The picturesque ski cabin that would serve as their weekend escape rested on a hilltop surrounded by evergreens dusted with fresh snow. Birds chirped in observance of the group's arrival, erupting from the treetops into the cloudy December sky. White smoke rose from a stone chimney, and a holly wreath hung on the bright red door, its burlap ribbon twisting into the different runes for welcome, home, and friends.
"This is amazing, Luna," Hermione said, her breath turning to vapour in the frosty air. Draco walked ahead, wand drawn to test the warding.
"Thanks. This is one of my favourite places in the world."
"I can see why."
Pansy wrapped her arm around her wife. "It's the perfect cosy hideaway. There's even a sauna in the back. The steam does wonders after a day on the mountain."
"It's where I proposed to Pansy," Luna paused, eyes shining. "What was your proposal like, Hermione?"
How could she describe it? Cold. In every sense of the word.
"Woefully inadequate," Draco cut in, having finished his assessment of the wards. "I'll get the luggage." He led them up the two steps to the door, floating their luggage inside the cabin with a few lazy swishes of his wand.
"Your room is that way," Pansy said, wiping her boots on the mat and gesturing past the kitchen.
When she said nothing more, turning her attention to inventorying the pantry, Draco tapped his fingers on the worktop.
"And where's mine?"
"I'm sorry, I misspoke," Pansy called back over her shoulder. "Hermione, the room you and Draco will be sharing is that way."
Hermione caught his eyes just in time to see them go wide before he schooled himself. She followed him down a narrow hallway, an ancient runner with frayed tassels softening their footfalls.
Draco stopped short in the doorway. "There's only one bed."
"And a mini Christmas tree. Very Luna," Hermione said, pushing past him into the room. She didn't want to think about the bed right now.
Luna had fully leaned into the rustic theme. Reclaimed wood panelling lined all four walls, and a weathered flannel duvet and sheet set graced the low bed — the only bed. A tiny Christmas tree stood proudly next to the fireplace, which Hermione lit in a pretty bit of wandless magic. A small box of miniature decorations, including silvery tinsel and a star-shaped tree topper, sat next to the tree.
Draco moved in the background, presumably unpacking and placing their clothes in the pinewood dresser. Hermione tugged off her boots, wiggling her toes in her wool socks before sitting on the floor near the warmth of the burgeoning fire. She rummaged through the box of decorations, soon discovering a packet of ornament hooks.
He settled down next to her, removing his dragonhide boots. "Shall we decorate?"
"Yes, but if you don't mind, I'd like to do it the Muggle way."
They worked together in silence, Hermione fishing a hook from the packet, Draco threading the thin wire through each ornament. Hermione placed them, one by one, on the tree's spindly branches, taking into account colour, size, and spacing. Draco wrapped the tinsel from the bottom up, but ran out of length halfway. Even though he groused that it would be simpler to extend it magically, Hermione wouldn't allow it, and instead showed him how to wind it diagonally, from the top down.
Soon the only decoration that remained was the star. She cupped it in both hands as it spun endlessly, changing colour between silver and gold as it played Christmas carols. Hermione resisted the temptation to ask for one of the Muggle songs she grew up with. She'd become accustomed to the magical versions. While it irked her that neither genre awarded elves enough credit for their contributions, she couldn't help but be swept up in the spirit of the holiday. Peace and goodwill were always in short supply, and those were sentiments she was happy to get behind.
She glanced at Draco, who gestured that she should do the honours. She affixed the coil beneath the star to the uppermost branch sprouting skyward, fussing with the placement until the star sat level. When she leaned back to examine their work together, the star slowed down, settling into an easy twirl, happy to be home.
"Our first tree. It looks good," Draco smiled.
Hermione smiled back, but her heart wasn't in it. It didn't feel like a first tree so much as a last tree. Would her parents live to see another Christmas tree? Or would they hold on even longer, more body than mind, to ring in another new year?
What would be better, now that all hope of recovery was gone?
She slumped against Draco's shoulder, inhaling his comforting scent. "One of my earliest memories is of my dad lifting me up to place the star on the top of the tree. He always felt so solid. Eventually I became too heavy to lift anymore, and I had to climb a ladder. And even though we both knew it was sturdy, he held it the whole time I was there, as if he never stopped holding me up."
Draco remained silent for a moment. "If I pretended to fall asleep after one of our trips to the city, my mother would carry me to my room and tuck me in when we arrived back home. I think the last time was just before I went to Hogwarts. I wonder how it feels as a parent to know that one day you'll lift your child up and set them down without knowing you're doing it for the last time."
"I think it must be very beautiful and very sad. You're probably grateful you had those moments — the mundane ones like the bedtime routines, and the special ones, like Christmas. But you must miss them and wish for more of them for the rest of your life."
She stood and poked the logs in the fire. Sparks jumped, ash floated up and resettled amongst the remains of former fires. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
His voice disturbed her reverie. "Do you ever think we live too much in the past?"
"How so?"
"It's just there's so much of it that sometimes I can't breathe. We've done and seen more than anyone should. But I don't want to live with my head in a Pensieve."
"After everything that's happened in my life, I cherish every fond memory I have. The past is instructive. It's the source of knowledge, history, experience… it's everything."
A few strands of Draco's hair fell in front of his face. "I can't let the past be my everything, Hermione."
"Of course not," she said, hurrying her words. "I'm merely saying tradition is important. The future is…." Blank. Unknown. Terrifying. "Open."
"That's the best part, though. The future is what we make it. We'll make our own traditions, new ones," Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back flush against him. It was more of a crush than a cuddle, a silent plea.
Stay with me.
Try as she might, she couldn't imagine their traditions — because she wasn't even sure where they could be together.
Hermione couldn't imagine living in the flat after everything they'd been through, and as much as she'd wanted to return to Cyclamen Cottage the past few days, she didn't think that was the right place for her anymore, either. When she set off to London, she'd expected to get her parents settled, perhaps reconnect with her old friends, and then she could submerge herself in the quiet landscapes of the Cotswolds. Just an ordinary witch living an ordinary life. But her plans had been derailed in the most surprising ways, and the upheaval of the last week had her spiralling.
Where they would live was the least of her worries. She rubbed her arm, fingers arching over the bulk of the bandage underneath her sleeve. The Dark Mark itched and stung, like tight new skin grafted over a burn. It might be permanent. But what if the hallucinations and the intrusive thoughts were permanent, too? After years of research into the complicated ecosystem of the human brain, she knew the harsh truth about the impact of extended hallucinations. Sufferers could expect a change or loss of vision, vertigo, tinnitus, and eventually, a persistent state of psychosis.
She'd never put Draco through all that. He didn't deserve to watch her fade away, slip into another world he could never follow her into. For twelve years she'd borne solemn witness to her parents' gradual deterioration, and she wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy.
Maybe she should ask Blaise if he would assume her care. At the very least, she should get a will in order so she could leave her personal effects — her beaded bag, her book collection, her pearl hair pins — to her godsons. Would Harry visit, even after she ceased to recognise him? Would Draco?
And that brought her around to the original problem. Once she left the flat, with or without her parents, she didn't know where to go.
She wanted to say all of this to Draco, but they hadn't discussed anything beyond the Solstice Ball and a vague plan to topple the current regime. The line between them, once set in stone, now seemed to be drawn in sand. At some point, she felt sure they'd crossed it, some of the line disappearing as they dipped their toes on the other side. But now the tide threatened to erase it fully, and Hermione didn't know how to operate in a world where all the boundaries she'd so carefully established were washed away. So instead of exposing yet another vulnerability, she fell back on old habits and withdrew like a hermit crab into a too-small shell.
"But this… it's just for a little bit longer. The ball is right around the corner."
"Right," Draco said. "Of course." He released her and pushed away to stand.
She instantly wished she could snatch the words out of the air and put them back in her mouth, swallow them whole so there was no evidence they'd ever been spoken.
"Draco."
He was already halfway across the room. "I should see what Pansy's got planned for the rest of the morning. Still plenty of time to hit the slopes."
The fire sputtered, all previous warmth gone.
00000
Everyone suffered through an awkward lunch where Luna prattled on about the medicinal uses for dirigible plums. When the table was clear, they took turns transfiguring their city clothes into proper gear and finally set off for the mountain.
After a quick warm up to refresh her skills, Hermione triple-checked the buckles on her ski boots. The ski lift looped endlessly up into the horizon.
Luna flipped her fishtail braid over her shoulder. "Draco, might I borrow your wife?"
"Certainly, as long as I can borrow yours," Draco held his arm out to Pansy, who took it and steered the group closer to the ski lift.
"Of course. We've discussed that sort of thing, and as long as Pansy consents, I have no problem with sharing her."
Draco's cheeks, already red from the cold, deepened into crimson. "Wait, Luna—"
Before he could finish, Pansy tugged him forward as a lift chair circled around. "Come on!"
As the lift rose into the air, he looked back at her, an enquiry in his eyes she didn't know the answer to.
Hermione and Luna lined up with the next chair and sat down as it hit the back of their knees. "He's rather protective of you."
"Yes, well," Hermione fumbled with her mittens. "I've been on my own for a while now. It's nice that he cares so much."
"Oh, I think it's more than that. Don't you?"
Hermione averted her eyes and changed the subject. "So how're things at The Quibbler? Pansy told me you're still the head editor. I don't know how you find the time to do that and run a magical creature sanctuary."
"I often bring my work home with me, or my home to work. The Quibbler's selling well, better than ever, really. We're the only non-Ministry-sanctioned periodical. All the staff have dedicated their careers to exposing the rot at every level of magical society. In fact, that's the reason I hoped I might speak with you. I'd like to interview you and Draco."
"What kind of interview?"
"It's up to you," she shrugged.
They reached the top of the mountain, clusters of skiers adjusting straps and hats. The two women eased off the lift, hitting the crunchy snow and gliding forward in search of fresh powder.
"Will you think about it?"
"Of course. You and Pansy have done so much for us."
Luna flashed a brilliant smile. "It'll be grand."
The run wasn't too crowded, so they pushed off, one at a time. Hermione crouched low, enjoying the wind in her ears, the blur of the terrain as she zoomed past. Most of all, she appreciated how it quieted her mind.
After a few runs, she worked her way up to a double black diamond. The steep slope of ungroomed snow twinkled in the fading light. She was debating whether she wanted the challenge for her last run of the day when Draco appeared at her side.
"You're really good at this," Draco said, lifting his goggles and setting them atop his white-blond hair.
"You sound surprised."
"I didn't think skiing was something most Muggles did."
Hermione shrugged. "My family used to take me as a child. I wasn't destitute, you know. We're not all orphans living under the stairs."
He shot her a quizzical look.
"Nevermind. Race you to the lodge?"
"What's the bet?"
"Last one buys the Butterbeer," she suggested, teetering on the edge of the run.
"We share a vault!" Draco shouted back, but she'd already launched herself down the slope.
00000
Later that night, Hermione gathered her things and slipped out the back door. It was pitch black, save for stars glittering around a full moon. Fresh snow flurried all around her, and as she stepped forward in what she hoped was the right direction, her boot scuffed up against a tiny unlit lantern. With a quick Lumos, she discovered the path before her was lined with at least a dozen of them, and she sent her signature bluebell flames into each one. Snowflakes shifted from white to cobalt as they fell to join their brethren, banking a cedar sauna situated in the corner of the field, just before the edge of the woods.
She picked up the lantern at her feet and trudged silently through the snow towards the sauna. Her muscles ached from the day on the mountain, and she could think of nothing better than stripping down and relaxing into the steamy heat.
As she settled one mittened hand on the handle, a feminine moan came from inside the sauna. She held the lantern up to the foggy window, only just able to make out two nude women splayed across a wooden bench. The raven-haired one held the voluptuous blonde's generous arse as she licked into her cunt, even as the blonde twisted in ecstasy.
Hermione quickly lowered the light in shock, hoping Luna hadn't seen her. Pansy and Luna's passion for one another had the first blush of arousal warming her skin better than any sauna could have managed. She scurried back to the cabin in silence — back to the bed she'd share with Draco. She didn't know whether she hoped to find him sleeping or wide, wide awake.
00000
Draco lay on top of the still-made bed in his black silk pyjamas. He didn't look up as she entered, engrossed in his reading. Hermione smiled to herself as she noted the D.M. on the chest pocket that matched the H.M. on her own. She'd first added it to her pyjamas as a reminder of the role she had to play. But at some point she'd stopped seeing it as a persona, and her heart said Draco was long past pretending. The question was, could she go back to the way things were before? Could she hurt him, knowing it was for his own good?
"Why aren't you under the covers?"
If she startled him, he didn't show it.
"Years of sleeping on the finest sheets money can buy have ruined me for other bedding," he said, the book falling, open and forgotten, into his lap. "Also, I don't think the duvet has been laundered anytime this century."
She wrinkled her nose, but climbed on the bed next to him. He lifted the arm closest to her, and Hermione cosied up to him. Heat rolled off him, and between that, the crackling fire, and what she saw in the sauna, she began to understand his concerns about sharing a bed. The last time, it'd been unintentional, and they'd only shared a kiss. But now he'd seen her shameless, wanting, desperate.
Maybe it was wrong to press the side of her thigh against him now, knowing she'd have to pull away sooner rather than later. Not tonight, though. They still had time before this became just another memory.
"Luna wants to interview us. It could be the perfect opportunity to express our disapproval over what the Ministry has done — and what they continue to do."
"So instead of attending the ball to kiss up to bloated windbags and assure the fickle opinion of the public remains firmly on our side, you'd like to march into the dragon's den in a gossamer gown." His eyes held a bit of mischief, and her stomach swooped.
"Are you saying you'll do it?"
He considered her seriously, his jaw set. "Is that what you need from me?"
The low timbre of his voice sent a thrill down her spine, and wetness pooled between her legs.
For a moment, speech evaded her. "It's not about what I need."
"Isn't it, though?"
"Wanting something and needing it aren't the same thing."
His eyes, more pupil than grey, roved over her body. Hermione had a feeling they were having two very different conversations at the same time.
"But sometimes they are. Like right now."
She intercepted his wrist before he could lay his hands on her and make her lose her mind under his touch. "Tell me."
He lowered his lips to her ear, his hot words shooting straight to her core. "You know what I want. And if we want the same thing Granger, you should know — I intend to give it to you."
Granger. His chosen endearment. Only he called her that, and the thousands of ways he said it took her breath away more than sweetheart or darling or lo—
Don't even think that word, she scolded herself.
Draco withdrew his arm and moved to rest on his elbows above her. All at once she was thrown back to the day they ran into each other at St. Mungo's when he cornered her in the alley, crowding her against the wall. The way he looked at her then was so different from the way he looked at her now. Maybe it hadn't been full-on hate in the alley — she knew that now. But at this moment, after a span of only a few days, it looked like he felt the exact opposite.
Before she could talk herself out of whatever they were about to do, she yanked him by the collar and pressed her lips into his. Draco relaxed into her, closing the distance between them. Hermione sighed into his mouth, and he rocked his hips into her, once, twice, and finding no objection he continued to grind against her as their lips moved in tandem.
His hands quested underneath her pyjama top, plotting a route to her breasts. He sucked softly where her neck met her shoulder, just enough to bruise. She was burning up, desire turning into desperation for more of his touch, more of him.
A synapse fired in her brain, as if it had fallen asleep on watch and been jolted awake by a sound in the distance. They couldn't do this. She couldn't let him get attached to her only to lose her again. It wasn't fair to him. And maybe she shouldn't be deciding what he needed, as her record wasn't the best. But as much as they both wanted this, she would take the hurt now in order to spare him future pain.
She pushed his shoulder half-heartedly, like a kneazle kitten pawing at a toy. He propped himself back up with one hand, the other busy memorising a map of the softness just above her hips.
"We're married, you know. We don't have to stop."
He said it like a joke, but she heard the uncertainty in his voice. He combed a hand through her hair, but he didn't settle his weight back onto her. She realised he was waiting for her to come back to him.
It pained her to admit the next part. "I don't want to stop. But I'm afraid of what happens when we don't."
"We were both afraid the first time," he whispered. "This time will be so much different, I promise you."
Hermione wasn't scared of giving her body to him again; that wasn't at all what she meant. But her heart pounded at his implication. He wanted a second time with her now, but would that be it?
So many people had said they wanted her, but it was always on their terms. Ron wanted to copy her homework. Viktor wanted her on his arm at the Yule Ball.
This is different, her heart protested. He says it's different. Give him a chance.
"That's not it," she said, sitting them both up. "I have to tell you something."
Draco took her hand and stroked it. "You can tell me anything. I'm not going anywhere."
Gods, she was going to cry again. "I've had intrusive thoughts for a while. They started in Australia and they get louder and more frequent when I'm practising dark magic. But I've stopped for over a week, and now I'm having hallucinations."
"The other night, when you seized —"
"I think it's my Dark Mark," she said, tears falling. "Or withdrawals, maybe. And I can't… What if I lose my mind? What if we jump into this and it's not..."
"Hey, hey," she held her against his firm chest. "I've never had hallucinations, and neither has anyone else I've ever known who took the Mark. Even when they dabbled in the Dark Arts, all the Death Eaters I knew descended into madness because they were in Azkaban surrounded by Dementors at all hours of the day."
"Harry said it might be possible. The hallucinations seem like they're related to things in Voldemort's life."
She told him about the long table of Death Eaters, the graves, and the ever-present snake. Draco listened intently, his eyes bright in the dying firelight.
"You think the basilisk wants you to return the Death Eaters to their former glory?"
"I don't know. It seems to think I'll need them for something."
Draco rubbed his forehead. "It called you Mistress?"
Hermione nodded.
"Potter says the Dark Lord can't come back, right? But what if that spell gave you a taste of his power? He could summon us whenever he pleased. Maybe you can, too."
"I doubt it. I can't even Apparate as well as I used to. It's like I'm detoxing and my magic has to readjust. And unless the Death Eaters turn in their masks and become really cool with having a Muggleborn leader really quick, I don't think I'll be summoning them."
"Maybe, with time, the hallucinations will go away. Although I can't say I favour a wait-and-see approach," Draco sighed. "I'm glad you told Potter. We can go back to Patil, too. Blaise is already on the case. We'll get a team of experts on this, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Hermione."
Hermione blew out a long breath, the day's exertions catching up with her. Talking about the hallucinations sapped the little energy she had left, and now she worried they would bleed into her dreams. She squeezed her husband's hand.
The realist in her said Draco couldn't keep his promise. It wasn't a matter of whether or not he'd "let" it happen, because life happened to everyone, and in one way or another, so would death. But she was tired, and even though she knew it was temporary, she didn't want to be alone.
"Will you keep holding me?"
He muttered Nox and lowered himself to rest behind her, moulding his body to hers.
As her eyelids fluttered shut, an errant thought dug its claws into her traitorous brain.
Draco's right. The only thing standing in the way of your happiness is you.