was easy to implement, but as a side effect it created a whole new crop of Death Eaters claiming to be a persecuted class."
Hermione snorted. "I'm sure it did."
"But the Ministry was still strapped for Galleons. So they wrote new laws with their golden quills, and almost overnight the Sacred Twenty-Eight became the new Undesirables. Naturally, those with the largest coffers were the first to be relieved of their funds. The problem now is that the Death Eaters, old and new, are recruiting the angry and disillusioned Purebloods, and even Half-bloods who've lost inheritances."
"But that's impossible! The Sacred Twenty-Eight would never let this happen."
"The Minister sent his personal Aurors to 'keep the peace' at their estates, and he and his cabinet funnelled money to the press. Skeeter and her ilk are long gone, but the new reporters aren't much better, and they were only too happy to print propaganda about Sacred families. The Weasleys are too broke to make the ink worth it, but everyone else who'd ever leveraged their wealth over other wizards was fair game."
She furrowed her brow. One thing still didn't make sense. "How has Malfoy escaped these laws exactly? He told me he's been paying them off, but it seems impossible they'd let him slip from their grasp."
"He's a whale. Podmore would love to take him for all he's worth, but everyone from the collection agents all the way up to the treasury won't allow it. Malfoy helps fund their campaigns and galas instead of sending it all straight to Podmore and his cronies to do who knows what with it. He scratches their backs, they scratch his. Don't know how long he can keep it up, though. The Ministry has wanted Malfoy Manor for years. The library alone is worth millions."
It made more sense now why Theo kept track of her spending and sent the accounts to Draco. But why wouldn't he give up his many estates as a way to stave the Ministry off, considering he could never set foot on them again?
Probably because one of them was a crime scene.
But maybe also because one of them was hers? He'd promised to protect her. Vowed she would have Cyclamen Cottage to herself.
Even now, she and her parents wanted for nothing. She'd told him she wanted to send money to St. Mungo's and he hadn't even blinked before pulling out his chequebook.
Hermione's voice came out quieter than she expected. "He's paid for everything for me and never said a word."
Her best friend raised one eyebrow. "That's interesting."
"Yes," she said, pulling a book off the shelf. She flipped through the pages without reading a single word, perhaps a first for her. "He's not bad, you know."
I like him , she wanted to say.
"Malfoy? Not bad?"
She shut the book. "Don't make a big deal out of it. He's been decent, that's all. This whole thing between us wouldn't be public if I hadn't come to London a few days ago."
Hermione sat back down and recounted her trip to St. Mungo's and her run-in with her husband.
"It's certainly not the place I'd want my parents to be," Harry shook his head. The unspoken if they were alive hung in the air.
"It's a shame, too. You'd think some of that Ministry money would go to healthcare. That place used to be the pride of London."
"You should see the rest of the city. All our public institutions are crumbling, both externally and internally."
"What are you doing about it, Harry?" She'd intended it to sound more challenging, but her words came out desperate. The Harry she knew always took action.
He tugged at the collar of his robes. "I'm on the board at Hogwarts. And day-to-day I'm an inspirational speaker. I want to solve the problems at the root. We have to educate the next generation about the wars. We can't afford more trauma, more families torn apart, more destruction. Tom Riddle was born an ordinary wizard just like any of us. If we're not careful, another wizard or witch could become the next Voldemort."
Hermione shivered in her seat. The next Voldemort.
"Are you cold? Here. Incendio ," Harry said, lighting the fireplace.
She wasn't, but she held her hands out to the fire. "Can't we do more than sit on boards and give pretty speeches?"
"I don't know," he sighed. "It seemed a lot easier when we were young. I didn't know everything that could go wrong. I didn't have a wife and kids. Everyone seemed to agree on the strategy, which was to kill Voldemort. Now, I don't think even you, Ron and I could get a room of like-minded adults to agree on the path forward. I mean, bloody hell, Ron works for the Ministry. He's so convinced he can win hearts and change things from the inside. But I don't think I could stomach it."
"We have to do something. I don't think this is going to get sorted out on its own."
"Does it have to be us? Can't someone else do the saving-the-world thing for once?"
She shifted in her seat and placed one warm hand over his. "It may have to be us."
"Do you have a plan?"
"Not yet, but I know Draco's with me. He wants change, too, you know. We could start small. Maybe you can write a new speech, and I could ask Theo if we can get time in front of the Wizengamot. The hearings are public. Maybe fewer people support Podmore than you think."
Harry reached out and hugged her, squeezing her so tightly she couldn't draw breath. "That's brilliant. I'll get started on it tonight. I wish we'd talked sooner, Hermione."
"Me too," she squeaked. And it was true. Things didn't feel fully mended between them, but old wounds are the hardest to heal. And despite everything, their love for each other was unquestionable.
"Will you come meet the boys soon? Gin's desperate to see you, too."
The boys. Her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't wait to be part of their lives.
Hermione deflected, remembering the way Ginny shouted her name the other morning when she dropped her bag. "Is she angry?"
"She'll be furious for all of ten minutes. You know Gin, she's got to get it all out there. Ten minutes later you'll be in the kitchen together drinking a cuppa like no time's passed at all," He smiled the crinkly smile of a happily married man. "She's a wonderful wife, Hermione. The best mum I've ever seen. I'm the luckiest man alive."
"I think that's always been true, Harry Potter." Hermione smiled as she rose from her seat.
Harry stood up, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hermione Malfoy. You're really going by his name? That's going to take a lot of getting used to. Can I give him the 'You better not hurt her' speech? Please tell me I can."
"I'm sure you're the finest inspirational speaker to ever hail from Godric's Hollow," she gave a little chuckle as Harry's eyes rolled. She stood to face him. "But please don't. He's my husband but we're only now circling a friendship."
A little more than that, if truth be told.
Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, and then shut it.
She put her hands on her hips. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Harry. No more secrets."
"It's not a secret. It's just, do you think you might ever… since it's irreversible…" He seemed to struggle to get the words out. "Do you think you might ever give him a chance to be more than that? I know it's mad," he said, holding his palms out towards her. "But you say he's been decent. If you're stuck together, and can never be with anyone else, maybe it's worth trying. Marriage is pretty wonderful, if you work at it."
"I can't believe what you're saying right now."
"If he's done everything you've said, he might have the same idea," Harry said. Hermione's mouth fell open. "It's not that far-fetched, Hermione. And I think he's already growing on you."
Hermione turned to the window, which, betraying the mood, blasted a ray of sun directly into her face. "Maybe, but there's so much history between us."
There was so much more to them now than the morning's headline. The Death Eater and his Golden Girl? More like The Dark Lady and her Haloed Husband, she thought grimly.
When he spoke again, it was if Harry read her mind. "There's more dark magic hanging around you now than what Bellatrix delivered in your scar. I can feel it."
"How…?"
"I've spent more time around it than most," he said, dropping a hand on her shoulder. "What's happening, Hermione?"
She faced him, nearly shaking. "I know it's been over a decade now, but do you remember that night you caught me sneaking back into our tent?"
"Not really, but I'm listening," Harry said.
"I went to the Riddle House to investigate. I know I shouldn't have gone alone, but you and Ron were both so tired, and I was overconfident. There were stacks and stacks of books inside, and I thought some of them might be useful for our Horcrux search — none of them were, by the way — but I also found a book about Muggle memory modification and experimentation and I took it."
"Merlin."
She barrelled on. It was too late to turn back now. "I thought it might have some answers for when it came time to reverse my parents' Obliviation. In fact, I used some of the spells in it with great success. But I found one in particular that I thought I could modify and, well, it's gone terribly wrong."
Hermione took a deep breath, rolled up her sleeve, and unwound her bandage to reveal her Dark Mark. Harry looked from her arm to her face and then back to her arm. Shame burned through her chest, raw and aching, as she awaited his response.
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"It's not a joke. Look, it's moving," she said, biting her lip as the snake writhed its way through the black skull. "I swear I didn't realise Tom Riddle had actually written the book until much later. Most of it he couldn't have possibly done himself. Who knows where he compiled everything from."
"What spell is it?"
She recited the spell from memory. Harry's eyes widened in abject horror.
"Hermione, you're playing with something even darker than you know. That spell was cast by Voldemort's followers to bring him back during the Triwizard Tournament."
Hermione hadn't been there in the graveyard, but she remembered Harry's haunted look hours after the incident. He'd told his friends of Cedric's death and Voldemort's rebirth, but not the exact spell the Death Eaters performed.
Her spell, now.
She hyperventilated, barely managing a question she dreaded above all others. "Harry, are you saying Voldemort could return? Has returned?"
"No, no, he's gone forever. Trust me. I felt him leave this world. But you have to stop dabbling in dark magic," Harry begged, shaking her by the shoulders.
She brought her hands up over his. "I can't. It's part of the potions that are keeping my parents with me, as much as they are, anyway. And I don't think magic is all light or dark anymore. It's helped me. It's helped them."
"Who are you trying to convince?"
She blinked away a tear. "This is only temporary."
He dropped his hands. "Have you explained any of this to Malfoy? I think the man bearing a Dark Mark of his own would have a few things to say about this. Circe, this is such a mess."
It was even more of a mess than he knew.
"I love you Harry, but you can't come here and lecture me on this. I know what I'm doing!" Her entire body shook, falling back into old habits.
"The thing is, I don't think you do. And you know it. And I love you enough to be honest with you, Hermione. We agreed no more secrets. You might want to start being honest with yourself, too."
"I'm being perfectly honest," she lied.
"Answer me this: Have you been having intrusive thoughts? Seeing things that aren't really there? Feeling a surge of power that fades the further out you are from using one of the spells?"
She held her arms straight at her sides, but she cracked open anyway. He was right. "I want things to be different, Harry. I don't know what to do." Her tears fell silent and hot on her cheeks.
Harry hugged Hermione tightly, and his familiar woodsy scent comforted her. But not quite as much as lavender did. "My door is always open, Hermione. I promise I'll help you however I can."
"Thank you. Blaise is helping me, too. I've shown him."
"Good. But to be perfectly clear, because I don't want you to mistake me, I'm offering everything I have in terms of resources to you. And it's not because I feel sorry for you or because I have some saviour complex even after all these years. It's because we're friends, and I want to be friends with the Hermione who comes out on the other side of all this. Granger, Malfoy, Marked, whatever."
"I missed you, Harry," she sniffled.
"I missed you, too. And I'm going to be a better friend."
"So am I. And a better godmother, too."
00000
Blaise stepped through the Floo and set his kit on the hearth. "It's really something out there. You and Hermione are de rigeur. "
"Yes, well, let's hope we've got staying power," Draco said, gripping a bottle of firewhisky by the neck like a trophy. "Drink?"
Blaise brushed him off. "Just water for me, please. I am on duty, after all."
"That's for the best, then, as I've been hoping to speak to you in an official capacity." Draco poured himself a whisky, then cast an Aguamenti for the Healer, which he accepted only after a hard look.
"And that's the only way I would speak to you these days."
Draco sighed, abandoning his glass on the side table. "And so my apology tour continues."
"I'm listening," Blaise said, folding his arms.
"My mother, who, I might add, was a mother to you and the rest of our lot whenever we needed it, and my intended bride had both just died. It's not an excuse for what I did, but it's obvious I was distraught."
The other man scowled. "First, you were blatantly high at your mother's funeral. You hiccuped through a eulogy so unintelligible I had to convince several mourners that your grief had driven you to speak in myriad archaic languages. Then you were late to Astoria's funeral. Theo and I got you dressed, dragged you there, and propped you up the entire time like a mouldy scarecrow. And what was the first thing you said to Daphne afterwards?"
Draco curled his fingers into his palms, forcing his nails into the fleshy part below his thumb. "I said, 'Your sister was a Squib.'"
"Oh, so you do remember. And was she a notable stop on this apology tour of yours?"
He pressed harder now, creating little divots in the skin. "No."
"Thought not. Also, that was an excuse you gave earlier. You were distraught ," Blaise sneered, in a way that only Purebloods could. "We were all distraught, Draco. Astoria was barely in the ground and you chose that exact moment to inflict further pain on her family and friends."
"It's true, though. She wrote to me before she died. Daph needed to know," Draco insisted.
"Did she need to know it right then? Or did you need to get it off your chest so you could cope with the fact that you'd already moved on with a woman you'd only recently stopped thinking of as a Mudb—"
Draco pulled his wand and in a flash the tip dented the neck of Blaise's green robes. "Don't call her that. Ever," Draco growled.
"I'm sorry, I was caught up in the past. I've never thought of Hermione that way, and I know you don't think like that anymore," Blaise eyed the wand as Draco reeled his arm in. "See how that's done? An apology usually contains the word 'sorry' or 'my mistake.' It's not difficult to set things right."
"I am sorry, Blaise. I'm sorry they're dead. I'm sorry I was an absolute fucking mess. I wouldn't have wanted to deal with me either. I'd just gotten married purely to fuck my father over. But I had my reasons. And yes, I shouldn't have spent my days getting loaded on potions. But I was roaming the streets at night, hiding under a ratty invisibility cloak to tail Death Eaters. I looked for any scrap of information I could because no one gave two shits about who ki— why they died so young," he paused. He had to reign it in. Blaise might suspect he was the one responsible for his mother and Astoria's deaths. "I wasted years of my life, miserable and alone in the throes of addiction before Theo intervened. Where were you?"
"I'll tell you exactly where I was, Draco. I never fell in with the Death Eaters or adopted the prejudiced views of our predecessors. Blood is blood, and magic is magic. It's in the fabric of our very beings. I went back to school, threw myself into the stacks, and emerged London's foremost clinical researcher and hospice Healer. I want to give people the best possible deaths, and I do. And I'm only here now because of Hermione."
Draco reached for his drink and knocked it back in one swallow. "That's what I wanted to discuss with you. She's been acting a little erratic. Maybe it's just the stress of it all. I never had to deal with the knowledge that my parents would die soon — they just, well, died."
"In some ways, that's better," Blaise offered. "The anticipation is often worse than the event."
"Are you judging her for what happened to her parents?"
Blaise poked his tongue into his cheek. "I know what you're referring to and I regret saying it. What's done is done and it's obvious she feels guilty enough. It's no excuse, but I'd had a long night with a patient who finally succumbed to his illness. It can be quite… all-consuming."
"What about that wound on her arm?"
Heaving a sigh, Blaise leaned against the brick facade of the fireplace. "She showed me. It's rather caliginous, I'm afraid."
"Fuck," Draco swore, raising his arms above his head and grabbing at his hair. "I had a feeling it was bad."
"We've all spoken to her about the risks of dark magic, and this is a side-effect borne of an accumulation of factors. And, most unfortunate of all, she'll need to keep brewing the potions that fuel the wound as her parents are wholly dependent on them at this stage in their disease."
"What do you recommend?"
"As a Healer, I've told her to keep an eye on it while I do some research. Darkness has permeated her very being. As for you, as her husband, I would suggest you stay by her side. It's difficult to predict when she might have an episode. It's imperative that you don't leave her alone," the Healer pressed.
An episode? Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He should go to her now.
"Blaise, have you ever wondered how we ended up here?"
Blaise gazed into his drink and stayed quiet for a moment. "I think about it all the time."