The Ghost of You
Written By: dianasaasaa15
Summary:
Seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy's carefully rebuilt life is shattered when his fiancée, Pansy Parkinson, reveals a shocking truth—Hermione Granger is alive. Fragile and bound to him by a dark curse cast during the war, their fates are entwined in ways neither could have foreseen. As Draco struggles with the collapse of his engagement and the resurgence of long-buried feelings, Hermione fights to reclaim the life she lost. Together, they must untangle the threads of their past while navigating a connection that heals and destroys in equal measure. Can they rewrite their story, or will the weight of their choices keep them apart forever?
Chapter One: She Always Got Her Way
Pansy Parkinson had always been someone who got her way.
Perhaps it was a matter of perception, a way of bending the world to suit her vision of how things should be. But regardless of the reasoning, the result was always the same: she got what she wanted. So, when Draco Malfoy asked her out six years after the Battle of Hogwarts, she had felt a sense of inevitability.
A year later, as she gazed down into his cool grey-blue eyes, watching him kneel before her with a ring in hand, she knew she had been right all along. She always got her way. The life she had dreamed of since they were children—the one she had whispered about to Astoria late into the night, weaving fantasies of love and grandeur—was finally within her grasp. Pansy couldn't help but marvel at how perfectly everything was falling into place, just as it always had.
The ring itself was breathtaking.
Narcissa Malfoy had always possessed impeccable taste, a trait that seemed almost intrinsic to the Malfoy name. Selecting the perfect ring for the future bride wasn't just tradition—it was an art. The tear-shaped, four-carat diamond sat on a raised setting, its simplicity complemented by a gold band that felt uniquely Pansy. It was elegant without being ostentatious, a reflection of who she imagined herself to be.
Draco's smile whenever he caught her wearing it was warm, almost boyish, a rare softness in his otherwise composed demeanor. He often told her that the moment he saw it, he knew it was meant for her. And she couldn't have agreed more.
When they had entered the jeweler's, Narcissa had wasted no time. With her usual grace and authority, she requested to see the collection curated for the Malfoys. The moment the tear-shaped diamond was unveiled, she dismissed the rest with a single, decisive wave of her hand. "This is the one," she declared, leaving no room for doubt. And she was right. It was perfect.
Pansy had envisioned a wedding of grandeur—something so spectacular that it would be talked about for generations. She wanted people to say, "Remember when Pansy and Draco got married? That was something else!" Even decades later, when they had grandchildren of their own, she dreamed of her children telling them, "When you get married, it has to be like your grandparents' wedding—remarkable in every way!"
The thought made her giggle as she stepped into the boutique. Yes, she always got what she wanted, and life was all the sweeter for it. The shop owner, Rowanda, greeted her with a broad smile, her eyes practically lighting up at the sight of Pansy's excitement—and perhaps at the thought of the galleons about to be spent.
"Ah, the future Mrs. Malfoy! What a delight to see you! Are we finally picking out the dress today?"
Pansy beamed back, her grin so wide it was beginning to make her cheeks ache. Feeling a bit silly, she covered her mouth briefly and tossed her dark brown hair over her shoulder, trying to compose herself. "Hello, Rowanda. Yes, I am!" she replied, another giggle escaping her lips. "I'm just waiting for Astoria and my mum to join me."
Rowanda's smile widened, her own excitement clearly reflecting Pansy's energy. The boutique smelled warm and inviting, with soft notes of vanilla mingling with the clean scent of fabric and lace. Pansy took a deep breath, letting the atmosphere settle over her as her heart fluttered with anticipation.
Hours later, Astoria and Pansy stumbled down the cobbled streets, their high-pitched giggles echoing off the buildings around them.
"I cannot believe the look on her face when she recommended that dress!" Astoria squealed, clutching her stomach as Pansy leaned into her, gasping for breath through her laughter.
"The tulle! Why on earth would I—" Pansy struggled to catch her breath, barely able to speak through her laughter, "—want that much on my wedding dress!"
"And don't forget the 'hints' of red roses," Astoria added, dramatically waving her hand near her feet. "Can you even imagine? Thank gods you have me!"
Their laughter began to subside as they reached the entrance of the restaurant they had been heading toward. Pansy's smile softened as she reached out to grip Astoria's hand. Her green-eyed friend looked back at her, tears of mirth still brimming in her eyes.
"Yes," Pansy said, her voice quieting. "Thank gods I do. Can you believe this is really happening? I mean… really happening?"
Astoria stepped inside as the doorman held the door open for her. Over her shoulder, she replied, "Gods, no, but I'm happy it is."
Pansy paused, narrowing her eyes at her friend's tone. "Why do you have to be such a bitch about it, Astoria?"
Astoria rolled her eyes, tossing her thick black hair over her shoulder as she made her way to their table. "I didn't mean it like that," she muttered, settling into her seat. "I'm happy for you, Pans. Truly. But you've got to admit, it hasn't been the smoothest road getting here."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Pansy shot back, sliding into her own chair. The familiar tightness in her chest returned, unbidden.
Astoria sighed, her green eyes softening. "Just that Draco isn't exactly… uncomplicated." She leaned forward, her voice quieter now. "You've always known he had a past, and I'm not just talking about the war."
Pansy stiffened, her fingers brushing over the edge of the menu in front of her. "I know that. And it doesn't matter, because I'm his future."
"Exactly," Astoria said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "And you don't need to let old shadows ruin what's already perfect."
Pansy wanted to argue, but the weight of Astoria's words clung to her, heavy and unshakable. Before she could respond, a bright voice interrupted the tension.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" Their waiter stood beside the table, beaming at them as if he hadn't noticed the charged air between the two. "Thank you, Ms. Parkinson and Ms. Greengrass, for joining us today! My name is Thomas, and I'll be serving you. May I start you off with some drinks? Might I recommend our pumpkin-spiced butterbeer?"
Astoria raised an eyebrow, her irritation still evident as she glanced at Thomas. "Thomas, I would like you to sho—"
"Yes, two, please," Pansy interrupted quickly, flashing the waiter a polite smile. "And give us a moment to order."
Thomas's smile didn't falter, and with a quick nod, he disappeared toward the bar.
"Astoria," Pansy said softly, her tone laced with warning. "He's just doing his job."
"More like being oblivious," Astoria muttered, rolling her eyes. "Helloooo, read the room?"
Pansy sighed, sitting back in her chair. The weight of Astoria's earlier words hadn't left her, gnawing at the edges of her composure. "Right, well—"
"Listen," Astoria interrupted, leaning forward with a serious expression. "Whatever's going on in that head of yours, it's just old ghosts. Draco is madly in love with you, Pansy. He's not interested in things of the past."
Pansy hesitated, her hand drifting to the engagement ring on her finger. It sparkled beautifully under the soft lights of the restaurant, a tangible reminder of everything she had built with him. She nodded faintly, trying to push the unease aside.
Astoria leaned back, her sharp demeanor softening. "You've always been good at getting what you want, Pans. Don't overthink it. You're going to have the perfect life, and no one—not even a memory—can change that."
Pansy smiled faintly, but her heart still felt heavy. She knew Draco loved her. She knew it.
Even if things had been different.
Even if she had been different.
Because they were meant to be.
They were… weren't they?
Draco sat at his desk, kneading his forehead. The incessant headache that had tormented him for nearly a year now was back, dull and relentless. It wasn't unbearable, but it was constant—a steady pounding that seemed to mock him with every movement he made. Most days, he could ignore it, letting it fade into the background as just another inconvenience. But today, it was all he could think about.
"Headache still bothering you, mate?"
Draco groaned, lowering his hands just enough to glare at Theodore Nott, whose grin was so wide it seemed to stretch the limits of his face. "Yeah, and your booming voice isn't helping," Draco snapped.
Theo sauntered into the room with an infuriatingly casual swagger. "Ah, the troubles of being a family man already weigh heavy on you," he teased, flopping into the chair across from Draco's desk. He swung his legs up onto the arm of the chair and laced his hands behind his head, lounging as though he owned the place. "You know how you can fix that, don't you?"
Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not ending my engagement, Nott."
"Suit yourself," Theo said with a shrug, his grin never faltering.
"So, what's the occasion for this delightful visit?" Draco waved a hand toward the mountain of paperwork on his desk. "As you can see, I'm busy being the Ministry's favorite potions lackey."
"Oh, don't play coy," Theo said, sitting up slightly. "You know I'm here to liven up your day."
"Nott." Draco's voice carried a warning.
Theo tutted dramatically. "You're no fun anymore, Malfoy. Do you know, I never get headaches?"
Draco smirked despite himself. As irritating as Theo could be, he always managed to wrangle a smile out of him. "Fine," Draco said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh of resignation. "Go on, then. What harebrained scheme have you come to pitch this time?"
Theo's grin widened, and he all but bounced out of the chair. "We're throwing your bachelor party next weekend!"
Draco blinked. "Bachelor party? Theo, I'm not getting married for another six months, you nutter!"
"Exactly!" Theo said, exasperated. "Mate, I love you and Pansy together, truly, but you know she'll never let us have a proper bachelor party closer to the wedding. This is the only chance we have to make it epic—worthy of the name Draco Malfoy!"
Draco shook his head, though he couldn't suppress a small laugh at Theo's enthusiasm. "I'll think about it," he said, reaching for his calendar. "But I'll need to run it by Pansy first."
Theo groaned, flinging his hands in the air. "No! If you tell her, it'll ruin everything! She won't let you go, mate. Just say it's for Ministry business. Potions research. Something boring!"
Draco shot him a pointed look. "Theo, I have to tell her."
"You're not fun anymore," Theo said, his tone thick with mock disappointment.
Draco rubbed at his temples. "I'll let you know. Can I please get back to my work now?"
Theo sighed dramatically, swinging his legs down from the chair. "Fine, fine. Go play with your potions." He made a show of dragging himself to the door before adding over his shoulder, "I'll be out grabbing things for the Ministry. Back in a week." With that, he slammed the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the room and aggravating Draco's headache even more.
Draco groaned, leaning back in his chair. "Idiot," he muttered, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.
Pansy adjusted the hem of her robes as she exited the boutique, her heels clicking sharply against the cobblestone street. She'd spent the better part of her day finalizing wedding details, and now all she wanted was to return to the cozy loft she shared with Draco, pour herself a glass of wine, and bask in the knowledge that everything was perfectly falling into place.
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over Diagon Alley, bustling as always with witches and wizards. Pansy smirked as she passed a group of onlookers who paused to admire her. Her grand entrance was nothing short of perfection—an effortless sway of her hips, the faintest hint of perfume lingering in her wake. People noticed. They always noticed.
Except for them.
Standing near the entrance to Flourish and Blotts, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were deep in conversation, completely oblivious to her. Pansy's eyes narrowed as she took in their utterly unremarkable appearances. Potter's robes were slightly wrinkled, and Weasley's mismatched ensemble was so drab it was almost offensive. Did they try to look this bland, or was it simply a talent they possessed?
Her lip curled in distaste as she swept past them, her chin tilted high. They didn't even glance in her direction. Typical, she thought, annoyed that even her grand entrance had gone unnoticed by the so-called heroes of the wizarding world.
But then she heard it.
"We have to bring them to Hermione," Potter said, his voice low but urgent. "She'll be so excited."
Pansy froze mid-step, her heart skipping a beat. Surely she had misheard. She turned her head slightly, her dark hair brushing her cheek as she tried to catch more of their conversation.
"She's been asking for weeks," Weasley added. "We said we'd bring them. It's about time."
Pansy's stomach twisted. Hermione? No. It couldn't be. Hermione Granger was dead—she had been for years. Everyone knew that. It had been a tragic loss during the Battle of Hogwarts, one that had left the Golden Trio as a duo and solidified Granger's place as a martyred war heroine.
She tried to dismiss the notion, shaking her head slightly. I must have misheard. But the unease in her chest only grew as she lingered, pretending to admire the shop window while eavesdropping shamelessly.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll send an owl," Potter said. "Hermione's been dying to see them."
"Literally dying to see them," Weasley quipped with a laugh.
Pansy's blood ran cold. She couldn't have misheard that. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag as her thoughts raced. This had to be some cruel misunderstanding, a joke between old friends she wasn't privy to. Hermione Granger couldn't be alive. She wasn't alive.
But what if she was?
Pansy's pulse quickened as the two men moved further into the shop, their conversation fading into the background noise of Diagon Alley. She remained rooted to the spot, her mind spinning.
This is ridiculous, she told herself, her jaw tightening as she squared her shoulders. But the seed of doubt had been planted, and no amount of rationalization could uproot it.
By the time she reached the loft, Pansy was a bundle of nerves. The moment she stepped inside, the scent of fresh lavender—charmed into the space by Draco—normally calmed her. Not today. She paced the living room, her heels clicking on the wooden floor as she debated what to do.
Finally, she grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossing it into the fireplace with more force than necessary. "Astoria Greengrass!" she called, stepping into the emerald flames.
Astoria's voice greeted her before she even had both feet in the sitting room. "Pansy, you're tracking soot everywhere."
Pansy waved a hand dismissively, her expression sharp. "I don't have time for this, Astoria."
Astoria raised an elegant eyebrow, setting down her teacup. "Someone's in a mood. Did Rowanda try to sell you another monstrosity?"
"No, it's not that." Pansy hesitated, her arms folding across her chest. She glanced at the teapot on the table, suddenly unsure of how to begin.
Astoria sighed. "All right, out with it. What's gotten you so ruffled?"
"I think—" Pansy paused, biting her lip. The words felt ridiculous even as they formed in her mind. "I think Hermione Granger is alive."
Astoria froze mid-sip, her green eyes narrowing as she set the cup down carefully. "Excuse me?"
"I overheard Potter and Weasley in Diagon Alley," Pansy said quickly. "They were talking about her. About bringing someone to see her. They said—" She broke off, her voice shaking. "They said she's been dying to see them."
Astoria leaned back in her chair, her green eyes narrowing in thought. "Hermione?" she said slowly, almost cautiously. "I mean… I know Draco was—well, you know. But she's dead, Pans. We all saw the reports."
"I thought so too," Pansy snapped, her voice rising slightly. "But the way they were talking… Astoria, they weren't mourning. They were planning."
Astoria studied her face carefully, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Okay," she said finally. "If what you're saying is true, then this changes things. But, Pansy… are you sure you're not just letting his past get to you again? I know it's always been this… thing between you two."
Pansy's hands trembled as she twisted her engagement ring. "This isn't about me being insecure. They said her name, Astoria. She's alive."
Astoria blinked, surprise flickering across her face before she quickly masked it. "Then we'll figure this out," she said decisively, standing up. "Because if Hermione Granger is alive, we need to know why the hell no one said anything—and what it means for Draco."
Astoria sighed as she tossed another file onto the growing pile on the table. "We're not finding anything," she muttered. "This is a waste of time."
Pansy leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts were a tangled mess of doubts and memories. "He loved her, you know."
Astoria glanced at her, her expression unreadable. "Draco?"
"Yes," Pansy said quietly, her voice trembling. "I don't know how long it lasted, but I know it started around the Yule Ball. He was different after that. Lighter, almost. I thought it was because of me—because we were growing closer—but it wasn't. It was her."
Astoria leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I always thought… I mean, I knew something had happened. But are you sure it was that serious?"
Pansy nodded, her voice cracking. "I didn't know the details back then. They kept it quiet, obviously. But by fifth year, it was obvious something was going on. He'd sneak out late at night, and he always seemed… on edge. I just ignored it. I thought I was imagining things."
"And then after the war?" Astoria prompted gently.
"It all made sense," Pansy admitted, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. "I didn't want to believe it, but I could see it in his eyes. The way he avoided talking about her. The way he threw himself into work and never let himself breathe for a second. He was grieving her." She stared at the engagement ring on her finger, her voice breaking. "And I thought I could make him happy. I really thought I could."
Astoria reached out, placing a comforting hand on Pansy's arm. "You did make him happy, Pans. You still do."
"For now," Pansy whispered. "But if she's alive—if Hermione Granger is alive—everything changes. She was his first choice, Astoria. Not me. Never me."
Astoria frowned but didn't speak immediately. The only sound in the room was the faint crackle of the fire. Finally, she leaned back, crossing her arms. "I think you're giving her ghost too much power."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Pansy snapped, glaring at her.
"It means you're assuming the worst," Astoria said firmly. "Draco isn't some lovesick schoolboy anymore, Pans. People change. He's changed. Whatever they had, it was years ago."
"You didn't see the way he looked at her," Pansy said bitterly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Merlin, I barely saw it, but it was enough. She was his… light. I just convinced myself I could be enough to replace her."
Astoria shook her head, exhaling sharply. "You're being ridiculous. You're not a replacement, Pansy. You're his partner. And if she is alive, that doesn't erase everything you've built together."
Pansy opened her mouth to argue but closed it again, the words catching in her throat. She wanted to believe Astoria was right, but the memories of Draco's hollowed eyes and broken demeanor after the war haunted her. She couldn't forget how long it had taken for him to even look at her the way he did now—if he ever truly had.
Astoria leaned forward again, her tone softening. "Look, you love him, right?"
"Of course I do," Pansy said, her voice cracking as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
"And you want him to be happy."
Pansy nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly.
"Then tell him," Astoria said simply. "Because if she is alive and you hide this from him, it'll destroy you both. And if she's not… at least you'll have done the right thing."
Pansy inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. "I'm scared, Astoria."
"I know you are," Astoria said gently. "But you're Pansy Parkinson. You've faced worse. You've spent your whole life getting what you want. And now, for once, you're doing something for someone else. That's not weakness, Pans. That's strength."
Pansy's lips trembled, but there was a faint spark of determination in her eyes. "I can't tell him without proof," she said finally, her voice steadier now. "I need more than just whispers in Diagon Alley."
Astoria smirked, leaning back in her chair. "And how exactly do you plan to get that?"
Pansy's eyes narrowed, a familiar confidence flickering to life. "Potter and Weasley know something. And if they know, someone else does too. I'll find out who."
The next morning, Pansy found herself back in Diagon Alley, her dark brown hair swept into an elegant twist as she strolled purposefully through the crowded streets. She wasn't sure where to begin, but she knew who she needed to see first.
Astoria had suggested subtlety, but Pansy had never been one for patience. If there was a secret to uncover, she would uncover it. She spotted a familiar figure at the apothecary and strode toward him, her heels clicking against the cobblestones.
"Longbottom," she called, her voice crisp and commanding.
Neville Longbottom turned, startled, nearly dropping the basket of supplies in his hands. "Pansy Parkinson?" he said, blinking in surprise.
"Yes, me," she said briskly, folding her arms. "I need a word."
Neville glanced around nervously. "I'm not sure what—"
"Don't play coy," she interrupted, narrowing her eyes. "I know you're close with Potter and Weasley. And I know they're hiding something. Something about Hermione Granger."
Neville's expression shifted, a flicker of panic flashing across his face. It was all the confirmation Pansy needed.
"I knew it," she hissed, stepping closer. "She's alive, isn't she?"
Neville's mouth opened and closed as he struggled to find the words. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Pansy, this isn't something you should be meddling in."
"I don't care," she snapped. "If Hermione's alive, I need to know."
Neville hesitated, his brow furrowing. "You don't understand. This isn't about you."
"Don't you dare tell me what this is or isn't about," Pansy said, her voice low and sharp. "This is about Draco. About the man I love. And if you know something that could affect his life, you'd better tell me."
Neville stared at her for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. "It's true," he said quietly. "She's alive."
Pansy felt the world tilt beneath her feet. Her breath caught in her throat as she clutched the counter for support.
"She's been in hiding," Neville continued. "For her safety. And now… now she's ready to come back."
Pansy stared at Neville, the words "She's alive" echoing in her mind. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of disbelief and dread. She tightened her grip on the edge of the counter, steadying herself as she swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
"What do you mean she's alive?" Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried the sharp edge of desperation. "She's been dead for years. Everyone—everyone—knows that."
Neville's jaw tightened, his gaze darting around the shop as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Pansy, this isn't something you can just… get involved in."
"I am involved," she snapped, straightening. "You don't get to stand there and tell me Hermione Granger is alive and then act like it's none of my business. Tell me the truth. Where is she? How long has she been back?"
Neville sighed heavily, setting his basket on the counter. "It's not that simple. Hermione… she's been through a lot. The war changed everything, and what happened that night—what Bellatrix did—it was worse than anyone knew."
Pansy's brows furrowed, her heart pounding as she tried to piece it together. "What are you saying? She didn't die?"
Neville shook his head. "She almost did. Bellatrix's curse—it hit her, but it didn't kill her outright. She was taken… somewhere safe. But it wasn't easy. She was badly injured, Pansy. It took years for her to recover—physically and emotionally."
"Safe?" Pansy repeated, her voice thick with disbelief. "You mean you hid her?"
Neville winced. "It wasn't my decision. It was Harry's. And Ron's. They thought it was the only way to protect her. Bellatrix wasn't the only one after her—there were Death Eaters who wanted revenge, people who blamed her for the war."
Pansy took a step back, her breath shallow. "You're telling me she's been alive all this time, and you just… let everyone think she was dead? Let him think she was dead?"
Neville's expression softened. "It wasn't about Draco. It was about keeping her safe."
"Safe," Pansy repeated bitterly, her voice trembling. "While Draco was falling apart. While he—" She broke off, shaking her head. "You don't understand what you've done."
Neville frowned. "Pansy, if you care about him, you need to think about this carefully. Hermione's been through enough. She doesn't need more complications."
Pansy's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Complications? You think she's the one dealing with complications? You have no idea what this is going to do to him."
Neville opened his mouth to argue, but Pansy was already stepping back, her mind made up. "I don't care what you think, Longbottom. He deserves to know the truth. And I'm going to tell him."
Back at Astoria's loft, Pansy sat in the living room, her thoughts racing. She had kicked off her heels and poured herself a glass of wine, but her hands trembled too much to hold it steady. The glass sat untouched on the coffee table as she stared at the engagement ring on her finger, its sparkle now feeling like a cruel joke.
Hermione is alive.
The words were a relentless drumbeat in her mind. She had spent years convincing herself that Draco had moved on, that the love he'd once felt for Hermione was a thing of the past. But now… now everything felt fragile, like the life she had built with him was about to shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces.
Her mind drifted back to the war, to the days when Draco had been a shadow of himself. She had known he was grieving, but at the time, she hadn't understood the depth of his pain. It wasn't until later, when she pieced together the stolen glances, the late-night disappearances, and the way he had avoided speaking about Hermione altogether, that she realized the truth.
Pansy ran a hand through her hair, her chest tightening. She loved Draco. She loved him enough to know that hiding this from him wasn't an option. But the thought of telling him, of seeing his reaction, terrified her.
Would he leave her? Would he run straight to Hermione without a second thought?
No, she told herself firmly, but the doubt lingered. She had always prided herself on being strong, on getting what she wanted. But this… this wasn't a fight she could win with charm or determination. This was a truth that could rip everything apart.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Astoria asked, her voice gentle but probing.
The two sat across from each other, the wineglass still untouched between them.
"I don't have a choice," Pansy said quietly, staring down at the table. "If I don't tell him, and he finds out another way…"
Astoria nodded slowly. "You're right. But you need to prepare yourself, Pansy. You're not just telling him a secret. You're reopening a wound that's been closed for years."
Pansy's lips trembled, and she looked up at her, her vulnerability laid bare. "What if he leaves me, Astoria? What if this is it?"
Astoria reached across the table, taking Pansy's hand in hers. "If he does, then he wasn't yours to begin with. But I don't think that's what's going to happen. He loves you, Pansy. I see it every time he looks at you."
"But what if he still loves her more?" Pansy whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Astoria squeezed her hand. "Then at least you'll know. At least you'll have done the right thing."
Pansy nodded, her resolve hardening. She wiped her tears away, straightening in her chair. "I'll tell him tonight."
Astoria smiled faintly. "That's my Pansy. Strong as ever."
Pansy let out a shaky laugh. "Don't mistake this for strength. I'm terrified."
"That's what makes it brave," Astoria said softly. "You're doing this because you love him. And that's all that matters."
Draco was already home when Pansy stepped into the loft, her heart heavy with the weight of what she had to tell him. The familiar scent of lavender greeted her, mingling with the faint smell of parchment and ink from Draco's corner desk. He stood by the window, his jacket draped over the back of the chair, one hand holding a tumbler of firewhisky while the other loosened his tie.
His face lit up when he saw her. "Pans," he said warmly, setting the glass down as he moved toward her. "You're home earlier than I expected."
Pansy managed a weak smile as she set her bag on the counter. "It's been a long day."
Draco approached her, slipping an arm around her waist and pressing a light kiss to her temple. Pansy closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself linger in the familiar scent of him—new parchment and peppermint. It was so distinctly Draco, a scent that made her heart ache with its comforting familiarity. She swallowed hard, steadying herself against the wave of emotion.
"Well, sit down," he said warmly. "I was just about to make tea—or I could pour you something stronger."
Pansy shook her head, her stomach twisting too much to even consider eating or drinking. "No, I'm fine. Really."
Draco studied her closely, his brows knitting together. "Are you sure? You look… tense."
Pansy avoided his gaze, pulling away slightly as she made her way to the couch. She could feel his eyes on her as she sat, smoothing her skirt with trembling hands. She knew he would pick up on her nerves. He always did.
Draco lingered by the window for a moment before joining her, sitting down beside her. His proximity was comforting and suffocating all at once. "I've been meaning to talk to you," he began, his tone casual, though there was a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Theo's got this ridiculous idea about throwing me a bachelor party."
Pansy glanced at him, trying to focus on his words, but her mind was a storm of doubt and fear.
Draco chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. "He's been pestering me about it for weeks. I told him I'd talk to you first—make sure it's something you're comfortable with. But I have to admit, he's insistent."
His attempt to ease into the conversation was sweet, but Pansy couldn't focus. Her fingers twisted the engagement ring on her finger, her chest tightening as the reality of what she had to say loomed closer.
Draco noticed her silence and frowned. "Pansy? Is something wrong?"
She looked up at him then, her heart aching at the concern in his eyes. "I… I have something I need to tell you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco straightened slightly, his expression shifting to one of quiet attentiveness. "All right," he said gently. "Go ahead."
Pansy took a shaky breath in. Her hands shook, and the engagement ring glistened, light reflecting on Draco's tailored shirt, right above his heart. She glanced into his grey-blue eyes as he calmly stared back at her. His body was stiff and rigid, waiting for her to speak. She knew in the next moment, with these three words, his whole world would be broken and healed at the same time. She knew that once she spoke those words she would lose everything and gain absolutely nothing. She knew this, but she couldn't help but whisper it:
"Hermione is alive."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. For a moment, Draco didn't move, didn't speak. His hands stiffened around hers, his gaze frozen on her face as if he were trying to decipher her meaning.
"What… what did you say?" he asked finally, his voice low, almost disbelieving.
Pansy took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue. "She's alive, Draco. Hermione. I overheard Potter and Weasley talking. And then I spoke to Longbottom. He confirmed it. She didn't die. She's been… hiding."
Draco released her hands, standing abruptly. He paced the length of the room, his hands running through his hair in agitation. "No," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, that's not possible. I saw it, Pansy. I was there."
"Draco, listen to me," Pansy pleaded, standing as well. "I didn't want to believe it either, but it's true. She was hurt, but they saved her. They kept her hidden—to protect her."
"To protect her?" Draco's voice rose, a mixture of anger and anguish. "From what? From me? From the world? Why wouldn't they tell me?" His breathing grew heavier as he leaned against the wall, his head bowed. "All these years…"
Pansy's heart broke at the pain in his voice. She took a hesitant step toward him. "Draco, I didn't want to tell you like this. But you deserved to know. You deserve the truth."
He turned to face her then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why are you telling me this now?" he asked, his voice raw. "Why now?"
Pansy's tears spilled over, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Because I love you. And I couldn't live with myself if I kept this from you."
Draco stared at her, his expression unreadable. His grey-blue eyes seemed to darken, clouded by emotions she couldn't name. For a moment, she thought he might say something, but he didn't. Instead, he turned away, his shoulders tense as he moved to the window. His breathing was shallow, each exhale unsteady.
Pansy stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. The distance between them felt insurmountable, like an endless chasm she couldn't hope to bridge. She had done what she had to do—what she knew was right—but in that moment, the weight of it crushed her. Had she just lost him?
Finally, Draco turned, pacing to the far side of the room. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, his jaw taut as though he was holding something back. The silence stretched between them, suffocating and unrelenting. Pansy's heart hammered as she watched him, unsure whether to move closer or stay rooted where she stood.
He stopped abruptly, his back still to her. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife. "When?" The single word was loaded, heavy with restrained emotion. "When did you find out?"
Pansy swallowed hard, her throat tightening. "Just—just today," she stammered. "I overheard Potter and Weasley talking, and then I—I confronted Neville."
"Enough." Draco's voice was flat, almost lifeless, as he pressed a hand to his forehead. His posture sagged for a moment, like the weight of the world had pressed down on him all at once. "I need…" He trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.
"Draco—" Pansy's voice broke as she took a tentative step toward him.
"I need to go," he said abruptly, turning to face her. His pale face betrayed his turmoil, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. But beneath the anguish, there was something else—something fierce and unyielding. Determination, maybe. Or desperation. Pansy couldn't tell.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice rising with panic.
Draco paused, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He didn't look at her when he spoke, his voice hoarse and strained. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just… I need air."
Before Pansy could respond, the door opened and closed behind him with a soft click, leaving her standing alone in the oppressive silence of the loft. She stared at the door, her chest tight, her mind racing with all the possibilities of what might come next.
Had she just lost him?