"Were you really pregnant?" was the first thing Draco asked when Hermione came to visit him for the first time after a week since the verdict was announced.

She would've come to see him sooner, but she wasn't allowed to. And even now the security was doubled – she could touch only his hands that were bound to the table, completely restricting his movements. The rest of him she was not allowed to touch, it was a precaution to stop him from harming visitors – as if he could ever hurt her.

Hermione was so happy to see him after such a long time of being prohibited to that she didn't understand his question right ahead. She had forgotten about the tale her, and Amita came up with to win the hearts of the jury.

"What? Oh—" she remembered. Then her gaze softened, and she took his hand. "No, I wasn't pregnant. Amita thought it would help with the case, so that's why I said it." Draco's eyes were hard, his lips set into a straight line. Since he still didn't seem convinced, she continued, "Really, Draco, I wasn't pregnant, and if I were, you would've been the first one to know. I would never keep something like that from you."

His expression remained empty. "You sounded very hurt when you said it."

"That's because I was hurt. Betrayed by the people I trusted most. It was an act only partially." This seemed to work on as he visibly relaxed. "So, five years – not as bad as we were expecting, right? I'm sorry they won't let you use magic, though…"

"It's fine," Draco said. "At least that way I won't be able to hurt anyone else ever again."

The next few months flew by. Since Hermione was allowed to visit Draco in Azkaban only once month, she had to figure out what to occupy the rest of her time with. Since Draco will never be allowed to use magic manually again, the Elder wand was hers now, except that she didn't know what to do with it most of the time. She spent hours every day cleaning the Scottish cottage until it was spotless, but it still felt very empty without Draco, so she tried to get out of the house every chance she got. She usually ended up at Luna's place – the flat in downtown London where she now lived with Blaise who ended up being cleared of all charges thanks to his charisma and his famous lawyer. Luna's house where she used to live with her father before the war was destroyed just like Blaise's manor, so the flat was a safe neutral space for them both, although Blaise put a lot of his money and energy to rebuild his ancestral home.

He offered Hermione help to rebuilt Malfoy Manor, but Hermione was still not ready for such a big step – she didn't want it to be something for her to do herself, she wanted Draco to be there to decide what's best for their home. She visited the ruins of the Manor only once and only for a short time, unable to stay there for long, hurt by the view of the wreckage.

She and Draco started exchanging letters which were more like diary entries where they told one another of the things they did and the thoughts they had until it was time for their weekly hour-long meeting. What was left to talk about when they did meet, at least for the first few times, were more business-like things. Draco constantly asked her where she was living, how she was bearing, he gave her a password to his vault, saying that all his gold and real estate now belonged to her.

"I know there's not much left of the Manor," he told her once, "but it's all your if you ever decide to do anything with it."

Only once did he tell her in person something that shattered her heart to pieces.

"There is a rose growing in the corner of my cell. The dementors can't see it but I can. It reminds me of you. Whenever I see it or smell it, I start to believe there's still hope left for me."

When she opened the letter he wrote her the previous week, he found petals of that said rose in between the sheets of letter paper. She cried herself to sleep that night. He never once brought up how much he missed her again. He must've still expected for her to leave him. She never would.

Amita had reminded them both of another building that had slipped their mind. "After Harry Potter's death, Grimmauld Place is yours, Draco," she informed them. "You're the last living heir of the Black family who's not disinherited."

Draco's face turned grim upon receiving the news. He clearly hadn't thought of that and it had turned into another headache for him. A week later, he had come up with a solution. When Hermione came to visit him, he gave her property documents together with the usual letter.

"I wrote the address of my aunt Andromeda in the letter," Draco explained. "I know she is the current guardian of her grandson, Teddy Lupin. Please, talk to her, and give her this."

Hermione did. Andromeda was a tired middle-aged witch, living in one of the similar-looking tiny houses in one of the suburbs of London. It seemed that the war had aged her at least a few decades. When Hermione knocked on her door, the witch looked around in alert as if still expecting a visit from Death Eaters.

"Oh, Ms. Granger," Andromeda finally recognized her. "What are you doing here? Oh, but where are my manners… Come in, come in!"

Hermione smiled timidly and entered the witch's home. Just then she saw a blue-haired boy hiding behind Andromeda, clutching her skirts and watching Hermione frightfully – he couldn't have been more than six.

"This is Teddy," Andromeda said. "Teddy, don't be scared, this is Hermione, she is a friend of your godfather, Harry, remember, I told you about them?"

Teddy eyes went from guarded to curious as Hermione crouched down to his level to greet him. "Hi, Teddy," she said, reaching out her hand. "It's so lovely to meet you."

Andromeda took her to the living room and offered her some which Hermione gladly drank. Once they were settled, she revealed why she came here. Andromeda was shocked by the offer.

"Oh, no, we cannot accept this…"

"I'm afraid it's not an offer. Draco already reassigned Grimmauld place in Teddy's name. And there's no need to change that."

Tears appeared in Andromeda eyes. "I wasn't at the trial, but I heard all that happened. I knew Draco had turned to the dark side, but for you to support him, Ms. Granger, that must mean he is not all lost after all… And this indeed is a touching gesture on your account…"

"It was all Draco's idea, Mrs. Toks. I had no say in it. But I agree that it is touching."

"So, is it true, then?" Andromeda asked.

"What's true?"

"That you married him because you love him?"

Hermione did not lie. "Yes."

That was settled.

She was walking home from Azkaban after one of the meetings with Draco when a person she least expected to meet stood in her way, blocking her path, towering over her. It was George Weasley. Hermione clutched the Elder wand in her hand more tightly, ready for anything. During the last eight months she had seen, heard, witnessed and been on the receiving end of so much crap that nothing could shock her anymore, and she was ready to push back against anything.

"George," she nodded her acknowledgement, trying to remember the last time she saw the surviving one of the Weasley twins. It must've been at court during Draco's final trials.

"Coming from seeing your husband?" he asked, spitting out the word husband like poison.

They were standing in the dimly lit street, so she couldn't make out his features quite right, but his face had turned gauntly ashen and bony, his eyes were brimmed red, and his lips now formed an eternal scowl. She remembered that whenever she did see him, he was always looking at her as if he hated her, but only now did he actually seem to despise her. Hermione paid it no mind – she was used to receiving hateful messages, death threats, being called a traitor and a Death Eater's whore. Dealing with an angry Weasley was something she could definitely manage.

"Actually, yes, I am," she answered calmly, indifferent to the rage emanating from his posture.

"He took all I care about from me," George snarled, his nostrils flaring.

Hermione only stared at him calmly. "It was Voldemort who did it, not Draco. It wasn't Draco's fault Voldemort made him do these things. And he's in Azkaban, just like you all wished. He's being punished for his crimes."

"Do you really think he was forced to become High Reeve, the highest rank of all Death Eaters?" George asked, narrowing his eyes. "We both know he did it himself, because he liked it. Stop defending him! Five years in azkaban is a ridiculous amount of time for all the things he did!"

Hermione was just as still and stern as ever. "No one's questioning how many people you've killed, George. Who knows, maybe your victims were under the Imperius curse. That we will never know."

George's face twisted in anger. "I lost two of my brothers and my only sister in this war…"

She understood why he was angry – she would be angry too if she was him. She simply couldn't bring herself to care.

"You still have your family left, George," she reminded him. "I'm the one who lost everything. All I have is Draco, and I will protect him until the day I die."

George's gaze darkened as if he only now begun to understand the true gravity of this whole post-war situation. "You know, I really believed he had brainwashed you to make you love him. But now I realize it's all you, Hermione. You fully understand who he is and you still… fancy him."

Hermione's expression was stone-like. "For some reason, the only person who was there to defend me when Snape tortured me wasn't you. It wasn't Lee, or Justin, or Parvati, or Neville. None of you did anything when the older Order members were ready to kill me—"

"You killed Harry!"

"—it was my husband who saved me. So no, I will not let anyone hurt him ever again, and I will not stop defending him. Now if you'lL excuse me, I have to make it back home before the dinner."

Hermione was overcome with a realization George was going to attack her if she did nothing to fight back, so she took out the Elder wand that she was hiding between her robes, and pointed it at him.

"Don't try anything stupid, George. Not here and not with me. You won't win this."

He watched her for a long moment as if he could transmit his anger for her to feel just by looking. But then his gaze slid to her wand, and he recognized it. George moved away from her slowly, giving her the space to move. She went on, giving him one last indifferent look.

A year passed. Hermione woke up one morning to see the mushed face of an orange cat right in front of her. She sat up in bed, gasping in surprise, while Crookshanks meowed in greeting. She hugged him tightly, noticing only now that most of his ginger fur had burned away, the skin under it covered in scars.

"Crookshanks!" she exclaimed, burying her face in his now-skinny body. "I thought I lost you! But you came back! You came back from the Manor!"

Crookshanks was only a little jealous for his mom's excessive show of emotion. But then he licked her cheek in appreciation. She was no longer alone.

Then two years passed, and the Wizarding World of Britain soon moved on from the past, forgetting the horrific things of the Second Wizarding War. She was still recognized by the wizarding folk whenever she was grocery shopping or ended up at the Leaky Cauldron, but more often than not the gazes that met her were not hateful or judging, but simply acknowledging her as a fellow human being. A few years had to go by until passers-by started stopping her in the middle of the street to express what a role model she is to the younger generation. Hermione gathered that's how she would've been treated since day one if she hadn't stayed by Draco's side. She would've been a true war hero, the only one remaining out of the Golden Trio. But she had no regrets.

Although her face was still quite an often visitor of the newspaper's, Draco's name was less relevant with every day that passed – it looked like the community had forgotten about him at all. And Hermione was ready to use that for her advantage. She started visiting Kingsley's office more and more, although he, naturally, avoided her and tried to postpone their meetings. However, Hermione was persistent. Eventually, he had to give in.

"I'm here to ask for a parole for Draco," Hermione said.

Kingsley looked at her as if she had gone mad. "It's only been two years. Three more left, Hermione. My hands are tied, there is nothing I can do."

"The people have forgotten about him. Right now is the perfect chance to get him out."

"Do I need to remind you that he is to be on house arrest for the upcoming twenty years? And that he won't be allowed to use his wand ever again?"

"No, I know that," she assured him. "He doesn't care about house arrest, and neither do I. I just want him to be with me. That's all I want. I assume you can do it for me?" While Kingsley still doubted, she added, "I will never ask you for anything else ever again, Minister. I will never claim to know better than the Ministry. Once Draco is by my side, you will never hear from me again. The Order's crimes will die with me."

Kingsley thought for a long time. The next day she got the letter with a single sentence: Your husband is free.

After two years in Azkaban, Draco was finally free.

The news was silent, or more accrately, silenced by the government, since no one was to know Draco was out. Hermione came to greet him and she brought him back home with her. At first, he spoke little and seemed mostly bored by the new environment of the Scottish cottage.

"You've changed a lot," was all he said when they entered inside. He didn't ask her why he was released early, he didn't ask her anything related to his time in jail or his case. He must've known the answer already.

"Yeah. Do you like it?"

He turned back to her. "I like everything you do."

It wasn't as hard for Draco to get around without a wand as Hermione was expecting, but she gathered he must've learned muggle ways in jail, so she didn't point that out. Hermione worked day and night until she removed the tracker that was injected under his skin, but when that was done, they could go back to the Manor – the place Hermione avoided on purpose.

Rebuilding the Manor became a great distraction for Draco – he worked there day and night while Hermione cooked food for him. He got really good at building stuff, and he said himself it was somewhat freeing to work with his hands to create things and not to destroy. They spoke little to each other – their bodies did all the talking at night once the foundation of the Manor got done and they started sleeping over at the construction site. When they did speak, the topic of the war was barely ever touched upon. It came out at night, too, in the shape of nightmares and night terrors. Luckily, right now they had each other to comfort and be comforted by.

Since Hermione was the one with the wand, once the work began on the inside of the Manor, she got to do most of the work because she used magic and was faster that way, but Draco didn't feel left behind – every day he worked until complete exhaustion, but the joy in his eyes when the fruit of his work came to fruition was incomparable. Hermione was happy to see him calm, to see him so at peace. Even she started feeling well enough to truly live – and all for him.

It took one more year for the reconstruction of the Malfoy Manor to be finished – Hermione and Draco decided to keep the gothic vibe that the original Manor had going on, but they added more bright colors to the inside until it felt like home and the inside no longer reminded of either of theirs worst nightmares. When that day came, they both stared at one year's worth of work, and Draco wrapped his hand around Hermione's waist.

"I guess I'll have to find something else to do now."

Hermione looked up at him, smiling softly. There was something different about her, she knew he had noticed but hadn't figured out what it was yet.

"What about… taking care of a little Malfoy?" she offered.

Draco's eyes darkened. Long forgotten fear crossed his features.

"What are you saying?" he asked quietly.

"I'm saying I'm pregnant, Draco. You're going to be a dad."

He swallowed thickly. She saw tears shine in his eyes like little pearls. It was the first time he cried since Hermione could recall.

Life went on. Their daughter was born, and two years later their son. Life seemed like a game – full of ups and downs, of victories and losses. Life was an eternal battle of dark and light, of good and bad.

But there were worse battles to fight, and they had won them all.

THE END