Chapter 34
Under the Weather – Corpse
Draco was alive with his rage. It blossomed in full bloom at the end of his wand.
Antonin Dolohov twitched and screamed under his spell. His ugly face contorted as waves of mind shattering pain swept through his body. It would course through his veins, gripping his mind with inescapable claws at the sight of Draco Malfoy punishing him for touching what was his.
He intended to let Dolohov's brain turn to mush, but his eyes dragged over to her fallen form.
Her eyes remained closed. She'd not stirred, despite the howling of Dolohov.
The spell dropped from his focus. Granger was more important. She mattered. And so help him, if she was dead, Dolohov would die. His blood would coat hers, in payment for his transgression. If only he reached a merciful death before the Ministry was filled with Aurors.
The tips of his fingers dragged along her neck. He felt a thready pulse just below the chain of her necklace.
He sighed in relief. She was alive. One hand ran through his hair.
The quiet fell swiftly throughout the room. Draco fought his urge to frown. It would only give home to emotions that coursed throughout his skin.
Noise started behind his back. The rhythmic clicking of heels as they hit the floor.
A pointy toed boot walked past his view. They approached Dolohov's still trembling body – aftereffects of the curse.
"Well done, Draco," Bellatrix hummed. The steady lace of darkness in her tone loosened his anger back to subtle fears of what might be done to him for being attached to Granger.
He raised his scowl to meet that grinning wildness of his aunt.
"You're very much like your father," she stated. "Got more backbone than him, though. Thank Salazar for that."
The witch cackled and kicked Dolohov's side.
Draco kept his wand loosely in his palm. The other on Granger. She was not leaving his side ever again.
A figure emerged from the darkness. "What's this?"
His father's gaze dropped to that of Draco over Granger's body, one hand still in touch with the throb of her pulse. Then they trailed over to Dolohov quaking body.
Bellatrix gave a satisfied chuckle. "Dolohov transgressed against Draco's pet. He repaid the favor."
Lucius' eyes grew. "You did this?"
Draco slipped his hand beneath Granger's body. One supported her back and the other, her legs as he cradled her against his chest. The weight of her was too easy to hold. He tightened his scowl. It kept the sadness from feeling real.
"I wasn't playing."
The lifeless hold of her body wrecked his spirits. It was unnatural. He hated the total limp nature of her head as it fell against his shoulder, her arms bounced as he walked.
Masked people emerged from the depths of the room. They rattled on about some injuries. Lucius had focused on his son for too long.
He angrily shook out his hair. "Forget Nott's injury! Something worse will happen to us if we fail to get Potter. Regroup and go after them."
The words spat from him. His eyes glanced back to his son. Only it was fear in his eye now.
The other Death Eaters fled after the rest of Potter's group.
Draco had no interest in whether they lived or died. Granger was a hollow shell in his arms. He stared at her expressionless face, shattering his strength by the moment.
His arms went rigid. It locked her tight against him. The only safe place for her.
Lucius urged Bellatrix to join in the assault. She narrowed her eyes. "It's time," she cooed.
Black lace pulled up her slender forearm and revealed the deep black of the Dark Mark cut through her flesh. She raised the end of her wand to its surface. The ink came alive. It slithered beneath her flesh just like that of a serpent.
Draco bit back bile to watch it move.
Not long after the tattoo was given life, a sickly shadow of grey dropped to the floor. Out of its smoke rose a ghostly ghastly creature with a pair of slitted red eyes.
Voldemort stepped against the marble flooring of the Ministry, bare foot. The nails of his toes curved to jagged points like claws as he stepped forward.
Bellatrix placed the prophecy into Draco's hand. Her hand pushed him forward.
"What -." Lucius was shocked. "How did you get that?"
A cackle left the witch's chest. "I didn't. Draco did."
His father looked at him with a pair of wide eyes. There was an unreadable displeasure, or disbelief in his father's expression.
"His pet delivered it," Bellatrix taunted further.
It was his father's task to retrieve the prophecy. It'd been his fault that she was at the Ministry in the first place.
Every ripple of anger his father had was just. Draco considered it retribution for ever doubting his ability.
Granger delivered the prophecy to him. Out of love, devotion. A respect his father never thought possible for his only son.
How could a beautiful, smart, talented witch like Hermione ever love a wizard like Draco Malfoy? Hm?
Now, his son would kick those teeth in and make him choke on every last word.
"Draco," Voldemort cooed.
A loud commotion filled the air. There were spells bursting all around the Ministry. Excited calls from Longbottom's and Potter's mouth stirred them from the lull of the quiet.
"The Order," Lucius spat.
"Go," Voldemort commanded.
He gestured to Bellatrix and Lucius. They went to their brethren to join the fight. A sickly mask of silver covered his father – a man he no longer recognized in sight or emotion.
Draco remained rooted to the ground with Granger in his arms. A shot of adrenaline trickled down his spine.
The Dark Lord beckoned him forth with a subtle wave of his hand. It, too, was clawed with sharp nails filed to fine points.
Draco swallowed back his disgust as he approached.
The red slits turned down to the witch in his arms. "Miss Granger. The smartest witch of the age, they say."
"Yes, my Lord." He remembered the degree his father used when addressing the wizard. It was serious enough that Draco would be humble to the man if it meant they would go free. "She brought the prophecy to me."
A hand lifted. The tip of a fingernail dragged down the side of her face.
"A strong power lives in her," Voldemort marveled. "That spell would have killed anyone weaker. Oh, yes. She is special." The grey-skinned hand hovered over the center of her chest. It shook just above the still beating heart. "For so long we waited. My time expired before she was of use before, but now. Now she is ready."
Draco shifted her weight closer. The gaze in Voldemort's eyes was not general admiration.
Pieces were ones he recognized from his own mirror; he coveted her.
"You have done very well, Draco," Voldemort said. "Go. Go back to Hogwarts. Get her to hospital before she is too far gone."
The clawed hand reached out for the prophecy. It awaited delivery of what he needed to defeat Potter.
If it rid her of the wizard, Draco would read it for him. Draco placed the orb in the Dark Lord's hold.
They were near the Atrium of the Ministry. Draco recognized it from visits with his father. He knew each one of the fireplaces was a Floo. There was safe passage away from Potter's fight.
Only, there overflowed a fight into the Atrium. His aunt appeared suddenly. Her wand deflected spells away from her person as she half-pranced half-ran. Cackles echoed from the tiled walls. Potter appeared not a second later. Another moment had Dumbledore appearing in the wide-open space of the Atrium.
Voldemort was overcome with anger. He shed the shadow of the outskirt of the room to confront the two wizards, forgetting the orb still in his hand.
Draco watched as Potter lost his temper. His teeth were gritted as he fired spell after spell at the Dark Lord. It earned him amusement. Voldemort laughed at the sorry attempts to attack him.
"Is that all you've got?" He taunted.
Dumbledore was more precise with his attack. It shot at the wizard's hand. He deftly avoided the many spells at his hand, but he was lost to the traipsing through the spell that he lost his balance. A final blow of the Headmaster's wand left Voldemort off his feet.
The orb fell to the ground. A ghost levitated from the white smoke, now free of its prison.
"It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom," Dumbledore proclaimed. "The Aurors are on their way."
Aurors. Draco gulped.
He stepped inside the nearest fireplace and incinerated with green flame back to Hogwarts.
A presence, or rather, sense of a presence near her was the first thing she felt. There was murky water through her mind. She had to wade through for shimmers of familiar sensation.
First came the warmth of touch. It tingled through her fingers. The harder she tried to crawl into the feeling, the quicker it slipped away.
She fell back into the depths of murky waters. Her strength waivered.
Again, she tried to climb back into her body. This time there was light. A light split through the waters she swam through. It grew brighter as she kicked after it.
An itch touched the backs of her forearms. She tried to squirm them away. It scratched her with its rough surface.
Voices murmured through the waters. Wait – no. Just one.
"Come on, pet. You're going to make me say it again?" Draco. She paddled faster up to him. Draco was there! She only had to waken. "I'll say it every bloody day if you open your eyes right now. Come on, Granger. Wake up."
"Mister Malfoy!" Madame Pomphrey exclaimed. "Leave her be. Let her breathe. She can't heal up with you right on top of her."
There was a clatter of glass vials throughout the space. A growing, widening space based on the echoes.
"I'm not on top of her," he snapped.
"You'll get plenty of time once she's recovered. Now let me do my job."
Hermione felt awareness in her body. It spread through her toes, up the muscles of her legs to her belly – wow she was starved – down the backs of her arms out to her fingers.
"Alright," Draco snarled under his breath. He leaned and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I love you, Hermione," whispered into her ear.
"Shoo, Mister Malfoy. Shoo you!"
"I want to know she's alive." He snarled back at the mediwitch.
"Oh, for goodness sake. She's alive. She's resting. Doubt she's getting much with this hovering. Off with you. Go, go. Take those puppy eyes elsewhere. She's going to be fine. No visitors until tomorrow."
As his footsteps shuffled away, Hermione fought to awaken. Her eyes refused to open. They were plastered shut. Light, still trickled through despite their closed natural, a frustrating fact.
She was awake. Aware. Why wouldn't they open?
A cool hand touched her forehead. It filled her body with chills.
"Here you are, dearie. I've got a potion for you. I'm going to just open your mouth a ways. There we are."
Liquid filled her mouth. Her tongue awakened at the zapping electricity of the taste before it slid down the back of her throat.
"That's it," Madame Pomphrey cooed. "Good girl."
It took ages of fighting against her lifeless body before it began to heed her control. Her fingers twitched. She felt the course scratchy blanket of the hospital beds. Next was her tongue. She practiced lifting it from the base of her jaw. The muscle was heavier than she remembered, but she managed to move it several times.
But then, came the real test: her eyes.
Eyelids, as thin and frail as they were, sealed together in a strong bond. She gave them credit, as their purpose was to protect the eyes from debris. They were built well to do that!
Finally, her eyelids flipped up. There was a sudden light that made her wince with a sharp groan. Stupid light.
She took stock of her body. Each part began to work under her command, albeit slowly. It was painful to watch it move without real life. Like it was controlled by strings through her back like a puppet.
Her body was almost back to normal function when the doors of the hospital kicked open. There was a commotion of footwork. Voices she recognized filtered through the room. Their sounds echoed back to her space, somewhere away from the front as it took a while for the sound to warp against the rounded ceiling.
Madame Pomphrey barked out her orders. She directed two beds be made.
"Ow, ow!" Ginny winced aloud.
"Ginny?" Hermione murmured. She tossed aside her blankets. Her body resisted the actions. She did not listen to its cry.
The center of her heart burned. Weight settled through her feet as she stood erect. The throbbing, almost to the point of pain, emerged inside the center of her chest with each pump of her heart.
"That's broken. Let's not fuss around about it. It is totally broken," Madame Pomphrey said.
Hermione gained strength in her throat.
"Ginny?" She called again. Louder.
The noise split the chaos with startling clarity.
"Hermione?" Ginny screeched.
There was a commotion. Metal dividers scratched the floors. Madame Pomphrey was frantic to restore the calm. She urged Ginny back to the bed. But her friend refused.
Only, another voice added into it.
Ron's faint voice asked, "Oh. Is Hermione visiting the queen, too?"
Hermione eventually emerged from her hospital bed. Slowly. She grasped the linen bed dividers for support. The effort to walk brought stronger pains through her chest up into her neck.
A head of red hair bobbed in the distance.
"Hermione!" Ginny yelled. "Thank Merlin, you're alright. What happened to you? We couldn't find you."
She gripped the metal tight. Her head tilted back in pause to regain control of her pain.
"Miss Granger!" Madame Pomphrey clucked at her like a brooding hen. She used her arms to usher Hermione away. "You cannot be out of bed."
"Hey! Hey! Where are you taking her?" Ginny called out. "What's wrong with her?"
The mediwitch helped Hermione back into bed under the blankets. A rigid stare came her way. "Not out of this bed. Do you understand?"
She got no complaint for the injured brunette. The red head, though, was another story. She put up a whole fight and demanded to see her friend. Madame Pomphrey was unimpressed. There was nothing of the sort going to happen under her watch. The pair of them were too injured to do anything other than rest.
Gin growled. She threatened to walk on the broken ankle.
"Oh, that will show us, will it?" Madame Pomphrey snarked back. "Go on. Show us how you'll walk on that ankle then. Let's see it."
Hermione shook her head. A broken ankle was painful. It could be made worse if walked on.
"Just let her help you, Gin!" She called out to her friend. "I'm fine."
"Oi. I hear a voice. Like a bird's," Ron marveled in a breathy voice. "Piss off, bird!"
It was unlike Ronald – as clueless as he was – to be confused.
"What's wrong with him?" She asked loudly.
Gin groaned as Madame Pomphrey declared the want to remove her shoe. "Caught a curse. Thought it was a Confundus, I did, but it made him dribble black liquid out his mouth. It was rancid."
Hermione gasped. "Is he gonna be okay?"
"Will you stop moving, Miss Weasley?" Madame Pomphrey corrected. "This gabbing can be done at another time."
It took a while for the ankle to be mended and set before Ginny could run to Hermione's bed. She collected her in a hug. It wrapped around Hermione's face with her long hair falling in her face.
The touch of her friend's comfort brought back a reality of sensation. She leaned into it. Her breath evened.
"I was so worried," Ginny breathed. "We all were." She removed her arms from around her. A pair of hands latched onto Hermione's shoulders. Blue eyes leveled with hers. "What the bloody hell happened?"
"All I remember is Ron. He knocked me down. But I- I think I got up. Then, nothing. Not a thing."
Her friend settled on the edge of her bed. "Who brought you back?"
"Draco."
"What. How? He was – we left him here."
Hermione's face fell into her hands. "I think he followed me. Followed me there to bring me back."
"Miss Weasley!" Madame Pomphrey called. "Miss Granger cannot do with all this excitement. I'm afraid you'll have to wait to visit until tomorrow."
"What! No, Madame Pomphrey. Please."
There was a few absences that she noticed. A lack of a voice she yearned to hear from the most.
"What about everyone else, Gin? Harry. Did he…" There was no reason to finish that thought.
"Miss Weasley, get out of here this instant," Madame Pomphrey ordered. Her finger pointed her in the direction of the front of the room.
Gin eased off the edge of the bed. "They're fine. Roughed up a bit. Worse for wear, maybe, but they are fine." Her eyes flashed to the mediwitch all in a fluster. They rolled in their sockets. "Oh, alright. I'm going! But I'm going to be here first thing in the morning to check on her."
The witch snapped some dividers in front of Hermione's space, so she was totally isolated from the rest of the group.
Hermione listened as she worked on Ron. He came around quickly. His ramblings became coherent. Ginny remained with her brother to explain that Hermione was there laid up in bed but doing alright.
The sound of his voice grew louder as he asked to see her. Over and over.
Madame Pomphrey forbade them from visiting until the next day. It was her blanket answer to everyone. Even when Harry showed up later to be checked over and insisted he see her. Not even Madame Pomphrey took pity on him. She declared Hermione was too sensitive to see anyone.
Recovery was boring. Nothing happened. She hadn't a thing to do. School work was banned from being brought so that she could keep busy. Not that there was any. Exams already took place.
She snuggled up beneath her blankets to take a nap after she was given another dose of potions.
Sleep was strange. It had a way of sneaking up and stealing time. She had not been exhausted when she closed her eyes, however when she awoke again, it was dark outside. There was a pitcher of water with a fresh glass there. An additional blanket was folded at the foot of the bed, too.
Hermione rose to sitting. She, wide awake now.
She thought to call out to Madame Pomphrey for some foot or an elixir to fill her stomach until morning, yet the late hour diminished the thought. It was an exciting day. The witch needed her sleep more than Hermione needed food.
Instead, she drank her fill of water. It parched the dryness at the back of her throat.
She slid back into bed thinking that she'd manage to fall asleep again when a soft meow echoed in the soft quiet of the hospital wing. It was a call she knew well.
"Drogon," she whispered.
The white cat slipped beneath the dividers. His body hopped up to the bed. Drogon rushed to greet her. His little body vibrated with how strong his purrs were as he ran his head along her hands and cheeks.
"I know. I missed you too."
The affection overflowed from the cat.
She smiled at his glee. "Next time I'll take you with me, won't I? I'd not gotten cursed if you were there."
Suddenly, Khaleesi jumped up to the bed.
"Oh. You brought your friend, too," Hermione hummed. She moved a hand out to pet the cat, but Drogon swatted the hand away, back to himself.
She chuckled. "Greedy little thing, you are."
"Can't help it, can he?" A voice said through the dark.
Draco slipped through the dividers without a sound. He appeared, like a wraith, out of nowhere.
It brought forth the memory. I love you.
They were in the Department of Mysteries. The curses flying around, her friends running for their lives, and Draco stood still, to tell her he loved her.
She frowned. "You manipulated me, Draco."
"Pardon, pet. I think you mean saved. I saved you," he said. His lips fell to a frown. "Potter would've gotten you killed there. I ensured you made it back. Alive. Both of us."
"You shouldn't have been there," she said bitterly.
He put his hands into his pockets. "Neither should you."
She shook her head. Angrily. "You could have gotten killed."
"You nearly did."
Khaleesi rubbed her head against Hermione's hand. She purred happily. Drogon curled within Hermione's lap. Khaleesi helped herself around his little body in a big spoon.
It helped ease the tension – strange and confusing – in her mind.
Draco approached. His fingers scratched behind each of their cat's ears. To their delight. Their eyes turned to crinkled smiles.
They were silent for a long breath.
More than once, she felt his eyes linger on her face. When she met them, he did not shy from his observation.
"You're alright?" He asked. "Not in pain."
"I take potions every few hours," she answered. "I don't know what for. I tried to get up and it hurt my chest. My heart, I think."
"Damn Dolohov." Draco gritted his teeth. He grabbed her face and kissed her cheek. "I should have killed him when I had the chance."
A large breath rushed from her mouth. "You don't mean that. Don't – you shouldn't think things like that."
A strange look held his face when he pulled back. It examined her very closely, uncertain perhaps.
"I'd have killed anyone who laid a hand on you," he said slowly. "And he did much more than that." Draco suddenly grabbed her by the sides of the face, forcing their eyes to align, unable to deflect from the emotion that slipped through so easily. "You're not in any pain? You tell me if you're in pain. I'll get that old bat to give you a potion right now. Hell, I'll get Professor Snape up here this instant."
There was a raw intensity slipped through his expression. A fear.
She shook her head. "I'm fine, Draco. Madame Pomphrey is even allowing me visitors tomorrow morning."
"She should be, the blood cow." His hold dropped away from her face. Hands migrated back to his pockets as he looked around. "Back corner of hospital. What's that about? Partitioned off. Like you're a criminal."
"It's for everyone else," Hermione explained. Her hands fell to her lap where two warm bundles of fluff lapped up the attention. A steady hum of purrs erupted once more. "They dropped Ginny and Ron in here earlier. It caused a stir."
Draco reacted minimally to the news. "I see."
Her eyes narrowed. Thoughts, more like suspicions, began their formation as she analyzed Draco's behavior.
"You were there in the Ministry," she pointed out.
"Someone had to save that arse," he snipped. "Potty wasn't going to do it. So it fell to me."
"But. What happened? How-how did you get me out alive? How are you alive?"
His brows knitted together. "You mean you don't remember?"
There were fragments. Bits and pieces she remembered of the time in the Department of Mysteries. Horrible memories of cursing someone into an agonizing life cycle. There was seeing Draco. The words leaving his mouth that looked like 'I love you' and Ron's face looking back at her as he pulled her up to her feet.
It was a blur. Things were unclear, lines polluted by other memories merged on top of one another.
"Screams," she said as she blinked out of memory. "I remember awful screams."
"Really?" He tilted his head, as if interested.
Hermione exhaled through her nose. "I also remember you picking the absolute worst time to tell me you love me. Did you hold onto that to use it for your best advantage? A silly insurance policy to keep me out of wand fire so that you might horde me. That's low. So low for you, Draco Malfoy."
The wizard paused. His jaw was slow in its subtle sharp click together.
He took a step backward to the bedside chair. Meant for a support person, a loved one, not a manipulative lying wizard.
"Is that all you remember?"
Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean? What else is there to remember?"
"You don't remember, do you?" It echoed hollowly from his chest. "What you've chosen."
She swallowed, shaking her head. "Haven't the foggiest what you mean, Draco. And I'm too tired to be spoken to in riddles. If you're upset about me choosing Harry before, it wasn't really my choice. I was there as a precaution. I did not want things to go that far."
"You chose me, pet."
It was like his voice echoed all around her. She felt it rebounded from the rounded ceiling above her head, amongst their small space into the great mass of the hospital wing. It was everywhere.
"I don't understand."
"In the Department of Mysteries. You chose me. Not Potter," he revealed. "You handed the prophecy over. To me. You chose me, Granger."
Hermione took a long time to allow herself a breath. The panic within her lungs became life or death when she finally caved in and gave a greedy inhale. It refilled her mind with thoughts, as the oxygen swirled, snapped back to life inside herself, memories of the night, perhaps, refilling themselves.
The words did not make her wince. As they should have.
Nor was their shock or anger, total insult injected in her at the accusation of her character being stained.
She chose Draco.
At the end of it all, she chose him because he was her destruction as she was rightfully his.
Time bled on. It became clearer that Harry would die. She thought it many times before, but that night, in the Ministry, it became solid fact. Harry will not survive this fight. He'd get himself killed. There was no amount of protection she could give him that would eliminate his need to be a savior, selflessly sacrificing himself for anyone in his life to appease the guilt he felt in surviving. He survived his parent's deaths. A night he could not relive in memory but felt its pain all the same. He survived Cedric, too. Those memories, they haunted him.
Hermione was just a singular witch. She could not erase the legions of followers gaining in Voldemort's employ. Nor erase the demons in his mind.
Harry Potter would succumb to the evil. He'd let it destroy him, and in that death, all hope would fade.
Where would she be then? Alone. Enslaved. Haunted or hunted. There was no safe space in the world away from Voldemort's reach.
But life in that horrid world would not be lonesome.
Draco Malfoy would be forced to live in that haunted reality. He was given safe passage as the son of one of His most esteemed members. Draco would survive.
She, too, it seemed was meant to endure the world that Voldemort set to create. An inescapable fate that even suicide, she feared, would not save her from its ending.
They were locked in that dark fate. Together.
"I don't remember that," she admitted gently, "but I don't doubt it." The tension fell away from his taut features. She found strength to meet his icy pulling, questioning, needy gaze. It pierced straight through her flesh. She felt his cold seep to her bones. "I've chose you over everyone, Draco. Everyone."
Draco stepped closer to the cot. His hands steadied against the mattress, braced and tensed through the shoulders. "And why is that, pet?"
"Because I love you," she answered.
He fell like putty against her. His hands touched her shoulders, collar bone, neck, face. Their lips found each others in a desperate collide. It was like the building of their fears crested only to fall back to safety in their union.
His eyes shuttered closed. He relished the moments of the kiss as it became softer, kinder, a promise rather than a plea.
"I love you," he murmured.
Draco stayed late in the night in her tiny hospital cot. He laid there curled behind her back, arms wrapped around her body, and his lips pressed against her neck every few minutes. They laid in quiet solitude for so long. Neither betraying a sound to the serenity that all too soon would shatter with first light.
He gave her a long kiss before he ducked out. The cats, however, did not follow. They remained curled around Hermione. Even as Madame Pomphrey awoke her to take her potions, Khaleesi and Drogon remained close in the witch's embrace.
It was not long after that Ginny was there. Her shoe tapped against the floor in wait for the mediwtich to grant access.
Hermione made herself ready as best she could. Her curls felt course and wild. They were tangled together oddly. A spot at the back of her neck was taut with curls touched by sweat. She did her best not to look like a poor soul to take pity on. The last people she needed pity from was her friends.
Madame Pomphrey pulled the dividers away. It welcomed an open view of the empty wing.
Ginny popped into view. Her lips once pursed together grew to a smile.
"On the mend." Hermione declared before an ounce of concern washed through her friend's expression.
"Thank Godric. Thought Ron was going to have a coronary when Madame Pomphrey said we couldn't visit." Gin sighed. "He feels so guilty."
"Guilty?"
Gin walked deeper into the small private space of the hospital bed. Her fingers dragged against the course texture of the blanket. "He saw you get cursed. Or heard it. Though, he got cursed not long after, so there was nothing he could do. He was lucky that I found him before he got cursed again."
Hermione nodded. "He can't feel guilty. We were all responsible for ourselves in there."
It was their choice to go into battle.
The war, the fighting, they would all have to accustomed to being only in charge of their lives. There was too much to look after already.
Her friend grasped Hermione's hand atop the bedspread. "Feels all too real, doesn't it?"
They were on the same thought line.
Their lives would never be the same.
"It has begun," Hermione confirmed hollowly.
Authors Note: We had finally reached the end of this beloved fic. It's been a long time coming that I got to write these scenes, as the final ones were the ones I pictured when I first drafted the idea for this story. I'd like to thank all my loyal WIP readers – you are awesome. It was your encouragement that got this fic finished. I am so grateful. I've also began to draft the first few chapters of the sequel to this story. This story will be marked completed, as it is completed, but I will post an "epilogue" on this to announce the posting of the next story in this series. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did. Please recommend this to your fellow Dramione/Harry Potter readers. I would appreciate it so much. Thanks!