Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She is not for me.
She was not for me on the night of the Yule Ball when she shone brighter than all the stars in the sky.
Not when she fiercely stood in my hall after the snatchers had caught her.
She was not for me as she screamed on the floor of my drawing room.

Not for me to have
or hold
or save.

She was never mine.

So I don't know what power possessed me to do it.
What made me run forward the last two fateful steps.
What made me see nothing but her,
and the split second there was before the spell hit her.

Ridiculous, really, how I mostly felt like I had no idea what I was doing, but at that moment I knew clearly — the spell wouldn't hit her.

It would hit me instead.

Considering how much time I spent convincing myself I'm not a hero, it took barely no effort to suddenly take the role of one.

Two steps and a shove to her back.
I saw her fall forward, behind the corner,

out of the way.

And Dolohov's experimental spell — the one I knew he'd use given the chance — hit me square on the chest.

All I've heard them talk about Dolohov's curses come back to me that moment.
When the spell penetrates my skin, curls around my organs and sinks into my bones.
As I feel it take over everything.

It will kill me.
But not right away.
The sick bastard wanted his victims to die knowing they can do nothing about it.
He wanted them to live the rest of their short days, knowing every second who it was that they couldn't beat.
Death would come
crawling
During days and weeks and months,
Until I would be crawling too.

I don't even fall.
Just stand there, in the corridor of the only place I ever felt safe in, knowing I'd die.
And that the reason I'd die,
was so that Hermione Granger would live.

.
.
.

The war ends that day.
Voldemort falls and the Death Eaters get convicted.
Dolohov goes to Azkaban.
So does my father.

And I'm left at our manor.
I tell no one about the curse I took.
Suffer the consequences alone.
Lock myself into the empty dark halls and the dusty library.

Mother can't bear to come back.
Not with my father gone.
Not after all that happened here.
She moves to one of our estates in France.
Reconciles her relationship with her sister Andromeda and lives in the hope father would eventually get pardoned and join her.

I wouldn't count on that.

Sunlight hurts my eyes.
I wake up at night, my orgains aching.
Sometimes I can feel myself rotting from the inside.
The mirror shows me nothing wrong.
But I can feel the end.
Lurking in every corner of the darkness.
Crawling closer.

"You should go out sometime," Theo tells me for the first two months he visits.
I ignore him and he gives up eventually.

Pansy tries to drag me out.
But only once.
I tell her about the curse that day and my hand falls from hers.

She stares at me, first with disbelief then with horror.

"There's nothing to be done?"
I shake my head.

She cries for me then.
I don't think anyone other than my mother has ever cried for me before.
Even myself.

I never cried for the future inevitably waiting for me.
I was numb.
Even then, when Pansy threw her hands around me and sobbed my shirt damp, I had no tears for me.
Or pity
Or even remorse.

As if this was what I was born to do.
Born to die — for her.
It didn't sound too bad.

Eventually, I have to tell Theo, Blaise and Greg too. After they threaten not to visit me anymore if I don't tell them what is wrong.

"We let you keep a secret once. And look where it took you!" Blaise clarifies.

And I tell them,
to keep them visiting.

"How did he even hit you?" Theo asks.
That's the question I won't answer.
I'm no hero.
I won't take credit for it.
Won't pretend to be a bigger person than I am.
So I just shrug, "Bad luck?"

That'll do.

.
.
.

Sometimes I wonder what Granger is doing with the life I gifted her.
If she's treating it with proper respect.
If she's happy now…

The magazines give me some insight, but only mostly rumours.
At least she breaks it off with Weasley only a few months after the final battle.
And apparently she went to study healing and curse damages.
How ironic.

Sometimes I wish I could see her.
To witness that she's really fine and coping.
To be sure the war didn't destroy her.
To have proof that what I did was good and right and worth it.

But to leave the safety of the manor feels like holding onto a life I no longer have the privilege to enjoy.
So I won't.

Until I have to.

I don't know whose brilliant idea it was.
I have no idea how it passed the Wizengamot.

But a year after the final battle they announce “The Marriage Law Act” among the wizarding community.

It's for the good of all magic.
That's what they try to tell us.
But really it's just another form of regulation.
Another way of controlling people's lives and keeping magic pure.
Even though this includes muggleborns and half-bloods.
It's still regulation of who marries into magic.

At least they let us have options.
The ones that already have a partner have the right to pick the one of their choosing.
Those single, can make a match on their own, or sign to the ministry for a compatibility test where they match you with the best suited.

Ri-di-culous
Let me tell you.
But apparently the law.

"Do you have to do it? Despite —" Greg asks me one evening when they're all over at the manor again.

"No one knows he's — his condition." Theo points out.

And he's right.
I could go to St. Mungos and make it official.
I could report to the ministry that there's no use marrying me to anyone since I'm already half gone.
I could —

But I won't.

Instead, I lie awake at nights.
Stare at the ceiling of my dark room and make up a plan.
One more plan
to make my pathetic life count at least something.

It's not a perfect plan.
I'm not a fucking planner.
It's not an easy plan either.
And ultimately it won't make the rest of my short days easier.
As a matter of fact, it would probably make them a lot harder.
But at least I did something.
At least I didn't die hiding.

So I take my cane.
Grandfather Abraxas's cane to be precise.
Pull leather gloves on my almost blue hands and cover myself with the longest, thickest cloak I can find,
And make my way to the ministry.

I haven't been out in the sun for months.
Have barely breathed the fresh air instead the dust of the manor.
Haven't walked more than up and down the stairs and the corridor to my room.

My joints feel rusty and even a few dozen meters make me feel out of breath.
But I'm out and I'm doing this.

Pansy apparates to the gate at exactly eight o'clock as I asked her to.

"Do I even want to know?" She asks, arching a neatly shaped eyebrow.

"Probably not." I answer shortly, "Take me to the ministry."

"You think you're in shape to apparate? You couldn't take the floo?"

"Our floo isn't connected to the ministry."

They disconnected it when Voldemort lived with us and didn't reconnect after.
I found no need to, before today.

She rolls her eyes but does as I ask her to.

"You're not telling me what you're up to, do you?"

"No"

"Is it stupid?'

"Extremely"

"You're still going to do it?"

I nod, "Yes."

My cane clicks foreignly on the marble floor of the Ministry hall as I make my way forward.
I'm doing this. Even if it was the last thing I ever did.

The official behind the counter is a lady with deep red lips and nails.
She takes my name and opens my file ahead of her, "Not yet matched I see?"

I nod, "That is why I'm here. To make a petition."

"A petition?" She looks up at me, biting a pen between her lips.

Slowly I slide a deck of money across the table.
A considerable amount of money.
"I want to be matched with Hermione Granger."

The lady takes the money and flips through the deck, "You're trying to bribe me, Mr Malfoy?"

I tap the desk with my fingers, waiting.
She flicks through the money again.
I know it's almost as much as she makes in a year. An amount that would be hard to say no to.
Because I also know this might end me up in jail.

"I can't do it without her signature." She says finally. Taking out more papers from her drawers, "I can make it a magically binding petition, but it can't be finalized without her signature."

"All she has to do is come and sign it? No one else can petition her? She can't tie herself to someone else meanwhile?"

The lady writes something down on the paper, "Not before you both sign in or out of this contract."

I nod briefly, "Fine, she'll come sign it later."

"The papers are charmed to notice any kind of persuasive magic." She warns as I take the quill and sign my name to the end.

"I'm not going to force her. She'll come herself."

But first, she would come for me.
I knew it already.
I could picture it already — her coming to the manor, full of rage, to tell me she can't be bought.

.
.
.

It takes her only two days to find out.
Only two days before my wards tell me she's at the gates.

I open the door before she has even crossed the yard.
And wait.
Almost eagerly, actually.
Realizing it's been ages since I waited for something — since I felt this alive.

"Draco Malfoy!" She yells as she steps into the entrance hall.

I take my time.
Fetching my cane and making my way down the staircase.
As if I did not know what she is about.

She's standing in the middle of the hall.
Streams of daylight from the big doors illuminating her from behind.
Forming a halo of light behind her.

Looking exactly like she should be looking — young, vital and fierce.
Like the war hero that she is.

I almost smile at the sight of her.
Because just seeing her confirms what I wanted to know all along — I did the right thing.

"What did you do?!" She demands now.
Her eyes blazing.
Not even trying to pretend to be polite or cordial.

"What did I do?" I stop to study her as I reach the end of the staircase, "You need to be more specific."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I'm afraid you need to remind me. I do a lot of things." I lie, but she doesn't have to know that.

"Why would you possibly think it's okay to go into the ministry and sign papers of OUR MARRIAGE!? Why would I want to marry YOU!? We haven't even talked in years!"

"Oh, that." I quip

"I'm not something you can just claim! I'm not for SALE Malfoy!"

"You have someone else in mind then?"

Remain calm.
I have a plan. I know what I'm doing, and maybe she doesn't know that yet, but she'll want to sign the paper eventually.

She twists her hands angrily, "No, but that doesn't mean you can just — Besides," she flips her hair, "I shouldn't even have to explain this to you! I owe you nothing."

That is not particularly true either.
But it's not something she needs to know.

"I have a proposition." I wave my hand and the double doors behind her swing shut, "Maybe we can discuss it in the study."

I turn my back and start to make my way to the study door.

"If you think I'm coming further into this death trap —"

"Come on, Granger. The war is over. Isn't it time to let go of those prejudices?"

"You're one to talk!"

But I hear her start to follow me.

"Dipsy!"

My elf pops in immediately.

"Would you please take Miss Granger's coat? And bring us some tea."

"Yes, Master! At once!" Dipsy bows and turns to Granger.

When we reach the study and I turn back at her I realize it was a mistake to call Dipsy.
She looks even more disgusted by me than she did before.

"I pay them." I say calmly nodding to Dipsy coming in with the tray, "and they get to go on a vacation every year if they wish to."

She eyes me suspiciously.

"So you had a problem with my petition?"

"I'm not marrying you. I'd rather —"

I click my tongue and sit on the large armchair, manoeuvring her to sit down too.

She doesn't.
Stubborn witch.

"Yet you said you have no one else either? I've understood it's the law now."

She sneers at me.
Kind of refreshing having someone look at me like that.
Like they absolutely loathed the sight of me. Nowadays most people I meet look at me only with worry or ignorance.

"I believe I have a proposition we can both benefit from."

"I seriously doubt that." She huffs, crossing her arms.

"You study healing, yes?"

She nods.

"And research spell damages?"

She nods again sharply.

"I believe your studies and research are important to you?"

She nods and I smile.

"Yet this new law — ridiculously if I may add — says married couples should reproduce within two years of marriage or the marriage will be annulled and they need to be paired again? You're ready to be a mother within two years?"

We're barely twenty and just got our lives back.
Only one look at her expression and I know exactly how she feels about this.

"I'm offering to buy you time." I say slowly, letting the words sink in, "You sign the paper and agree to marry me and you'll have two years of freedom."

"How am I free if I'm married to you?"

"You'd have your own space in the manor. A study room and the library are at your disposal. I have enough money to provide for both of us. You wouldn't have to worry about the income."

"And what do you get out of it? I'm not going to whore myself to you Malfoy."

I laugh hollowly.
Is this how lowly she thinks of me? That I'm so desperately in need to get laid that I'd pay her for it.

"I get my mother out of my back. You know how it is to be the last living heir of two ancient houses?"

She doesn't respond.

"I'm not getting married or having children in two years."

I won't be alive after that.
But it's not something I'm willing to share with her.

"You don't even have to talk to me if you don't want to. You get two years of freedom to study, pursue your career and pick a spouse of your liking."

"I could —?"

"You can do whatever you like. I don't survey who you spend time with."

"But —"

"I only want to be left in peace, Granger."

It's fascinating to see her resistance falter.
I study as the muscles of her face relax and her hands drop to her sides as she weighs my words.
She's an interesting person.
So simple to steer into a direction I want her to go, but on the other hand more complex than I imagined.

"I want you to make a vow." She says slowly, "I want your word you won't use the contract of a marriage to force me into something."

I nod.
Figured she'd want something like that.

"I won't share a bed, or even a room with you."

I nod again.

"I'll be your wife, but only on paper."

"You do realize everyone needs to think it's for real, do you?"

It's her turn to nod.

"There are certain events we need to attend to appear real in the beginning."

"My friends won't buy it."

I frown, "You could tell them we were matched by the compatibility magic."

She seems to be considering, "That could work."

There's a pause as she — no doubt — tries to figure out what loopholes I'm trying to leave for myself.

"I'll think about it until tomorrow. Okay?"

Honestly, I wanted her answer now.
But what can I do? Suppose this is all I can ask for now.
So I nod again.

And she leaves through the yard and I feel so heavy I barely make it up to my room before collapsing on the bed.

.
.
.

She signs the papers the next day.
And Pansy binds our vow.

Hermione's hand is soft and delicate in my cold one as she stands before me.
She was never for me
until suddenly she is.

Maybe not in a way one might imagine, but in some way at least.
I vow never to intentionally hurt her. To never go close to her with any kind of ill intention.
To never touch her against her will. To never use the marriage contract for my benefit.

And she vows the same.
I didn't ask her to.
But she says it goes both ways.

"Do you want a wedding?" I ask her afterwards.

She laughs, "I believe that would be the event of a century." Then she goes serious, "No. We don't need that attention. My friends will have a hard time accepting this as it is."

As if I could pull off a wedding in this condition.
As if I could be the husband she deserves when I can barely leave the room.
As if there was enough of me left to pretend to be the person I once was.
Even I wasn't that good of an actor.

So I'm glad we're on the same page about it.

.
.
.

She moves in.
Into my halls.
Into my life — however much there's left.

But if I was expecting a smooth sail (I wasn't) I would have been wrong.

"MALFOY!" Her voice rings in the corridor making my head ache,
as if it wasn't aching before.
I promised her peace, where was my peace?

I put on my best calm, indifferent face and exit my room, "What's wrong?"

"I don't want the elf to clean my room! And I can wash my own clothes and make my own meals. Tell the elves away."

I sigh, "You're their mistress as much as I'm their master. Why don't you tell them yourself?"

"I did! But the one refuses to take my orders."

"Dipsy?"

"Yes! Tell her off!"

"She's the head elf. And as I told you, they're free elves. I can't make them do anything they don't want to do."

"She won't listen to me."

I shrug.
It only seems to agitate her more.

"Listen Malfoy! I'm here only because we have a deal and you promised to not bother me but this —"

Calm.
Stay calm.
I try to think but the further her rant goes,
the more she runs her mouth, the harder staying calm becomes.

"This is /Your/ house! She is /Your/ elf so —"

"AND YOU ARE /MY/ WIFE!"

Takes a while to understand the roar comes from my mouth, "You're the lady of this house! Everything here belongs to you too! So if you have a problem with the elves DEAL with it!"

For once she's left speechless.
Staring at me as if everything I said is new to her.

"Now excuse me." I yank open the door of my room and leave her standing in the corridor without a chance to retort back anymore.

The next day she joins me for breakfast.
Hoovers at the door looking unsure of the reason she's there.

I motion for her to sit down.

"I'm not here because I want your company." She points out stubbornly before pulling a chair for herself, "I just thought since the elves are cooking anyway at least they don't have to cook two separate meals."

I focus on my bread to hide a smile from her.

I thought I didn't really know her, yet she was acting exactly like I'd imagined her acting in a situation like this.

"Miss has joined us for breakfast." Dipsy carries a tray of fruit to the table, "Dipsy is glad Miss came to her senses."

Hermione seems like she doesn't know what to answer.

"Yes, at least on that part," I answer without making eye contact.

She frowns at me.

"Thank you, Dipsy."

The elf bows.
I glance at Hermione, she's still frowning.

"Grab an apple for yourself too, will you," I add.

"Master knows Dipsy eats when it's time. Can't start eating whenever, no she can't. Health first, master, health first."

I knew the answer beforehand. Dipsy never dines with me. Not even when I ask her to.

"I guess she thinks our eating habits are not healthy." I shrug as the elf leaves the room.

Granger still looks suspicious.
I'm kind of getting used to that look. Like she couldn't quite figure me out.

But she joins me for lunch and dinner too. So maybe she's starting to figure out this arrangement at least.

The halls feel a little less dark with her around. I think she opens the curtains when she has the chance.
Sometimes I step into the room and have sunlight completely blind me.
The first time that happened I thought it was just my condition getting worse before I realized it was the light streaming from the windows.

I don't know what she does with her days.
I don't even know how much she stays at the manor and how much she's gone.
Sometimes I see her in the garden with a book in hand. Stand in my shadowed corner by the window and study the speed she flicks through the pages.

And at meals she still keeps joining me.
We exchange a few polite words here and there but to call it a conversation would be an overstatement.

I didn't bring her here to keep me company though.
I wanted to be alone. I don't want her to pay attention or ask me how I am —

Or make me want to keep living.

I just wanted to see her flourish while I wilted away.
It was justice.

Chapter Text

There’s something wrong with Malfoy.
I knew it the minute I saw him for the first time.
He isn’t the boy I knew at school, but it isn’t just that.

He walks with a cane, which might be a brand thing.
But I doubt it.
Also, he prefers shadows,
goes outside next to never,
and draws curtains back to cover the windows in the hallways however many times I try to open them.

He looks a bit sick too.

More than once I find myself wondering what it is that’s wrong with him.
More than once the question is already there, on the tip of my tongue,
but then I hold myself back again.
Because is it really my business?

Someone might argue I’m his wife. If it’s anyone’s business besides him it should be mine.
But at least I know that’s not my strongest argument.

It’s not that I’m too interested. But I do study healing, so academically speaking —-

After three months I apparently can’t keep my mouth shut anymore.

“What’s wrong with Malfoy?” I ask Dipsy.

The elf turns to me slowly and crosses her tiny arms strictly.

I’m not sure if it makes me a hypocrite. But now that I’m used to her, I kind of like having the elf around.
She’s chatty, kind and almost motherly.
She answers my questions and makes sure I eat my meals and go outside every now and then.
She doesn’t bother me but is there if I need her.
Maybe I judged wizards who had elves too soon before.

“Which Malfoy are we talking about Miss?”

She’s playing dumb on purpose.
I’m sure she is, but since I already opened my mouth I might as well humour her.

“Draco. He’s somehow sick, isn’t he?”

Big eyes go even wider as the elf looks briefly around as if looking for an escape route, “Miss shouldn’t worry her head about that. Miss has many things to think about. Dipsy is taking care of Master.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Minor issues” Dipsy’s voice is even higher than usual.

Clearly she’s lying and I find it more interesting than I should.

“Dipsy has to go, yes she does. Lots to do.” She pops away, leaving me even more curious than I was before.

Honestly, I barely paid attention to him before.
I was fine to go on with our agreement to not bother each other.
I even sort of understood his reasons to make this contract with me —- so I let him be.
But I can’t help myself when there’s a mystery involved.
When there are new things to learn, I just can’t let it drop.

So I start to study him more closely.
It doesn't take me too long to realize he’s actually worse than I thought.
At dinner the fork in his hand trembles when he eats, he walks only short distances and mostly stays in his room.
There are dark shadows under his eyes and he rarely takes off the black cloves he’s wearing even inside.

Instead of just asking him, I write my findings down in my notebook.
As if he was another case to study.

I wonder if it's spell damage?
Or something more mundane?
I haven't seen any healers around and I'm almost certain he barely leaves the manor, so I doubt he gets any treatment.

Would fit his character actually.
I don't know him too well, but I can imagine him just sulking away in the darkness, refusing to ask for help.

Maybe the reason he wanted to make this deal with me is that he doesn't have to reveal whatever is wrong with him?

My pen stops to hover above the page as a sudden thought appears to me — how bad actually is he?
What is he buying time for?

Once I've set my mind to finding out what's wrong with Malfoy, it becomes somewhat of a mission.
Of course,
because would it really be me if it didn't?

But I have to be clever about it.
I have a feeling he's going to shut down completely if he senses my intention.

He isn't stupid or ignorant however he pretends to be.
I can't just suddenly start asking him questions and being all friendly.
I have to be clever and proceed carefully.
Maybe he'll let something slip eventually.

We have time.

By morning I have a plan.

"What do you do with your days, Malfoy?" I ask at lunch.
Pretending to be more interested in my meal than his answer.

When the answer doesn't come, I glance up.
He's looking at me with a puzzled expression.

Shit.
Was it too obvious?
Am I losing touch?

My fingers are sweating suddenly.
I grab a slice of bread to hide it.

"Stuff." He grunts out, "Don't worry your head around it."

I shrug and casually dip the bread into the salad dressing on my plate, "Do you have a job or something?"

"I said don't worry about it."

"Fine." I shrug again and continue eating.

Getting out answers would have been too easy anyway.

I won't give up though.

"How many books are there in your library?" I ask a week later.

He shrugs, "Haven't counted."

I frown internally, "I mean, sometimes it takes me incredibly long to find what I'm looking for."

He glances at me under his bows.
I sound like a damsel in distress, do I?

I've been working there for months.
Maybe this should have come up earlier?

"Ask Dipsy to get you Orfeus. He's in charge of the library."

"Oh?"

"He's the library elf."

"I — I haven't seen him."

"It's his job to be invisible. But he can tell you where everything is."

Right. That would be the simple solution.
But it's not what I was aiming for.

Damn it, I'm his wife.
I can ask for his company if I want to.
There's nothing wrong or suspicious about it, right?

"You could come help me if you have time to spear?"

He doesn't lift his gaze from the food this time.

"I know you enjoy studying. Or you used to at least."

He huffs and when he looks at me there's amusement in his eyes, "How would you possibly know that?"

Somehow the atmosphere of the room lightens a little bit.
It makes me feel more confident about my mission.

"Please! I /lived/ in the Hogwarts library for six years. You think I did not see you there? It didn't look like you hated it."

He rolls his eyes.

"I hate to think that me being here prevents you from using the library. You don't even have to help me. Just… it would be nice to have some company sometimes."

It's not what I was supposed to say.
Not part of my plan to be that honest, but the words flow out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Did I not make it clear enough that you can see whoever you want? Invite your friends.”

“My friends?” I almost start to laugh, “To do research in the library with me?”

Malfoy looks like he’s about to start laughing when he realizes what I’m saying.
But only for a moment, then he seems to realize what it means that there are no friends that would like to study with me.

I might be many things.
Have many friends.
I might be good at what I do and famous and a war hero.
But within I’m still the same lonely bookworm I’ve always been.

“Work friends?” He suggests.

I shake my head, “We’re not close like that.”

Silence follows my words so I suppose there’s been enough pressure, “Anyway, think about it.”

He thinks about it for a week.
It’s long enough for me to think he isn’t coming.
But after seven days he’s looming between the shelves when I enter the library.
I hear his cane click against the floor before I see him.

“What did you need?” He asks as soon as he sees me.

I shrug, “Just company would be great, I think.”

“Show me the books you need and I’ll look for them.”

Okay, just business then.
Guess that’ll have to do.

I really did not know what I asked when I told him he could help me.
During the next few weeks, I realize how much he might have needed something to do.
Because after entering the library, he comes every day.
First, he just asks me what I need and then looks for the right books.
But slowly he starts to ask me about the project I’m working on and starts looking for suitable books for himself.

I want to tell him ‘I told you so’, but somehow this new connection feels too fragile for snide remarks.
So I let him be and stay silent.
Try to spend this time inspecting him and figure out what’s wrong.
Even though it becomes obvious quite fast that I get no answers just by looking at him.
I need more information
and for that I need to get into his study —- I have to basically break in without him knowing.
Without the elves knowing too because they surely will tell him.
So I have to be clever about it and that’ll take time.

.
.
.
.

I don’t know when it changes, but somehow I start to enjoy his company.
I can’t pinpoint the moment spending time in the library with him rather than alone becomes the better option.
But it does.

I might spend the whole day at the hospital, go back exhausted and still go to see if he’s in the library.
Usually he is.

I find that he’s wearing glasses.

It’s late in the evening after another long day at the hospital.
He’s sitting in the candlelight, concentrating on a book ahead of him.
Every now and then he runs a hand through his hair and adjusts the glasses that seem to be sliding down along his nose.

And suddenly I remember a boy with a green tie in the school library.
I knew who he was, of course, but sometimes I would catch myself pausing to look at him.
No sneer on his face, or insults on his lips, only this enthusiasm to learn new things.
The same enthusiasm that burned inside of me.
I would play with the idea of sitting at his table and ignoring the rude comments he’d probably make.
I’d fantasize about a study partner, who could keep up and co-operate.
I’d daydream about him looking at me impressed.
How I could prove to him I could do anything he could.

Obviously that never happened.
But when I look at him now, I wonder if maybe it did?
Maybe he did realize all those things I wanted him to realize back then.
Maybe it just took all this time.

“I know you’re there, Granger.” He suddenly says, as if to the book in front of him.

I jump, a million explanations going through my head.

But he just takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, “You think you can spy on me in my own house?”

“I wasn’t spying.”

“No? Just looming quietly in the darkness for fun then?”

I frown and step closer to see what he’s been reading.
But he closes the book and gets up.

“Goodnight, Granger.”

.
.
.

I'm not proud of the lengths I go to find out what's wrong with him.

But he never leaves the damn manor!

So I borrow Harry's invisibility cloak.
I might have sworn after the war that I'll never use it again.
I might have told myself it's cheating on the greatest form — to wear the cloak to hide from death itself.
But I'm not looking to hide from Death. Just Malfoy.

I'm not telling Harry what I'm doing with it though. Make up some lame excuses to sneak into the ancient archives of the Hospital.
Not even sure the hospital holds such archives, but Harry asks no further questions.

So, in the dark of the night, I break into Malfoy's study
and find out what's wrong with him.

As I suspected there are no medical records I can find.
He hasn't seen a healer.
But I find his notes and also the ones Dolohov had made when he invented the curse.
I stare at the patterns and the preciseness he has described the damage to the human cells.
I almost admire the effort and the brilliance with which he has woven the magic to do what he intended.
I realize my hands are shaking only when I turn around the last paper.

Draco Malfoy is dying.
Slowly but evidently, if these papers were anything to go by.

But why hadn't he asked for help?
Why hadn't he seen a healer?
And what part marrying me played in all of this?
Was it for just being left alone?

I flip through the pages again and realize I know him well enough to know what he's doing — he has given up.
He isn't going to fight it. Isn't going to find out if there's something to be done even.
He's going to let himself waste away here in the dark dusty manor.

But he married me.

I am his wife

And I was not called "the brightest witch of my age" by accident.
I had not studied healing and spell damage for years to let something like this just pass through my fingers.
This was spellwork I'd never seen before.
Something my fingers were already itching to get to look closer to.

And if I thought about it well enough,
I didn't want him to die.
I liked him well enough to wish to see him become the man he had the potential to be.
Maybe not as my husband, our deal was only for the initial two years, but as a friend at least.

So I take the papers with me and leave the study.

He's going to be angry when he finds out I have them.
But his anger didn't frighten me.

.
.
.

I slam the papers on top of the book he's reading.

"When were you going to tell me?"

I see how redness rises from his neck to his face even before he looks up.
I can almost sense fury taking over him when he realizes what I must have done to get my hands on the papers he's now looking at.

His own notes.
From his study.
Those he probably never intended anyone to see.

But — as he said himself — I'm his wife.
I ought to know.

"Get out." He growls, still not looking at me.

"No." I cross my arms, "explain."

He moves surprisingly fast for someone who hasn't probably duelled in years.
Jumps up and pulls his wand out.

I look at the hawthorn wand now pointed to my chest and realize it trembles only lightly.

And now he looks at me,
Like he's never looked at me before.
Not even when we were young and he supposedly hated my guts.

Anger isn't even enough to describe his look.
He's a thunderstorm.
The grey in his eyes dark and flaming like the horizon before the takeover.

I can't help it, but for the first time since Hogwarts, he looks alive.
And I know I won't let him die like this.

Whatever the curse, I will find out what it is.
And how to heal it.
How to save him from it
and from his self-destruction.

He says something.
Probably threatens me with something he can't go through with because of our vow.

But I don't even hear him.
I can just stare at the spark I've ignited.
The man I dug out by crossing a line.

He bound us together.
And maybe everything happens for a reason.
Maybe everything I've learned is so that I can save him.
Maybe all the studies I've done and research I've spent hours on are because of this.

He may think nothing can save him
but he does not know what I'm made of.

Draco Malfoy will not die.
Not in my hands.

Chapter Text

She stands before me and hears none of what I'm saying.

Every boundary we agreed on has been crossed.
Every fragile truce we've made doesn't matter anymore.

And honestly, at that moment, I regret making the vow to never do her harm.
I want to hurt her.
I wonder what's the worst hex I know so I'd made certain damage.
I want to throw her out of my house and make her beg to be let back.

Except she wouldn't beg.
Through all the rage I already know I've lost this battle.
The decisions and promises I made are my defeat.

I can be angry and lock myself away in my room.
But I can not make her go away.

My words have no weight to her when she looks like that.
Her eyes, shone brighter than I'd ever seen before.

She looks greedy.
As if a kid who's just found a new toy to play with.
And I'm stripped of arms.
I know that wherever I may hide she would find me.
She would drag me out of my hiding place
And make me bend to her will.

The worst part of all of that is that I wouldn't tell her no.
Not after everything not after what I —

I took the curse for her and I would spend the rest of my days trying to make her happy.

What a pathetic Gryffindor I have become.

But that's only on the inside.
I still yell at her
I still storm out of the library and into my room
I still bang the door shut unnecessarily loud.

Because even though I know I've changed,
She doesn't have to.

I sit in the darkness for hours,
the tick of the clock on the wall as my only companion, and go through all the ways I should tell her to leave me the fuck alone.

She's going to try to fix me somehow.
And I could let her

I could watch her race against time for the days I have left.
I could just let her do what she wants and know she's going to fail.

But I know she'll give me hope.
I know she'll never give up and I know failing something is her biggest fear.

I should beat myself up because of these thoughts.
I want to actually.
I've already given her everything I have to give and yet I can't seem to stand to deny her anything.

I don't want to be the reason she fails.

.
.
.

It's evening when she comes behind my door.
The knock off her hand was soft, almost like she wanted to apologize.

I know her better than to imagine she actually would.

“You can't hide from me forever.”

I can imagine her there — behind the door dividing us — arms crossed and a determined look on her face.

Almost like she was eleven again, standing in front of me and my friends telling us we were not being very nice.

From that moment on
she had always been my downfall.
Even when I pretended it was Potter.

As if the years between meant nothing, I stand,
back against the door she's behind,
and try to collect myself.

No
Just
No.
I can tell her that.
It's my right to.

I take one more deep breath and open the door to face her.

Hermione Granger
The brightest witch of her age
The golden girl
The know it all

My wife

But she doesn't look angry.
She does not have her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.
Not at all like she's going to force me to bend to her will.
Not at all like I imagined she'd look.

And once again I'm stripped of arms.
How did I ever think I was in control of this game?

“I'm sorry I invaded your privacy.” She says softly, lifting her hand to touch my arm, “But I can't let you do what you're doing.”

I should flinch away.
I don't.
I should take a step back from her.
I don't.
I should tell her to be fucking real and mind her own business.
I don't.
I should not let her continue.

And I still do.
I've let her in a step too far and she has seized the moment.

“You matter, Draco”

I glance from the hand still on my arm to her warm brown eyes and down again.

Such simple words.
Such a short statement.
And yet it's something no one has ever said to me.
No one ever showed me.

My eyes begin to sting.
I blink a few extra times, swallowing hard.

Do-not-cry you pathetic coward.
She invaded your privacy!
She's just trying to make you forget that.

But deep down I know — Hermione Granger plays no games.
Not with me.
Not this moment.

“Don't give up,” she whispers.

Her fingers gripped my arm as if holding me to the promise she wanted me to make.

I shake my head slightly, refusing to look at her again.
Because if I do she might say something that makes it impossible to tell her no.

“It's too late.”

“It's never too late!”

What did I think when I married her?
What the fuck was going on in my twisted brain when I decided it was a good idea to make this deal with her?
What power possessed me to give her this power over me that I did not know she had?

I say nothing.
Only look at her finally.

“Is there more information than the notes I found?” She asks calmly.

As if I gave her permission.
I didn't.

But I nod and go to my drawer.
Pull out all Dolohov’s original notes and drafts I've managed to get my hands on.
And hand them to her as if it was someone else steering my movements than me.

Her hand brushes mine when she takes the papers.

You matter, Draco

I keep my gaze down.
She doesn't need more encouragement.

.
.
.

I try to stay away from the library at first.
I try to stay indifferent and angry at her.
I tried to change the times I go to the dining hall so ours wouldn't match anymore.

But somehow I can't keep it up.
My life was already miserable enough.
Staying away from her made the days so dark I thought I was going to lose my mind.

So a week later I returned to my regular schedule.

“Good!” Dipsy huffs when I go down to breakfast, “Master came to his senses.”

“Don't insult my sanity, Dipsy. It's questioned enough these days.”

“With reason, Sir.” the elf chirps happily.

Hermione emerges to the hall five minutes later and stops by the door when she spots me.

“Good morning,” I tell her and manoeuvre her to the table.

“Morning.” She replies and sits down.

We don't talk about the past week or our changed routines or if she has already taken a closer look at my case.

She makes light chat with Dipsy and at some point, I might join.

I even go back to the library.
She looks surprised to see me there first.
But doesn't mention anything.

I stand beside the table where her notes are spread around and really admire her professionalism.
She has begun to break down the construction of the curse layer by layer.

Something I would have done too if I wanted to know if there were weak links in the magic.
If I didn't believe it would be impossible to find a flaw.
If I hadn't seen the birth of that curse.
If I didn't know I wouldn't last long enough for her to break through anything.

“Don't give that look.” She tells me when she finds me looking.

I only huff.
But I returned to helping her find books and information.
I return to my own reading in the library when she doesn't need my assistance.

Reluctantly I have to admit to myself,
Only with her can I find some sort of peace these days.

I close the long curtains when I enter the library every morning or afternoon,
and she opens them when she comes in after me.

Letting in the light that draws patterns on the dust and blinds my eyes.
But also somehow wakes me up.

Like she does.

.
.
.

“I’m going to visit my parents over the weekend.” She tells me at dinner one evening.

I nod.
Not lifting my eyes from the food.
Pretending I don't care if she goes.
Like I'm not scared that with her gone the demons of my demise will come to haunt me again.

It's just three days.
But how can I know it's not the last three days I have?

“You could join me?”

I snap my eyes up at her.
But she's looking at her plate as if what she said was nothing special.

“Are you kidding?”

Her expression is serious when she meets my eyes, “No, really, You could come with me.”

“Your parents live in Australia.”

What on earth would make her think I, who has barely left the house in months, would suddenly join her on a trip to Australia?
What would suggest I was even in any condition to travel?

“I have an international portkey for Friday morning,” She shrugs, “thought it would do you good to leave the house.”

I stare at her trying to figure out if she's joking.

“Besides you're my husband, it would be only fitting for you to come meet my family.”

If this is a joke, I don't get it.

“They do know it's arranged?”

“Yes, but I told them we’re friendly. They'd love to meet you.”

Almost like she hasn't spent the last weeks researching the curse that's eating me alive.
That's how casually she now presents this idea.

I can think of at least a hundred reasons to deny.

I can't stand the sunlight, it feels like burning my skin.
I can't walk more than a few steps without feeling like I have to sleep for a week.
I can't take off my gloves and cloak outside.
I don't even know if I could handle portkeying to London, let alone all the way across the globe.
I hate meeting people.

Solid reasons to tell her no, yet somehow the words don't come out of my mouth.

She gets up, “Great! We’ll leave on Friday morning.”

“I didn't say I'll go.”

“No,” she smiles at me across her shoulder, “But you did not say you wouldn't either.”

She walks out without waiting for my arguments and I bang my forehead against the hardwood tabletop.

“Miss has quite a good grip on you Master.”

“Shut up, Dipsy.”

“Certainly. Dipsy has to hurry to pack for Master!”

Great!
Granger did not even like the elves at first and now she's teamed up with them against me?

I groan and close my eyes.

.
.
.

I tell myself I'm going to tell her no the next day.
Or the day after.

But somehow I still find myself standing in the entrance hall on Friday morning as she comes down the stairs.

The curtains are drawn open and morning light streams into the staircase, lighting her up.
Like a vision of something divine in her long wine-red travelling cloak.

I shake my head slightly to shake the thought.
Whatever we are nowadays,
She is still not mine.

“You didn't close the curtains.” She points out as a greeting.

I’d be happier with something like ‘You came!’.
Would mean she had even an inkling of doubt I wouldn't.

“Felt pointless since you'll open them anyway.”

“You look better in daylight.” She points out, working with the portkey not even looking at my direction.

I roll my eyes, “Like I'm not dying any given minute?”

She spins around to face me, the sun illuminating her wild hair she seems to refuse to tie up even for travelling.

“Yes, exactly.” She flashes me a smile offering the portkey closer, “We have a minute before it activates.”

We stand in silence for a few seconds.
I'm still not convinced I'll hop on board when the key activates.

“I don't know why I'm doing this,” I mutter under my breath.

“I'm glad you do.”

The light reflects from her eyes.
And I realize
that I do know why I'm doing this.

The reasons are there in all the right words she speaks.
She's glad
and that's the only thing I need to hear.

Like everything in my life ever since I pushed her away from that curse,
I'm doing this to make sure she's happy.

.
.
.

The portkey lands us on the green yard of a lovely suburban house.

Despite being sure I was not going to make it out in one piece, I landed on my feet.

But that's the only positive.
The sunlight hits my eyes, blinding me for a moment.
My lungs feel like they're sucked out of the air and I bend forward to draw breath, gasping for air like I had just been underwater.

Her hand is soft as it touches my back, “Can you manage?”

I close my eyes.
Breathe in
Breathe out

No, I do not know if I can manage.
Yet here we are.

“Hermione, darling!”

With considerable effort, I straightened my back to meet my in-laws.

Helen Granger is a kind-looking lady with soft cheeks and familiar hazel eyes.
She embraces her daughter before turning to me.

“Who do we have here? You must be The Draco Malfoy,” she offered me a hand to shake, “You forgot to mention he's this handsome, Hermione.”

I don't feel very handsome though.
I must be awfully pale after spending so much time indoors.
Maybe I could have eaten more too.
My skin must be icy.
Or at least it feels like it.
As if the sun couldn't quite get to me.

Why did I come here again?

Next to me Hermione seems to catch my train of thought and takes a step closer, her fingers brushing my knuckles.

I glance at her and she gives me an encouraging smile.
As if the manoeuvre wasn't an accident at all.
As if she meant to touch me like — like supporting me.
As if we were more than we are.

If I knew what we were in the first place!
I came across the world with her to meet her parents!
What does that make us?

“You must be awfully hungry after travelling!” Helen chirps oblivious about the shift between us, “I made breakfast and Richard is dying to meet you! Come, come!”

“It only took a minute.” Hermione laughs.

Easy for her to say.
I begin to frown at her.

But

She takes my hand.

She
Takes
My
Hand

I'm wearing gloves but still feel the warmth of her skin.
The connection sparks up my senses as if the fog I've walked in for months shifts a little.

The grass looks greener and the sky even more blue.
Suddenly I can smell the morning air around us and feel the fresh warmth of it.
I can hear the birds chirp and bees buzz in the nearby flowers.

“Come on.” She pulls me with her towards the house
and I forgot I need a cane to walk straight.

The morning in the Granger household goes by in a weird blur.
Richard calls me ‘Son’ as he pats my back and Helen chats happily as she serves us breakfast and urges us to ‘Have some more Darlings!’.

It feels like a dream to be honest.
The colors seem so bright and the atmosphere so warm.
Hermione smiles like I've never seen her smile before.
And everyone treated me as if I wasn't her arranged husband but really a new addition to the family.

Maybe it is a dream.
A hallucination on my deathbed.
How would I know what's real and what's not?

I might as well be lying in the darkness of my room, fantasizing about belonging somewhere.
About people who really care who and why and how I am.
People who are willing to accept me and invite me to their breakfast table.

A mother-in-law who beams as I compliment her breakfast rolls.
A Father-in-law who calls me ‘son’ and asks me if I've watched some game of muggle soccer.

And a wife who looked at me like I was whole. Like I was exactly who she wanted here.
Like she couldn't be happier about how her parents took me in.
Like she was proud of me.
Like I was hers.

It's not my life,
But it's a beautiful dream.

A dream I was happy to see before there were no dreams left.
A dream I could sink into
and linger for a while.

Chapter Text

If I've learned one thing from my healing studies, it's the fact that no one who doesn't want to be saved can be saved.
No one survives if they don't have hope.
No curse heals in despair.

Even a sparkle might be enough,
but it needs to be there.
They need to have something to hold on to.
To anchor themselves to be able to pull through.

So whatever I may do
or find, it means nothing if Malfoy is already halfway gone.
The shadow he has been these months, that doesn't think he can be saved,
can't be saved.

Even if I found the origins of the curse.
Even if I manage to convince him to let me try and break it.
If he doesn't believe I can do it, it'll never work.

For some time now I've tried to figure out why he's so desperately sure he's going to die.
He was sixteen when Voldemort demanded him to kill Dumbledore to keep his life — a hopeless task — but he tried the whole year just to keep himself alive.

Surely he realized it was next to impossible to succeed but he never just lied down and waited for the year to be over.
He had tried, hadn't he?
Time and time again.
He had tried desperately, knowing it was a long shot.
He had tried after a failed attempt.
Apparently been shaken by the collateral damage such as Katie Bell and still he had not given up.

I can somehow understand that he was trying to protect his family then and now it's just himself.
I mean obviously, he doesn't consider himself worthy of saving or something.
But still,
I presented him the opportunity to explore the curse and he's still reluctant to let me go through with it.

I don't understand it, to be honest.
And I have no plan how to convince him to want to be healed when he this desperately wants to just fade away.

Why did he then marry me?
Did he think I would not care enough to want to save him?
If so, he knew me even less than I thought he did.
It just does not add up.

I don't have answers, which of course means I have to work harder!

One evening I'm going through Dolohov’s original notes about the curse as I spot something.

It's just a brief mention.
As if a side note of something that has popped into his mind mid-working with something else, but it makes something click in my brain.

Dementors

I stop reading.
Stop everything altogether and think.
Look around me in the dim light of the library, imagining this whole place as it was when I first came here to live.
I think of Draco in his black cloak and gloves, always holding the cane.
I think of the dull lack of expressions,
and the way I have to dig deep to find any reaction at all.

Oh
OH

It would be such a clever way to add on the torture of the victim.
If one wanted their enemy to die, suffering, hopeless and miserable that's exactly where they would have gone.

Dementors and how their mere presence sucks out all hope and light and happiness.
How it feels like one would never be happy again.
How it makes you relive the worst moments of your life…

A curse added with Dementor magic would definitely make the victim feel like they can never be happy again.
Like there's no hope of a cure and the only thing to do is to morbidly wait for death.

Draco had said he was rotting from the inside.
But is he really?
No doubt he's been cursed but is the origin of his prolonged suffering really because he feels what the curse does, or he thinks he does because it's planned to make the victim desperate and hopeless?

I'd have to examine him to know that.
He would have to let me run tests and see how the cruse resides in his system.
We're not yet at the stage where he'd let me do that.

But I could test that theory.
I should test that theory to get his will to live back.

Dementors are chased away with happiness
That's what a patronus draws from.
So to get anything done,
to even have a chance, I have to show Draco it's worth it.

I can't just try and tell him I think the curse has Dementor magic.
He wouldn't believe me.
Part of the brilliance of it actually.
To make the victim so desperate even talking sense has no effect.

I have to prove to him that there's life to live and enjoy.
I need to find the things that give him happiness.
To crack the hard surface of darkness to let the light in.

If only it was simple when he's fighting tooth and nail for anything even remotely pleasurable.

I can see he somewhat enjoys helping me in the library, but it's nowhere near enough to make him regain his will to fight for his life.

And I have no hope dragging him out here would do any good.

“What does Draco enjoy doing?” I ask Dipsy.

The elf almost laughs at my face, “Miss, The Malfoys don't do things for pleasure. Only for duty.”

That's awfully grim.

“There must be something he likes to do outside of duties?”

Dipsy turns thoughtful, scratching her chin trying to give me an answer.

“There were things Master enjoyed as a child. Oh yes, there were! Flying was one of his favourites. And he read stories, yes he did. Those with Dragons he preferred the most. Master loved learning new things,” Dipsy’s eyes seem to start to sparkle as she thinks of Draco in his youth, “He wasn't a very patient learner, no he wasn't. Dipsy remembers. But when he managed something he was beaming with pride. Master played the piano from memory. Mistress Narcissa had taught him. Oh, Dipsy misses the fine music in the halls.”

I did not know these things about him.
Only that he liked flying.
This is the Draco Malfoy I only knew as a pureblood brat and a schoolyard bully.

“They used to travel too, the Malfoy family.” Dipsy continues, “Draco was fascinated by other cultures and history of wizards all over the world. His favourite places were France and the Italian countryside, but he dreamed of travelling further once school was over. He talked about Asia, Australia and New Zealand often, before —”

The elf lowers her head, “Before the dark times.”

I pat the creature on the back, “Thank you, Dipsy, for telling me. You helped a lot.”

So he thinks as an adult he only has duties to fulfill?

That leaves me with only one option.
If he can't see happiness in the magical England, I will take him out of it.
I will show him life he knows nothing about.

As if reading my thoughts, Mom calls me two days later and invites me to spend a weekend with them.

And since I'm already going anyway I take a longshot and ask Draco to join me.
He doesn't deny me first hand so I take my chances and pretend to be assuming he's coming with me.

I don't know who's more surprised when he ends up really coming with me.

I think he's bluffing to get me off his back,
all the way until we stand in my parent’s yard.
He's clearly struggling to stand straight but he's here!
He came with me!

Somehow the fact that he did that, added to the way he's acting with my parents, suddenly makes me feel proud of him.

He has this massive weight on him.
It takes him so much effort to even leave the house
Let alone the fact that my parents are muggles in a muggle neighbourhood.
Yet he came when I asked him to.

He sits at my parent's breakfast table and makes pleasant polite conversation.
And I can't even put names to all the emotions I'm feeling as I watch them.

He might be my arranged husband, but he fits so well I might have just as well picked him myself.

Who would have thought?

.
.
.

During the whole weekend, I couldn't be more grateful to my parents for how they took Draco in.

They know about the marriage-law and I've even opened them some details about our deal to stay married for two years to buy time.

I'm not sure they completely understand my reasons,
but I think they know by now that, not understanding, wouldn't stop me from doing what I think is best.

But they seem to like Draco more than I thought they would.
And for someone who has only ever lived in a magical world, Draco really puts in effort.
Even in getting along with me.

We share a room with separate beds on the other ends of the room.
I'm glad Mom didn't even ask if we wanted to share a bed.

And the weekend goes by in a relaxed, easy atmosphere.

Draco even comes outside to sit on the patio away from the sun while my father barbecues.
And then to my surprise, he joins us for a ride along the coastline to a Kangaroo reserve.

“It's the most cliché thing ever.” I tell him, “to come to Australia and only drive a bit along the coast and see Kangaroos.”

“And it should bother me, because?” He asks, opening the car window and letting the wind mess up his hair closing his eyes.

I stared at him for a while, wondering if this was all it took to find the real Draco Malfoy.
Or if this was who he has been all along and I've been too stuck into my own idea of him to see it.

That thought right then and there wakes me up.
Kind of opens my eyes and suddenly everything looks very different.

I already knew he wasn't the same as the boy I knew at school.
But even that, the image of him from school, was only from the viewpoint of someone I was back then.

I never knew him.
Not for a bit.

How did I think I could figure him out when I thought I knew what I was looking for?

I look at him, eyes closed and hair windswept and imagine him on a broom, zooming up to the air.
Weightless and free, defying gravity.

It feels like clarity.
Like seeing his soul.
Something restrained and locked so far away I'm not sure even he knows how to find.

If I could just find a key to that lock.
Or a way that I can shove him towards.
A path to follow and a little push
and let him find it on his own.

.
.
.

The late dinner on Saturday evening goes by in the same pleasant atmosphere that has lingered through the whole of our stay.

I don't even feel uncomfortable when Draco and my dad tell us they're going to watch a little bit of soccer before bed.
Even though I'm fairly sure Draco doesn't know much about soccer and doubt he has ever even seen it played anywhere.
Let alone in a TV.

But they get along nicely and maybe it's a ‘man bonding’-thing.
How would I know?
I've never brought a boy home.

So I have another glass of wine and enjoy the company of my Mom until it's unmentionable late.

“Goodnight, Mom” I give her a kiss on the cheek and make my way towards the stairs upstairs.

The faint light of the TV illuminates from the living room along with a low murmur of Draco and my father talking.

In my defence, I have every intention to just climb the steps upstairs and settle for bed.
I don't want nor mean to eavesdrop,
but as I'm about to step on the first step, I hear my name.

Who can blame me!
There they are, my father and a man who I barely know.
A man who hated everything muggle as far as I know!
A man who hated me!
And who's now married to me!

And my father, a man who raised me
— talking about me!
I simply have to take a step closer to the doorway to hear what's been said.
I'm not strong enough to resist.

I don't dare to peak in, but stand in the dark hall and listen.

“She's a remarkable girl, your daughter.” Draco is speaking and I feel guilty already.

“She is. Headstrong too. So stubborn and certain she knows best what's the right thing to do.”

Draco huffs amusedly

“Took our memories during your war, did she tell you? Sent us here without a clue we had a daughter.”

There's a long pause before Draco says very silently, “She saved your lives.”

“I think she believes she did.”

“Sir, no, she really did.”

My hands are cold as Draco continues, “I — I was on the other side of things. I — there was a raid at your house. But it was empty. As far as I know, they found no trace of you.”

I lift my hands on my mouth and they tremble.
I did not know and never stopped to find out.
Briefly, I wonder if it would have made a difference.
If I hadn't felt so sorry after I restored their memories.
Maybe I wouldn't have kept so much distance if I knew it wasn't an overreaction?

“And what happened to you, son?”

I regain focus on their conversation telling myself this is purely for research purposes.
I need to know Malfoy better to be able to do my job — that is saving him, of course.

I can imagine Draco shrugging, “War happened.”

“I can see it left quite a mark?”

“Permanent one.”

I can barely hear his replies.

“A wound?” Dad asks.

“A curse.”

Silence in which I think, by the slight sound of fabric shuffling, that my dad has put a hand on Draco's shoulder.

“Is she on to it?”

“She wants to be.”

“What I've gathered is that she's one of the best at what she does. And I know once she puts her mind into something she very rarely stops before it's mastered.”

I should not be listening.
I should not be here.
This is private!
But also if my dad manages to convince him to let me help, this trip worked better than I imagined it would.

“All due respect. I don't think she can help. Or even if she did, I don't think we have time.”

There's a heavy pause before he continues, “I don't want to be the reason she fails.”

I stare before me in the dark and let the words sink in.
He won't let me try,
because he doesn't want me to —

“She'll be more sorry if you don't let her try.”

Draco says nothing.

I feel like crying.
Like I'm really hearing Draco for the first time.
And he's not even talking to me.

“Why did you marry her then?”

“I thought she told you — there's a law.”

“So just out of duty?”

“No” his reply is so strong and so immediate even I flinch.

“No.” He says slower again, “As you said, she's a remarkable woman. She was — remarkable — even when we were at school. I treated her horribly. Frankly, I think I do not deserve her kindness, not a bit after those years. But she — she deserves the world and all the good things life has to offer. I can't give her much —”

I'm holding my breath

“But my father is in prison and my mother has signed her part of the heritage to me already. I'm the sole heir of two ancient, wealthy wizarding families and she's my wife.”

No?!
He's planning to leave all he owns to me?

I don't want it!
I didn't marry him for it and I never meant to have it!
I never even thought I would.

On the other side of the wall, Draco tells my father, “I will take care of her, Sir. I will make sure she'll never be short of anything even after I'm gone. I promise.”

“You think she'll be happy with that?” Dad asks

But I'm already going.
Up the stairs into the guestroom.
Barely breathing and doing everything I could do to stop myself from barging into the living room and slapping Draco across his stupid, self-sacrificing face.
How can he think money would make up for his dying!?
How can he imagine I'd be happy if he was dead and I had all his fortunes?!
How was I supposed to enjoy any of it when I knew the price!?

A little voice in my head reminds me of all the freedom I'd have with all that money.
I wouldn't have to work a day in my life if I did not want to.
I could do research
I could focus on things that strike my interest.
I could pursue any career I'd like.

But he couldn't
Because he'd be dead
And it's a price I'm not willing to pay.

Does he think I still dislike him enough to be satisfied with the outcome?! 

I should calm down.
I should focus on breathing and stop my mind from running.
Rushing into anything won't help me.

I sit on my bed and stare at his on the other end of the room.
Wishing I didn't tell Mom it's okay we share a room.

How can I pretend I didn't hear that?
How do I —

I lay my head on the pillow and turn to face the wall.
The loudest thought in my head screaming ‘He doesn't think he's worth saving.’

And for some reason, a tear slides down my face, leaving a wet stain on my pillow.

I'm not crying for Draco Malfoy’s cruel fate.
But for the boy who thinks there's nothing to live for.
For the man who thinks all he's worth is the money he owns. 

I hear him come into the room but pretend to be sleeping.
And for someone who has to use a cane to walk, Draco goes to bed surprisingly quietly.

.
.
.

My mind has always had this funny ability to set itself straight when I'm sleeping.
Even now, I wake up on Sunday morning feeling like the road is clear ahead of me again.

Nothing has changed.
None of what this trip taught me changed the goal I was already heading towards:
Saving him.
Breaking the curse and giving him a chance for a future much brighter than the past.

And if I'm successful — when I'm successful — I don't have to think of all the other aspects of this marriage deal.
Or the relationship between us.
Or even about what he will do with the life he’ll have then.

That's the deal we made: two years.
To buy time.
And that's what I'm doing.

So I take out another portkey and offer it to him.

“Was it worth it?” I ask as we stand, waiting for the key to activate.

He frowns and I smile,
because I'm sure that's as close as I'll ever get to him admitting it was.

If he only knew where I was planning to take him next 

.
.
.

We land on the side of a grassy field.
Unlike sunny Australia, rain clouds hang heavy over our heads as Draco turns to me.

I settle an innocent smile on my face and shrug my shoulders.

“Mind telling me where we are and why we came here instead of home?”

Home.
Not ‘The manor’
Home

I make a mental note to mention it again at a better time.

“Detour!” I keep smiling, “there's just one quick business I have to take care of.”

“And it did not cross your mind to tell me, because —?”

Because you would have said no!
But I don't get to answer because there's a loud, “Oi, ‘Mione!”

And Charlie Weasley strides to us pulling me into a wild hug before turning to Draco.

“Ah, Malfoy, she did tell me you'd tag along.”

“How nice of her to tell /someone/!” Draco throws me a meaningful glare.
I don't look at him, playing all innocent.

Well, he would have said no!

And I really can't afford him saying no to this.
It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission, isn't that what they say?

“You can wait there by the fence, it's feeding time,” Charlie tells Draco and manoeuvres me in the other direction.

I can see the question on Draco's face.
Multiple questions to be honest.
But I'm positive he'll find the answers better himself than from my explanation.

“Has he treated you okay?” Charlie asks as we make our way to the storage rooms.

I glance across my shoulder to see Draco hesitantly move closer to the fence, “Better than I've treated him.”

Charlie laughs loudly, “From what I've heard he deserves it.”

It doesn't take long for me to gather the ingredients I came for.
No
that's not right actually — the ingredients I used as an excuse to bring Draco here.

We return to the field only some ten minutes later and I know I made the right choice.

Draco is standing by the fence, eyes fixated on the massive beasts dining on the other side.

I take my time to approach, giving him time to sink into this moment a little longer.

Dragons, Dipsy told me.
And I brought Draco to dragons.

He looks awestruck, eyes shining, barely blinking.

A dragon roars and Draco lets out a chuckle.
Behind him, I smile.

Not out of the victory I know I'm heading towards.
But to the genuine glee, I've managed to bring up.
To the light, I can see from the cracks of his dark demeanour.
And the way I can imagine a silver gleam of a patronus in those cracks.

We can beat this curse.
Not just him on his own
Or me for him.

But Draco and I,
together.

I don't have to think of how to deny his fortunes
And he doesn't have to be the reason I fail.
Because I won't fail
And he will not die.

With this new kind of clarity, I step to stand beside him.
Upon my arrival he glances at me, but only briefly before turning his eyes back to the dragons.

They are magnificent.
I, too, still remember the first time I stood here and looked at them with something else than dread.
Scales shining, reflecting in the colours of the rainbow.
How gracefully they move for such massive creatures.
And how out of this world they look in the middle of an ordinary field.

It's like seeing the Hogwarts Express for the first time.
Like one of those moments that makes one really feel how extraordinary it is to get to explore the world of magic.

“Dipsy told you?”

I keep my gaze ahead but nod.

He doesn't ask what else the elf told me.
Or even any specifics.

But after a while, he takes my hand.

I almost take a double look to see if it's actually happening.
I almost flinch in surprise.
I almost give him a questioning look.

But any of those would make him let go.
Any of those would destroy the momentum.

The wind blows through the field, messing my hair.
And I can smell the rain and the grass in the breeze.
A dragon roars
and he squeezes my hand slightly.

I might imagine it all together.
It might be just a whiff of wind but I can hear a silent, “Thank you” whispered in my direction.

Chapter Text

I watch a dragon rise to its wings.
A massive shadow clouding the sky,
and realize I don't care what Dipsy told Granger.

I don't care if the elf revealed all the secrets it knew about me.
All my childhood dreams or the lack of them afterwards.

I'm assuming Australia was mentioned
and Dragons too.
How else would Hermione have known to take me here?

She could tell me all kinds of excuses about the ingredients she needed.
She could widen her hazel eyes innocently and shrug her shoulders.

But I knew.
I knew!
Nothing she did was random.

This isn't just out of the goodness of her heart, though.
I've long since lost my belief in her sincere purity.
This isn't just filling the last wishes of her dying fake husband.

This is to gain something.
There's something she's going to ask of me and this is her way of softening me up.

The dragon screeches as if asking for my attention.
The sun reflects from its scales, making it shine in rainbow hues.

I don't want to admit her plan — whatever it is — might be working.
I don't want to recognise the gratitude I feel, but it's like an avalanche, inevitably eating me up alive.

Even if it is to soften me up for something she wants.
This is still one of the nicest things anyone has ever done to me.

One of the most magnificent experiences anyone has ever offered me.

So I take her hand.
Because I want to take her hand.
Because I want to.

How rare it is that I get to do something like that?
She keeps her eyes on the magical creatures ahead of us, but I can see the soft smile that lights up her eyes and graces her lips.

And for some stupid reason
my traitorous heart flutters.

.
.
.

It's almost nightfall before the last portkey lands us in the entrance hall of the manor.

I land on my feet,
back straight and still holding on to the object that brought us here.
And she's doing the same, facing me in the low light the twilight paints upon us.

I'm not sure if I should thank her again.
Or maybe I should just pretend I'm happy she /finally/ brought us home!

Honestly, I could have stayed gone for a moment more.
Being back at the manor reminds me how unwell I actually am.

Suddenly I feel like I should sit.
Or lie down and sleep for a week.
Like I'm drained of every single drop of energy I ever had to use.

But I'm not moving.
My fingers, still so close to hers I can feel their warmth.

The moment seems to be frozen in time.
Like a pause in a melody before the tune changes.

For some reason, my eyes flick to her lips.
And for a second I imagine letting the portkey drop.
In my mind, I have already lifted my hand to touch her face and taken a step forward.

Her eyes shine and I wonder if she's seeing the same fantasy.
I wonder if —

Someone clears their throat and I almost jump out of my skin.

“Fuck!”

“Language, Draco.”

The portkey does drop to the ground as we both flip around to see who's talking.

She's sitting half in the shadow.
Arms on the armrests and legs crossed eloquently — my mother — in all her pureblood grace.

“Mother,”

I could ask why she's here, but I think I know.
I could make up excuses why I haven't even written, but she'd see through them all.

My mother is here.
And my run from anything but the cold hard truth of everything is over.

If I find it hard to say “no” to Granger.
Telling it to my mother is impossible.

Call me what you want.
But my two biggest weaknesses are now standing in the same room together.

And I'm trapped.

“Did you think you can avoid me forever, darling?”

“Mrs. Malfoy —” Granger tries to interrupt, but Mother only lifts her hand to stop her.

“Just a minute, love. Let me scold my son first for a moment.”

Granger lowers her gaze
and I can see — I CAN SEE — she's hiding a smile.

Great!
Just lovely!
They're going to be allies!

Fuck my life!

“You said you can not stay in the manor for a minute more,” I mumble like an idiot.

“I said I can not live here. I did not mean I wanted to be cast aside.” She takes my hands and I can't even look at her.

“What made you think I do not wish to meet a new addition to our family?”

“I told you —”

I told her it's not a love match and we expect nothing of it.
I told her, it is purely out of practicality.

“So you think I'm new to the concept of marriage arrangements?”

I glance at her from under my bows.

“Darling,” she lets go of my hands and turns to Granger, “I'm sorry I haven't been able to welcome you to the family sooner.”

It's not every day I see Granger at a loss of words.
A slight tint of red rises to her cheeks and she seems to be settling a smile on her face.

“Mother, really —” I try

Knowing it's useless.
But I still try.

“Oh hush, Draco. You've done enough!” She takes Hermione's hands, “So tell me, darling, has he behaved himself?”

I'm so occupied with my own embarrassment I forget to listen to her reply.
I frown rolling my eyes and twist my hands.

“And you've looked into the curse?”

My attention snaps back to the women.

Fuck
She could not wait for one minute to get to that conversation!?
Of course, she knows Granger is a healer, how could she not?!
Everyone knows Hermione Granger and her career.

How the fuck did I not prepare for this?

I haven't told Mother how severe my condition is.
And I haven't told Granger my family doesn't know.

What the fuck can I do?
So I do the most ridiculous thing I can think of.
Wave my hands at her behind my mother's back.
Doing a throat-cutting move and mouthing her she doesn't know.

Without any indication that she understood what I tried to signal, Hermione nodded to my mother, “Yes, I'm on to it Mrs. Malfoy. ”

“Thank you! And call me Narcissa, dear.” Mother turns back to look at me, “I'm sure you've figured out how stubborn he is! Doesn't trust just anyone. I tried to tell him more than once our family healer is more than capable —”

“It's a rare curse, ma’am” Hermione interrupts her and I frown internally, “I’m doing my best. But your son really isn't the easiest patient.”

And there it is.
My shoulders slump.
I can see the victory on Granger's face and prepare myself.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy!”

Shit

“How dare you act up when she's here to specifically help you!?”

BECAUSE SHE CAN'T HELP ME!
I Don't care if she was the emperor of the fucking world!
She still
Could
Not
Help
Me

But what if…
A small voice on the back of my head speaks up as Mother lectures me something I only pretend to hear.

What if…
It's never been there before.
Nothing, no sound of a second thought, has ever made me doubt there's nothing to be done.

She would never give up though.

And still, we'd run out of time.

How do you know if you don't try?

“Is that clear, darling!?”

My focus snaps back to reality where Mother has told me to not act difficult and let Granger do her job.

“I'm her husband, not her job,” I argue.

What a weak comeback.

“Trust me, as someone who's been married as long as I have I can safely say, you're both.” Mother pats my shoulder and rounds me effortlessly, “Now let's have dinner, shall we?”

I glance at Granger
only to see she's actually smirking at me.

“Shut up,” I tell her and turn to make my way towards the dining room.

She only chuckles behind me.
And I'm not sure if the sound enthrals or infuriates me more.

.
.
.

Three days later I sit in the library as Hermione comes in.
I sit beside her research about my curse and accept my ultimate defeat.

I'm going to give her permission to examine the curse in my system.

Because the voice that constantly tells me “You'll never know if you don't let her try.” The back of my brain has not left me alone.

Because mother already wrote to me twice to ask if I've behaved myself.

And lastly, because I can imagine the conversation between the two women after I'm gone.
The one where my mother asks “Why?”
And Hermione would tell her “Because I couldn't save him.”

I will not allow that!
When I die, it won't be because she did something wrong or did not do enough.
She's going to answer, “Because we ran out of time.”
I'll make damn sure of it!

“Fine!” I'm telling her now as she's looking at me with crossed arms and a questioning face, “Fine! Do what you have to.”

“No.”

I look up at her.

No?
All this internal work and self-searching and she's saying no?
What the fuck is she playing at?

“Not unless /you/ want it.” She states stubbornly.

What more can she possibly want?
As if me being here isn't proof enough!?
She wants me to say it?
To crawl at her feet and beg for her to save me?

Fuck this.

I get up.
I did not come here to —

“I can't save you if you don't want to be saved. I can't heal a curse if you don't think it can be healed. If you don't have hope, there's no hope.”

“I wouldn't —” I start but she stops me.

“Just say it aloud.”

I glare at her.
One foot, ready to go, and the other, determined to stay.
My head, fighting tooth and nail to not say as she tells me to.

“It's not for me.” She lets her arms drop to her sides and settles a softer look on her face, “It's for yourself.”

I run a hand through my hair and won't look at her as I say, “Fine, I'm still not convinced the curse can be broken. But guess I'll never know if we won't try.”

“And?” She presses on, but softly.

“And I —” I swallow hard and whisper, “I don't want to die.”

I did not believe her words about me saying it aloud somehow matter,
But as the words leave my lips, it's like the truth gets poured on me from a bucket.

Like I'm swiped clean with this new idea, I only now let myself think.
Like the smoke in my head clears a little and some weight gets lifted from my shoulders.
Like I suddenly saw a little clearer.
And knew even more clearly that what I said was true — I did not want to die.
Did not want to fade away without a fight.

The smile my words light on her face makes me wish I had made this realization sooner.
She's beaming, almost squeaking with joy as she leaps to me and pulls me in for a hug.

Her soft body collides with mine.
Her hands fly around my neck and her hair goes into my mouth.

All my senses get filled with her.
I hear and feel and smell and even taste on levels I thought I couldn't reach anymore.

And like the smooth gentleman I'm taught to be — I do fucking nothing — just stand there frozen in her embrace.

Probably due to my reaction — or the lack of it — the hug doesn't last very long.

But as she steps back I almost catch myself wishing she would have held on a little bit longer.

.
.
.

We begin a couple days later.
She sits me down on an armchair next to her notes and tells me to “Relax, will you.”

Easy for her to say!
She will be working. Probably wholly invested in what she's doing.
I'm the one who has to sit still and wonder every damn minute if I feel any different. Or waiting for her to find out I was right all along and there's nothing to be done!

From now on I won't be the only one capable of saying there's nothing to be done. She'd have the power also.

Does it frighten me?
Like hell.

“I'm going to just examine the curse at first,” She tells me, laying a warm hand on my arm, “I need to figure out how it resides in your cells and what it's actually doing before I can even begin to try and break it.”

I nod, trying to keep my face emotionless while feeling it all at once.

“Do you —” she seems to be trying to figure out how I really feel about this.
Refusing to turn away before I meet her eyes.
“Do you want me to tell you? Or rather not?”

She is acting professional.
But she should never have demanded eye contact if she wanted to hide her enthusiasm from me.
I can see it in the bright shine of her eyes.
In the way she's leaning towards me.

I know she has to restrain herself from rushing.
I know every step of this performance is an act.
She lives from studying, from finding new levels and proving her hypothesis right.
Her fingers are itching to take the wand from the side table and dive into the depths of my corporeal body but she's worried her enthusiasm will drive me away.

She blinks and I vaguely realize I should answer her.
But our eye contact doesn't drop.
And it feels like she has opened me a pathway straight to her soul.
I could see every ambition and selfish goal along with the selfless ones.
Like I could see her determination and willpower.
Like I could see myself in her eyes,
and the image of us on the dragon field.
With the wind in our hair and eyes up to the sky.
My cheeks tinted in pink and my hand squeezing hers.

It's like I'm in her head seeing things like she saw them.
Like I'm reading her every thought —

Fuck!

I tear my eyes from her and she blinks again.

I'm an utter idiot.

“Fuck! Granger, I'm sorry I didn't mean to do that!” I sound pathetic even in my own ears.

“You're a legilimens?”

“I did not know I was! I mean—” I don't like how helpless I feel as I stumble on, “-— I know my occlumency is naturally strong and mother taught me to use it but I've never —”

“You did not know?” Her voice is low and calm.
I'd like to look again to know if she's holding back anger or something else.

“It's not like I've had time to experiment!”

“Right,” she says slowly and then shakes her head, “of course. It's not like I held you back. It just got me off guard. I'll be more careful next time.”

Is she serious?

“I just invaded your mind and all you have to say is ‘I’ll be more careful’?”

She shrugs, “it's not like—”

“Don't try to make excuses for me!” Suddenly I'm angry.
Enraged actually now that I think of it.

What the fuck do I think I'm doing?
I'm not safe to be around!
Why on earth did I let her get this close?
What good was I ever to her?
And how did I forget we were not friends? She was not my friend! What do I think I'm doing?!

“You offered to help me and I just casually invaded your privacy! How do you I did not do it on purpose?”

“You said—”

“I COULD BE LYING!” I'm roaring now, not really certain if I'm completely in control of my emotions, “Have you forgotten who I am? We're not —”

She smashes her palm on my mouth blocking the words I'm about to say.

“Don't you dare say we're not friends, Malfoy?” She hisses between her teeth, “We've come so far. I will not let you lash out in anger and take us back all the steps we've come forward!”

I glare at her anger still making me consider tearing her hand from me and saying everything I was going to say anyway.

But I won't.
I just glare and she glares back,
Determined and strong.

“Just breathe.” She whispers and for some reason, I believe her.

Breath after breath anger fades to the background letting me think a little clearer again.
Letting her words make sense and the embarrassment of my own actions take over.

She's trying to save my life and I'm doing everything I can to be a dickhead.

Her palm is still covering my mouth as she speaks, “I know any of this isn't easy for you. I know this is an effort and I know you refuse to acknowledge it but you're scared. I know and it's okay. Just sit down and let's begin. Things will figure out I promise.”

I hate that she's right.
But I sit down and let her begin.

Chapter Text

I don't think people who know me are very surprised how fascinating I find the science of the human body.

Especially those with magic.
Trust me I took muggle neuroscience on the side of my healing studies to learn exactly what the difference is.
Why do some have magic and others don't?
What's the base of my muggle genes turning magical?
How magic resides in human cells?

During my studies, I've found how curse creators often forget to get to know the anatomy of magic.
Most curses are created by people who know very little about neuroscience and the difference between magical and muggle cells.

That's what I'm hoping to find when I start to examine the curse in Draco too — a flaw.

“I'll examine first.” I tell him, “Just to see what the curse really does to you. If it's organ damage there may be ways in muggle medicine to ease the symptoms.”

“Muggle medicine?” He raises his eyebrows.

“I admit magic is almost always superior. But there are synthetic muggle drugs that can do things herbs and magic can't. Also most times curses are created to be immune to potions but not to muggle meds.”

“Why is that?”

I eye him briefly, “What do you think?”

He studies me for a moment with serious eyes.
If someone should know, it's him.
So I wait.

After a while, he's still thinking so I offer some help, “What kind of wizards create curses?”

“Dark?”

I urge him on with just a small tilt of my head.

It's fascinating to see him figure it out.
How the wrinkles on his forehead clear up for a moment and there's a realization in his every feature.

“Pureblood?”

A smile rises to my lips on its own account
And I realize I'm proud of him for figuring it out so fast.

“That's right. And I've come to find out that most wizards who have lived their whole life in magic forget to consider anything muggle.”

Unlike the term suggests, magic isn't really in a person's blood. It's in their very construction. Like an overcoat on human cells.
As a person learns more the layers of magic get thicker and thicker — stronger and stronger.
Curses usually touch only the magical coating before destroying the cells altogether.

And that's what I'm hoping to find in Draco:
If Dolohov really managed to create a curse that makes organs fail little by little or if he made the same mistake many others before him did too?

I don't doubt the curse might eventually be lethal but I do doubt the method it kills the host.

It's harder than I thought I have to admit.
I was hoping to see the changes immediately, but there's no sign of a curse in Draco’s system at first glance.
The cells are clear and bright with magic wrapped tightly around his design.

I continue doing basic diagnostics to his organs and vital functions.
And as I suspected they're mostly fine.
He does have very low levels of basic vitamins and ferritin.
But those might be due to the lack of sunlight and flaws in his diet.
They're definitely not lethal but may on their accord explain some of the fatigue and paleness.

Everything from his muscle tone to his blood values is close to normal.
Pretty fast I conclude it's not his body rotting away that's killing him.

As I suspected.
However, being right doesn't make this any easier.

I still haven't found the curse and still don't know what it does to him to make him feel the way he does.

I mean I've seen the notes.
I know the basics, but not the whole mechanism.

I glance up from my work.
Draco is studying me with a bizarre expression as if frozen in place.
It might be curiosity
or worry
or admiration,
or something else altogether.

I look back to gain his attention to tell him what I've found so far.

When our eyes meet he blinks like only now realizing I've stopped.

“Did you find it?”

His reaction is sparked with enthusiasm there never was before.
Like he had been impatiently waiting for me to update him.

Draco from a few weeks ago would have glanced at me gloomily and said something like ‘I told you’.
So certain what I'd find would only prove his hopelessness rightful.

Internally I pat myself on the back a little,
Well done with his attitude, Hermione!

Careful not to let my glee show, I straighten my back, “Not yet. But Draco,”

I put my hand on his arm and try to look as convincing as I can.
Knowing full well that he might tell me I'm mistaken and that certainly he knows what's going on in his body better than me.
He might even want to leave after I've told him what I found out.
But I can't keep him in the dark.
I promised to be open about this.
So I am and hope he's softened enough to actually listen to me.

“Your vital functions are okay. Whatever the curse is doing, it's not destroying your system. Not right away at least. Everything works as it should.”

As I suspected he looked in disbelief so I rushed to continue, “It doesn't mean the curse isn't working. I think it's just using another method of making you feel like your body is failing.”

“Like,” he's acting distant again and I can almost see the curse fight its way into his mind.
Blackening everything and filling him with despair.

I squeeze his arm, “I think it's doing something to your magic. Dolohov didn't document the whole process so I have to examine more to know for sure. But I think he did intend it to reach your organs but didn't quite get that far. I think it's destroying your magic, but I can't say for sure. On the surface, everything looks normal so I have to look deeper.”

“My magic?”

I explain to him the design of magic around human cells as briefly and simply as I can.

He looks a bit baffled by the information, “So blood?”

“Yeah, just figurative.”

He huffs unamused, “The things you learn —”

He doesn't say anything after that.
Goes quiet and thoughtful and doesn't meet my eyes.

“Do you want to take a break?” I ask.

Although I'd rather not stop now!
I want to see more!
To find out if my suspicions are right and then let him know what's really wrong with him.
I want to get to the bottom of this curse to be able to start and get it off of him.
I want to learn it so I can break it.

And I want to be able to tell him it's not impossible.
That the curse will fight us, but it doesn't mean it'll win.
And that we need to do this together, him and I.

In the middle of my thought process, I can't even begin to analyze why it means so much to me.
But somehow it feels the most important thing of all — that we're doing it together.

Me for him and him for me.
Or him for him and me for me,
Either way, together.

“No,” he shakes his head, looking like he actually wanted to say yes but changed his mind at the last second, “let's just get it over with.”

“It won't —” I begin to tell him but he cuts me off.

“You know what I meant. Let's just continue, okay?”

So I do.
Dive into the search for the curse again
and find it only minutes later.

And when I do, I almost wish I didn't.

As I suspected, based on Dolohov’s notes it isn't working like he intended it to.
But it doesn't mean it's not working.

Dolohov has aimed precisely, hitting Draco straight on the chest.
And from there the curse has spread everywhere.
Everything from his head to the tip of his toes is infected.
Black burns along the still clear threads as if a fire had swept through all his synapses.
The curse is eating away his magic, rotting the golden glow that wraps around his cells.
Penetrating to the very core of his powers, which explains why he feels like fading away.

He /is/ fading away.
Everything built up ever since he was born is slowly dying day by day.
He's still able to do magic, but that will disappear too.
And when all that keeps it together is gone, his system — built up with magic — will collapse in on itself.

I've never seen a curse like it.
I've never faced anything like this before.

I was so certain Dolohov had failed, I did not even consider it might be this bad still.

I find traces of dementor magic too.
The closer my diagnostics go to the starting point the stronger the curse fights me.
Blackening my mind and filling me with dread.
Draco had said we don't have time. Looking at the curse now, I almost believe him.
Almost — because I also knew I might feel that way.
I knew to anticipate the fight.
But I've fought worse fights.
I've won a war.
This was not going to pull me under.

I've found out what I came for.
Now I know what we're up against.
So I put down my wand and take a deep breath before meeting his eyes again.

“I was right, wasn't I?” Is what he asks.
Is what he reads from my demeanour
so I put all my effort into regaining control of my expressions.

“Depends on which part?”

“Just tell me and get it over with.”

I tell him honestly and as clearly as I can.
I tell him the truth of what I found out.
Even the parts about dementor magic and the probability that the curse will fight back hard.

And he listens,
face serious and emotionless
As if nothing could touch him anymore.

“You think it's possible to break it?” He asks me when I'm done, “Honestly? Just tell me, Granger. I can take it.”

But I can not.
I can not take it!
I refuse to believe it's not.

“There is one method I think could work. But it's hard and time-consuming and it'll probably make you feel worse than you do now.”

“I'm not backing up if you're not.”

Considering how determined he was to die I think I've done a decent job convincing him otherwise.

“It's called time weaving. It's like rolling back the threads of your magic to find the infected ones and then remove them. It means the parts of your magic that the curse has damaged need to be removed and relearned. You'll feel the loss in your powers and doing magic will require a lot more work.”

“It already does.” He points out.

“We need to get rid of all threads of the curse to get rid of it completely, so it'll take time.”

He nods.
But I haven't said everything yet.

“Time is our biggest opponent. There's a lot of curse to unravel and —”

“You don't have to tell me we're short of time. I know it already. Can you make it?”

I don't know.
I've never weaved something so massive and aggressive.
I've never fought a curse that actively fights back.
I have no idea what it does to either of our mental states.
Or if it gets worse the closer the core we go.

This is an experiment as much as a healing process.

But telling him I do not know feels impossible.
I look at him and I want him to have hope.
I saw what it did to him to not have it.
I fear losing, even a little of the hope he has managed to find, will pull him right back into despair.
I'm scared he will stop wanting to try.

So I raise my chin and will my voice confident and unweaving, “Yes,” I tell him, “I can, but I can't do it alone. I need you to be with me in this. I need you to believe too.”

“Don't count on it.”

I land my hand back on his arm, “Promise me you'll do your best.”

He huffs, “I don't think I've ever done my best, Granger.”

He's too modest.
Here I thought he was a self-absorbed brat.

I lean closer and hold his gaze, “I just looked into your magic, Draco. I know you have.”

Pink tint raises to his cheeks and he frowns, “Fine. I'll do what I can.”

And the battle is ready to begin.

.
.
.

It's even more time-consuming than I expected.

Harder too but that's not really a surprise.
I knew it would be harder than any curse I've ever tried to break before.

“Think of something happy. Please, Draco. It'll make it easier.” I remind him every now and then.

Because happy thoughts keep the dementor parts of the curse less overpowering.
Oftentimes he complains he doesn't have any more happy thoughts to spare.

“Think harder.” I snap and dive back into work.
Carefully extracting the threads of magic from each other to find the damaged ones.
I've planned to start from the outer edges and then move slowly closer to the core.
Precise and efficient so new infections don't form at the same speed I get rid of the old ones.

Draco tells me he doesn't physically feel what I'm doing.
But sometimes I see him frown his bows like he needs to concentrate on hiding pain.

He walks slower and asks me to please keep the curtains closed because sunlight hurts his eyes.

We work long hours and he always goes to his room straight after.
Doesn't even come to dinner.

“Does he eat at all?” I ask Dipsy as I once again dine alone.

“What does Miss think Dipsy is? Letting Master starve? Dipsy would never!”

“Of course, I'm sorry, Dipsy. I'm just worried.”

“Yes, Dipsy knows. We all are. Master Draco is too young to die.”

He will not die!
How dare Dipsy even suggest that!
How dare she even think of that!
Not on my watch!

“He's not going to die!” I snap before I get to stop myself.
The elf looks at me with wide eyes and I realize I've jumped up from my seat.

What have I done?
Did I not swear to keep him alive?
Did I not set my mind to making him regain his will to live?
And what was I doing now?
Saving him or killing him faster?

Shit, I was selfishly careless.
I had neglected everything, first and foremost Draco.

Hastily I make my way upstairs and to his door.
Not even waiting for permission to enter before stepping in.

He has to eat.
He has to move.
He has to go outside!

Otherwise, I might have broken the curse but there would be nothing in him to keep living on afterwards.

He's lying on his back in the bed.
Staring motionlessly to the ceiling.

“Draco?”

He doesn't even turn to look at me
and I have to fight the urge to apologize.

“Would you come down for dinner?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You need to eat. You'll be drained of all energy if you don't.”

“What are you? My mother?” Maybe he's trying to be snarky, but his voice is tired and dull.

I put my hands on my hips, “I'm your healer and —”

“Save your breath.”

Maybe trying to order him around isn't the right way to go with this?

I could write Narcissa and make her force Draco down for dinner.
Or I could —
I'm saving his life, he practically owes me obedience, doesn't he?

“Draco,” I soften my voice and go closer to his bed, “You really should eat. Could you please join me for dinner tonight?”

“No.”

Fine!
He asked for this!

“Okay,”

I tear the blankets off from over him with one sharp shove.
That makes him sit up at a speed I’ve rarely seen him move anymore.

“Who the fuck do you think —”

“I don't /think/ anything! I /am/ your wife! And I am telling you to come dine with me downstairs. No, I don't care if you're tired or not in the mood. You - dine - with - me - tonight. So get your ass up and move.”

He should have considered this when he decided to petition my hand.
If he did not like it, it's not my problem! It was not me who asked to be tied to him in the first place.
He could have picked someone else, but he did not.
He married ME
and now he'll face the consequences!

He stares at me baffled as I march to the door and yank it open.
Instead of walking out, I remain there, keeping the door open for him, stubbornly refusing to rely on him following me.

I swear to God,
if he isn't moving himself I will damn well use magic to make him move.

He rolls his eyes like a bloody teenager and sweeps a hand impatiently through his hair.
Clearly at a loss of how to proceed, probably questioning his life choices and cursing me to the furthest corner of hell.
But he does get up and — still glaring at me gloomily — proceeds to walk out the door I'm holding open.

He isn't the most entertaining company that night.
Just eying me darkly and pushing his food around.
But he doesn't dare to not eat as Dipsy keeps fussing around him, making sure he likes everything that is served

But I fetch him every evening and eventually, he's waiting for me by the door.

It's like a ritual we go through.
Even though he probably would come by himself too, I still go get him.

At dinner, I keep up the conversation when he mostly just huffs and nods at my words.
I speak about my work days.
About conversations I have with the manor paintings about my muddy blood.

He looks displeased about the subject and the paintings start to avoid conversations with me after that.

I tell him all the misinformation I've found from Hogwarts a history
and sometimes even about our adventures during school years.

He grunts at me but I can tell by the look in his eyes, that sometimes he does find my stories mildly entertaining.
Sometimes I see him hold back a smile or a side remark.
And those moments keep me going.

Dinners are the only time we really have conversations.
When we're working with the curse, we don't talk.
Only concentrate on the task at hand.

I wouldn't be able to talk anyway when I'm working.
All my effort and magic is put into what I'm doing.
Into being fast enough to really make any difference.
I'm not even sure Draco understands how short we are on time.
How much of a race all this is.
He has said he knows we don't have much time.

But he doesn't see what I see.
I'm glad he doesn't.
Because I'm not sure he could keep positive enough after that.

I wish we had started sooner.
I wish I had fought more fiercely for him to let me help.
I wish I was more experienced and that I had more efficient ways to do this.

But this is the reality we live with.
And the reality is that the sand in his hourglass is running low and fast.

During our dinners, I refuse to think of the running time and try to keep him entertained and fed enough to float above the surface.

“Okay so, you can't tell this to anyone! I'm pretty sure I'd still get in trouble for it.”

He looks up from his plate, mildly curious.

I tell him about brewing polyjuice potion in the toilet in our second year.
I tell him about me turning into Millicent Bullstrode’s cat.
And about the tail that almost did not disappear.

It's exhilarating to see him get sucked into my story.
I see laughter in his eyes before it even graces his lips.
And almost squeal aloud when he snorts out a laugh.

Only hearing him laugh makes me laugh too.

The moment is almost absurd.
I don't even remember when was the last time I laughed like that.
It goes on and on as hysterical bursts of laughter.
Eventually, I'm not sure what I'm even laughing about anymore.
Every time I think it's about to stop our eyes meet and hysterical giggles roll from my lips again.

Maybe we've finally both gone crazy in the face of the hopeless task we are trying to conquer.

“Well, isn't this lovely.”

Draco snaps his mouth shut and giggles die on my lips as I turn towards the sound.

Blaize Zabini leans casually on the doorframe.
Looking at us with a knowing expression, that immediately irritates me.

What does he think he knows about us?
How long has he even been there?

“By all means, Zabini. Come in.” Based on his tone Draco is almost as irritated by this turn of events as I am, “Did your mother ever teach you any manners on how to visit someone's house?”

“Draco, don't be a spoilsport. If you wanted to keep us out maybe you shouldn't have given us free access to the floo.” Blaise only grins.

“You gave him free access to the floo?”

“Not just him! Equality, Grainger, equality.” Theo Nott rounds Zabini casually pulls himself a chair and lifts his feet on the dining table.

“Seriously?” Draco spreads his arms.

“Did I not tell you it's not a good idea!?” Pansy Parkinson is the last one to enter.
Heels, clicking on the stone floor as she leans to kiss Draco on the cheek.

I stare from Draco to his friends who have suddenly filled the room with new air.

This is the part of his life I know nothing about.
A part I've never even seen before.
These people have known him since he was a kid.
They've been his friends since childhood.
They know parts of him I'll never get to meet and they've been a part of his life long gone.

They know what he's like without Voldemort and war and this curse.

And I haven't even met them before today.

I mean I have!
We went to school together.
But not really.
Not after our arrangement and co-operation.
Not after I've become his wife.

I suppose he has met them during these months.
But I haven't kept tabs on everything he does.

“Care to clarify what the fuck you're doing here?”

Blaise clicks his tongue, “Who's the one to talk about manners Draco?” then he turns to me, “I'm sorry, we haven't been properly introduced—”

“You know who I am as I know who you are.” I cut him short.

Honestly, I don't have time to pretend we were not on the opposite sides of the war.
Might as well face things as they are.

“What a cold welcome.” Blaise is still grinning, “Theo heard something in the Ministry we thought might interest you. But since —”

“Sit down!” Draco orders with a low growl.
And to my surprise, Blaise pulls himself a chair and sits without snide remarks.

“We thought since you have this —” Pansy motions her long painted nail between me and Draco, “— arrangement. You should be the first to know.”

“Know what?” Draco snaps impatiently.

“The marriage act, or whatever that's called, apparently it's not working,” Theo says, inspecting his nails and not looking at either of us.

“Apparently they want to make sure people have gotten married for ‘the right reasons’,” Pansy continues.

During all this work with the curse, I had forgotten about the marriage law almost completely.
Now, the looks on the Slytherin's faces worry me a little.
As if I already knew our days of minding our own business would be over soon.

“They're planning to hold events for the happy couples.” Blaise explains, “Different occasions to monitor the matches made under the marriage act.”

Draco groans and bangs his forehead on the hardwood table.

“Events?” I ask my focus fully on the things they're saying.

Theo nods, “Attendance is mandatory and if they find out you're not fulfilling your marital duties they'll annul the marriage and make you find a new match.”

Across the table, Draco lifts his head to look at me.

New match?
To be taken away from here?
To break the contract we signed to become spouses?

I could probably still work on his curse.
But —

But he would not me my —

He would not be —

Mine

Somehow imagining him marrying someone else after what we've been through stings a little.

“No,” Draco says aloud what I was thinking, “I won't allow it.”

“I don't think they ask for permission.” Theo shrugs.

“What are they looking for? Do you know?” I ask, looking from Draco to Nott to Zabini to Parkinson.

“Connection? Effort on reproduction? Love? Who the fuck knows.” Pansy huffs humorlessly.

My eyes find Draco again.
So we need to convince them our marriage is for real?

“How often are they having these events?”

“I hear weekly,” Theo waves his feet, still up on the table.

Draco swears lowly.

“Granger,” Pansy has turned a focus on me, her cold features softening a little, “we care about Draco and really, we came here as soon as we heard because —”

“— You're the best chance he has, honey.” Blaise continues and I raise my eyebrows at him.

“So really we came to ask — to beg you —”

Draco tries to interrupt but I've already nodded, “I was never going to back down.”

“You need to be convincing.”

“I /know/ what we're up against,” I say firmly.

Truthfully, I don't.
But I know that this is just another challenge to take on.

We will break his curse
And convince the ministry officials we're in love while doing it.

As if nothing was wrong.

I hold my husband's gaze across the table
And everything else around us could disappear for all I care.

It's me and him.
We've come this far, we’re not going to give up now.

Chapter Text

Well, fuck.

I don't know when my slow crawl towards the end had turned into full-on war against what's killing me.

As if that wasn't enough, now they want to take away the one thing that's actually making me want to fight at all?

And now, in order to keep her, I have to pretend there's nothing wrong with me and that me and Granger are happily in love?
Or at least sleeping together due to their law?
When not so incredibly long ago we fought on opposite sides of a war?

Yeah, piece of cake.
No problem at all.

Her hand on my arm is soft and warm. Almost comforting.
If the situation wasn't so fucking impossible!

“It's going to be okay,” she says, when it absolutely will not be alright!

We both know it won't.

“No one will believe us.”

“Because you can't pretend you love me?”

I shake my head.
Pretending to love her would be the easiest part of this.

It's not that.

“They won't believe it. No matter if we weren't even acting in the first place,” I did not mean to say that, but the words escape before I can stop them.

“So then we won't try.”

So we give up? This is how we fail? She finds me so impossible to love she can't even try to pretend?!

Or was it me who said pretending is useless?

“I've already told everyone we were matched by the ministry and made a deal. It's enough that we get along!”

“Blaise said they want to make sure we ‘perform our marital duties?’”

“And if it's a deal we've made, who's to say we don't?”

Slowly her train of thought catches me too. And when it does, I feel stupid that I did not think of it before.

“As your mother said, the wizarding world is no stranger to arranged marriages. We have a much better chance to be believable if we don't try too hard.”

“Just stick as close to the truth as we can?”

It's actually a clever plan.
Something that we'd be able to pull out. We're on good enough terms to be in agreement of a deal.
And when it comes to the physical part of our relationship —

I let my eyes run up and down her figure — I suppose we're physically compatible too.

Somehow I can see us fit.

I can imagine fleeting caresses and meaningful looks with no effort at all.
I can imagine myself looking at her — like she was mine to have.

We're on the same side already.
On the same page.
Together in this fight against what's killing me.

We could do it.
And everyone — from ministry officials to our friends — would buy it.

She nods her head at me as if seeing my thought process as it unfolds.

“It's not the worst plan.”

It's not quite a compliment, but from me it's almost a praise.

She knows it.
I can see it from the way she beams at my words smugly.

“Brightest witch and all.”

“I said it's not the worst plan. Don't read too much into it.”

She flicks her hair back, “Oh, I know what it means.”

Blasted witch.

.
.
.

But honestly,
with my whole heart,
I have no fucking idea how I'm going to get off the bed and actually go to those events they're making us attend.

I don't know how I get my feet to move enough to even get to the front door.

Because if I thought I was unwell before we started working on the curse,
it was nothing compared to how I feel now.

It's like my life force leaking off of me.
Like every thread of magic she unravels, takes parts of me with it.

I'm not blaming her for that.
I'm not saying it's her who makes me feel like I want to give up and die every second we work.

I know it's not her. I know.

It doesn't make bearing it any easier.

She makes me go down to the dining hall and eat.
And every step burns like wildfire as I walk down the stairs.

But food makes my head clearer.
Her company makes my mind less dark.
And even the little amusement she can dig out of me takes the edge of the pain away.

So I go.

Really, I go because she makes me and won't fucking let it go.
But also because it does help.

It doesn't help enough to make me fit to go outside, though.

“Here,” she drops two white pills into my hand and looks at me expectantly.

“You think I'm just going to swallow something you give me without any explanation?”

She rolls her eyes and frowns.

I wait.

Because even though I could just take them — I do trust her enough to do that — I'm not going to give her the impression I've become her lap dog.

“They're Muggle painkillers.”

“And you assume they work better than magical because —?”

“It's magical what's fighting you. Made by someone who knows next to nothing about anything Muggle. Maybe we can go around it.”

She offers me more pills, “Here, I got you some vitamins also.”

I eye her warily.

“It won't hurt to try! It won't make you feel worse, I promise!”

“Well, I sure hope it doesn't!” I huff but throw the pills in my mouth anyway.

They need me in those events.

She needs me there.

So I have to try.

.
.
.

The Muggle meds help some.

FINE!
They help a lot because they mostly take the aches away.
I can move more, and getting up and off the bed is less of a struggle.

Before the first event, she gives me potions too.
Pepper-up and something that tastes like mud straight from the back of the manor.

She makes Dipsy get me new clothes and style my hair and scrub me clean with three or five different soaps.

I might whine and complain loudly every step of the way.

“Don't be such a child, Draco!” She tells me and maneuvers Dipsy to keep going.

“Who gave you the permission to boss me around?” I mutter.

And she doesn't even turn back to look at me before answering, “You did.”

I want to hate her for the attitude.
For the fucking smug certainty she has with me nowadays.

But when the door swings shut behind her, I don't think the feelings inside of me can be defined as ‘hate’.

Even I can't lie that well.

.
.
.

They start with a basic get together.

At Hogwarts, of course,
because what would be more neutral ground than the school we were divided into houses?

Sometimes I wonder if these people are stupid or just ignorant.

I do not wish to be back there.

The stone halls make my skin crawl.
The echoes of our footsteps bring back too many memories.
The whispers of the paintings on the walls ring in my head like they were screaming.

And the memories of the war get impossible to push away.

She could tell me my body isn't failing for a hundred times and I'd still feel like suffocating here.
I'd still feel like falling into a black void with no ladder back up to the surface.
I'd still feel like it took all of me to remain standing.

I glance at her by my side as we enter the hall.
She hides it well,
but I see how she curls her fingers into fists and squeezes.
I can see the concentration in her features and I know she must be making an effort to keep it together too.

“I don't like to be here,” she whispers for only me to hear.

I shake my head slightly, for only her to see, “No, neither do I.”

Almost subconsciously I turn my gloved fingers to her reach.
And not even looking in my direction, she moves her hand to take mine.
Reading my intention without seeing or uttering a word.

There was a time I would have stopped to consider the reasons either of us was acting the way we were.
But somehow the time has passed.

She's on my team now.
We do things for each other.

Because we're in this together.

As little as I want to admit it, it feels good.
I'm not sure if I've ever had anyone on my side.

By my side. Like she is now.

“Oi ‘mione!”

At least that sound is familiar.
I almost sneer but get my face in order just in time before Weasley approaches us.

Turns out I've found the best way to annoy the redhead without even meaning to because the way his face turns sickeningly green by the sight of our joined hands would be something Draco Malfoy in the past would have been proud of.

Ah, forget it!
I'm not that big of a person today either.
It is something I'm still proud of.

I have to hide a snort into a cough.
And by the way Hermione side-eyes me, I didn't succeed very well.

“We saved you a seat, come! The hall is exactly like before.”

Maybe they should have remade it?
After everything was smashed to pieces in the battle.
Maybe it shouldn't be like before because nothing was? Because no one was?

Weasley has already strode back to the hall without so much of a nod in my direction.

“Who's the lucky lady who got to marry him?” I ask, my eyes still at the doorway he just walked through.

“Hannah Abbot, she's —”

“I know who she is.” I interrupt her, “We shared a table in Charms since first year.”

The silence that follows makes me look at her.
There's a bizarre expression in her eyes that I have seen a couple of times before. Somehow it makes me feel like she's only recently started to realize I was more than the pureblood brat she always saw.

“Come on, Granger. You can't seriously think you knew all the sides of me back at school.”

“No,” she says with a thoughtful frown, “I'm beginning to realize I probably knew none of them.”

“My parents did teach me some social skills, you know.”

“Could have fooled me.”

I roll my eyes.

This isn't where I'm going to give her a big speech of apologies about how I behaved here.
This isn't my redemption
because I never deserved any redemption to begin with.

What I did and said and thought is something no words can make right.

She'll have my apology, but only after she can't tell me it's unnecessary.
Only after she can't tell me she forgives me. Only after I'd do it for selfish purposes.

She'll have it.
But I'll be gone by then.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts opens before us, and like the Weasel said, it's just like before.

Exactly like when we entered here for the first time.
All that feels like it happened at least five lifetimes ago.
All that mattered back then has long ago lost meaning.

All the way from the doors I can see they did ‘save her A seat.’

“It seems like I'm not welcome to sit with you.”

“Oh, you've got to be /kidding/ me!” She mutters eyes at the Gryffindor table, “hold on.”

Her hand leaves mine.
Fingers unhook around mine.
And it feels like my balance quavers without her keeping me grounded.

Pathetic…

I watch her go to her friends. Bend to hug Weaslette and squeeze Potter’s shoulder.

“Sit down, ‘mione.” Weasley offers impatiently, and I realize he's worried she won't.

“No, Ron. Thank you,” She says calmly, a soft smile still on her face, “but I'll go sit with my husband.”

She's not talking exceptionally loud,
but the words ring around me like she had announced it from the top of her lungs.

It's one thing what we call each other in private nowadays,
but completely another here.

She could have said ‘Malfoy’.
She could have said ‘him’.
She could have referred to me in any way really, and they would have known she meant me.

But ‘/my/ husband’ is her choice of words.
If I had time I'd dwell on how that makes me feel.
Now I can't.

“You don't have to, you know?” Weasley was never known for his wit, really.

It's like every ear nearby is listening as Hermione,
still calm and collected,
answers, “Yes, I know.”

She straightens her posture and flicks her curls back.
And every eye in the Gryffindor table is on her as she starts to walk towards the table furthest in the hall.

The one she would always have been least welcome to,

Ours — The Slytherin table.

I wait for her to have a head start before beginning to follow her.
Making sure my cane clicks loud enough to echo in the stunned silence her actions have laid upon the hall.

She doesn't look back to see if I'm following
And I relish in the faces of people who stare at her go.
Not even trying to quiet the voice in my head that whispers, “that's my girl.”

My wife, everyone.
My wife!

The people at other tables have noticed the silence of the lions, and they, too, are now watching Hermione go.
I smirk, not even bothering to hide it anymore.
People aren't looking at me anyway.

She walks straight to my friends, sitting on the far end of the table.
Greeting them in a similar manner she just did to her schooltime friends.

Blaise has already grabbed Pansy by the waist and pulled her closer to him to make room for both of us.

Theo looks like he's enjoying the situation almost as much as I am.
Studying people with glinting eyes.

“You decided it was time for a show?” Blaise asks Hermione playfully as she sits down.

She picks up a grape from the table and pops it between her lips before answering, “No. They did.”

Everyone in the room is staring at us.
Not even making an effort to try and hide it.

“I'm not going to sit in this hall and pretend nothing has changed,” she says loudly, “People died here to change the future. We owe them a change in our ways and attitudes.”

I glance at the ministry people at the teachers' table;
they study us with curious expressions too, so I put my hand on hers and lean to whisper, “I think you made your point.”

“I'm not just making a point. I'm setting an example,” she picks up another grape and smirks at me.

And even though I don't mean to!
I'm not supposed to!
And definitely do not give myself permission to,
when our eyes meet, a smirk raises to my face too.

We get through dinner and the stupid jokes my friends keep making,
actually with a lot less effort than I expected.

Her hand rests on my thigh almost the whole time.
Almost like a weight of reassurance keeping me grounded.

Or maybe it's herself she tries to keep grounded.

It works though.
And Gryffindors stare daggers at our back.
Which amuses me,
But not nearly as much as it amuses Blaise and Theo.

“What would happen if you kissed?” Theo asks thoughtfully after dessert.

“Weasley would probably explode. He looks like he's about to already,” Blaise peeks at them over my shoulder.

Granger frowns.

“Could you —”

“No!” We say simultaneously.

“You're no fun!” Theo protests.

“Why are we sitting here again?” She asks me as she side-eyes the others across the table.

“I believe you made that decision.”

“Would you have sat with them?” she tilts her head towards where her friends are sitting.

If that's what it took.

“Whatever makes you happy, wife.”

She rolls her eyes, “Their jokes are worse.”

I know she wouldn't have made me sit with them anyway.

“Whatever, my lady—”

“Shut up, Draco!”

I smirk.
She gives me a look that only Granger can give.

“You enjoy this way too much.”

“I assure you, I do not.”

She looks around the hall, “Do you think we can leave?”

I don't know.
They gave us no timeframe or guidelines on how to act.
We were not given any sort of advice on where to sit or how long to stay.
Or if we should talk to the officials in the first place.

“I'd like to see them try and stop us.” Pansy flips her shining hair and stands up.

When no one proceeds to follow her, she throws her hands to the sides impatiently, “Are you coming or what?”

At that, we all, first Hermione, then myself, Blaise, and Theo, stand up.

Pansy hooks her hand in Granger's arm
and they lead us outside as one unit.

Attracting all the attention I don't think we wanted to attract.

No one tries to stop us before the entrance hall.
Not before Granger informs us she wants to say hi to ‘Minerva’ now that she's here.

“You go ahead.” She tells me, “You need to rest.”

I glance back to the hall, from where the ministry people can still see us.
And think of apparating alone to the manor.

I could ask Pansy to take me.
Or Theo or Blaise, really.

But somehow, it feels wrong to let her go alone.
She doesn't like to be here any more than I do.

“I'll come with you.”

I know it's a bad idea when we leave the others to go home while we climb the stairs to the upper floors.

The Great Hall I could take,
but the corridors are a different matter.

The further we go, the more the castle halls start to feel like a trap.

Like the walls wanted to warn me of something.
Like everything from the ominous feeling to the returning ache in my bones tried to tell me to turn around and leave before something bad was about to happen.

We turn around the corner.
And she stops in her tracks as if she saw a ghost.

I stop too.
Ready to ask her what's the matter.
To tell her we're not going to spend here a minute more than we have to.

But before words leave my mouth, I realize where we are.

That corner
And this corridor.
Slowly I turn

and then Dolohov stands before me again.
Pointing his wand at my chest,
sentencing me to certain death.

I can still recall how I felt when the curse hit me.
Can still feel the echo of the realization of what I did.

And I still remember how I glanced behind.
How I had to see for myself — that she got away.
I had to make sure what I did was not for nothing.

The day this memory is from, she did.
She had been gone already when I looked.
Out of the way, safe for the time being.

Today she's still standing there.
Staring at me with eyes wide.

“Draco —” her voice is small and trembling.
And I know she realized it.
I know from the look on her face that she knows now.

“You —”

I never wanted her to know.
She was never supposed to find out.
I was never going to hold her in debt for what I did for her.

Her fingers touch my arm softly.
And I don't want to, but I have to look down at her.
I don't know why, but somehow none of my secrets are safe when she stands close with her hand on my arm like that.

‘Yes, I did take the curse for you!’
I want to scream from the top of my lungs.
‘No, I do not know why! What the fuck do you expect me to say!?’

“Let's go,” she turns back and pulls me with her as if she had just changed her mind.

“I thought —”

“No,” she says firmly, walking ahead, shaking her head so that her curls bounce, “We've wasted enough time.”

We don't talk all the way home.
She doesn't drop my arm, but drags me along,
and somehow I feel like I should stop her.

But after what she just found out,
Maybe I owe her silence.

“Dipsy!” She yells the minute we enter the manor.
I almost jump at the sound.

“Yes, Miss?” Dipsy pops in. “Good day, Master Draco, you look well.”

“We will eat in the library from now on,” Hermione continues walking,
pulling me along, talking with a tight ordering voice.

I wonder if she finally lost her cool completely.

“Library? But Miss—”

“We don't have time to waste by dining in the hall.”

“Granger—”

She yanks open the library door and marches in,
practically throws me on the armchair, and sits down on her working chair.

“We need to keep working,” she pulls out her wand and still doesn't meet my eyes.

And suddenly I realize what's happening. Suddenly it dawns on me what she's doing.

“It's pretty late already, you know.”

“It's not.”

“I think we should—”

“Shut up, Draco!” she snaps, “Just shut up and let me continue with—”

Her hands are shaking, I realize.
Her breathing sounds shallow too.

“Granger, I don't think—”

It's like my words don't register in her brain. Her eyes look a bit hazy too, gleaming weirdly.

“Granger,” I take a hold of her wand, “Stop.”

When she finally looks at me, she looks a little out of her mind.
Biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed, that desperate gleam now evident in her gaze.

She lifts a hand to her mouth to choke a sob, and then before me in the dimly lit library,
the unbreakable breaks down.

Her wand drops from her hand and her posture collapses as she begins to cry.
As she crumbles completely.

And internally I panic.

What the fuck am I to do?
I've never been good at comforting anyone! I've barely been comforted myself by anyone besides my mother.
And I'm the reason for this misery, who am I to try and make it okay?

She has covered her face with her hands, shaking now all over.

What if I just left?

I can't leave her like this! What a stupid idea!

“Granger,” I try again, “Hermione, calm down.”

She starts to shake her head violently, “I can't— you — I—”

Fuck.
Okay.
What?
What do people do in situations like this?

Hug?

I get up with considerable effort.
She doesn't seem to even notice I moved.

Maybe it's damn cringe and fucking awkward, but it's the only thing I can think of doing.

So I extend my arms
and pull her to me,
against my chest,
getting a mouthful of her hair in the process.

Maybe it's better if I don't try to talk too much?

So I just hold her.
Let her cry against my chest,
getting my fine shirt soaked with tears. (As if it mattered.)

I stand still,
holding her to me until her sobs fade and shaking stops.
Until her breathing evens up and she encircles her hands around my chest.

I don't try to let go of her.
Or ask if she has calmed down.
Only inhale the scent of her hair as she breathes in and out against my chest.

As if trying to postpone the conversation we need to have eventually.
As if staying in the bubble of our calm.
Where I'm here for her.
Where she finds comfort in my arms.

And the scent of her shampoo encircles around me so tight I feel like it might sink all the way into my soul.

Chapter Text

It should be me.

It should be me, not him.
It would have been me if not for him.

How am I supposed to live with that?
How am I supposed to rest when he's dying in my place?

“Why?” I ask desperately against his shirt, wet from my tears now.

He doesn't answer so I struggle further.
My arms are still holding onto him
but I need to see his face.

The expression he wears is unreadable.
Like pain, but not quite.
Like anguish, but only almost.
Like comfort, but not enough to reach me.

“You hated me. Why would you —”

Take a lethal curse for me?
Die for me?
Save me?

“Honestly,” he answers, voice bleak, “I do not know.”

I'm not sure how that makes me feel.
But I do believe him.

“I was not yours to save.”

“And what then?” There's a tint of rising irritation in his words, “I knew what curse he was going to use. I've seen it born. What would you have done?”

“I can't—”

“You had /hope/, Granger! You had a life! What did I have? A poisoned past and a bad reputation?”

“You could have —”

The worst part of trying to retort to his words is the fact that I know what his comebacks will be.

“Yes, I could have. But I needed to make a choice then. And this was mine.”

“You shouldn't —”

He pushes me further angrily.
Unhooking the embrace and leaving me cold and lonely.

“Yes. That's what people have told me all my life. ‘Draco, you should.’ Do you know how many times have I been able to make a decision about my actions myself? How often was I free to choose? Never!”

And he's trying to tell me this was the one he wanted to make?

“But that one time I could! I chose to save you. Besides what would you have done if you got hit with it?”

An unknown curse that felt like eating me up inside…

“Who would have weaved the threads of your magic back to save you? Would they even have had time when they found out?” His eyes are stormy and the muscles on his face tense, “Who would have figured out there was Dementor magic making it almost impossible to stay hopeful while working?”

He's right and I don't want to admit it.
The curse would have killed me almost certainly.

And even though he did not know it then, now we at least got the chance to fight it.

So I take a deep breath.
Calm my nerves and my breathing.
Close my eyes slowly and open them again before telling him,

“Thank you.”

He huffs, “I don't want your gratitude. I don't deserve it.”

I take his hand, “but you do.”

It feels like our eyes meet for the first time.
Like I see him only now.
Like there’s sincerity behind the silver I never knew to look for before.

Like every mask has now been removed
and I'm seeing the boy he always was within.

And that boy —
That bright, honest, devoted boy —
was worth saving.

I pull him to me.
His hands encircling back around me,
closing the distance between us.

It's an embrace of two people completely different from this morning.

Warm and safe and certain.

It's like the world tilting on its axis.

Like hope
and a new beginning.

I inhale the scent of his fine soap.
And I think I feel something for him

Something I did not feel before.
Something I can't put a name on right now.

Something I'm not sure I should even explore.

Not before we've beaten the curse anyway.

.
.
.

His friends start to visit more.

I'm not sure if Draco really appreciates it.
Or if we're really very good company because we spend almost all the time we have in the library working.

But they sit casually in the dining hall or in the lounge.

Feet up on tables or sofas.
Reading, chatting, playing chess,
just casually hanging around.
Like this was the Slytherin common room.

Dipsy seems to like having them around.
And they don't really bother me either.

Sometimes when Draco goes up to sleep after an exhausting day, I sit for a few hours in their company.

And quite honestly,
I begin to enjoy their sarcastic comebacks and blunt way of talking about things.

Daphne Greengrass, Blaise’s wife, braids my hair in different styles every evening.
Always remembering to mention how jealous she always was of my hair.

Blaise and Theo tell stories about their Hogwarts years.
And I realised I was so deep in our own adventures and studies that I had never thought how those years were for everyone else.

How it was outside of our bubble of keeping Harry alive and sane year after year after year.

Sometimes Pansy speaks about how it was to grow up Pureblood.
How Draco was when they were kids, and what the dark year of war did to each of them.

Other times we barely talk at all.

Draco joins us sometimes too.
Dozing off on the sofa and waking again to make a snide remark.

If not for the curse,
I think I might be happy here.

If not for the curse,
I wouldn't hate being married to Draco Malfoy.

If not for the curse,
I could get used to this…

.
.
.

Then there are the Ministry events.

The ones that require hours of effort to get Draco even to the state of attending.
I pump potions and painkillers into his system.
Hide the shadows under his eyes and the paleness of his skin into well-placed glamours.

And hold his hand, hoping it's enough to keep him upright and going.

A week after the Hogwarts disaster they arrange a party by a lake.
A picturesque villa with a large summer terrace waits for us when we apparate to the spot on the invite.

Draco swears silently.

“Maybe it's enough if we stay an hour,” I whisper as we walk closer.

“I prefer, like fifteen minutes.”

“Come on, Draco” Blaise pats him on the back unnecessarily hard, “It might be fun.”

We all know it won't be.

But
In a different life
In different circumstances —

We sit on a patio chatting lightly with people.
Draco positions himself on a divan-like sun chair and pulls me to sit between his legs.

Like lovers would.

He acts laid back and casual, drawing circles in my lower back with his index finger finger.

Like someone who couldn't keep his hands off.

Shivers run through my spine making my skin tingle.
I cross my legs with a rabid motion, somehow out of breath all of a sudden,
my thoughts, disoriented and uncomfortably unorganized.

“Hermione,” Harry is there again, I blink up at him, “How are you doing? Okay?”

Draco's hand stops to rest on the small of my back.
I gather my thoughts two seconds more than necessary, “Hi, Harry. Yeah, I'm good. Great! How are things?”

He eyes from Draco to other Slytherin's.

“Don't be shy Potter.” Theo puts a hand on Harry's shoulder — he shakes it off immediately, “Have yourself a seat and enjoy the quality of our company yourself!”

Harry looks lost.
I'm not sure if I should feel bad for him.

“The jokes on Gryffindor are worse.” I shrug innocently.

“Yeah, no thanks. See you around ‘mione”

Maybe I should tell them the truth?
But what would I say when I did not know what the truth was myself either anymore?

.
.
.

I dodge their coffee invites and questions for a couple of weeks.

Until Ginny — of course, they made Ginny come — comes to the manor herself.

I offered her tea and biscuits Dipsy had just cooked.

Ginny eyes the elf as it happily sets the table and disappears.

“Okay, what's going on?” She asks me immediately after Dipsy has gone,
“I know you said you two have some sort of a deal, but have you seen how he looks at you!?”

How does he look at me?
Have I noticed?
How would I know!?

Keeping my cool I shrug, “We get along.”

“And?” She arches her bows.

“And — what?”

Everything from my tone to my expressions is just well well-placed act.

“What was the deal you made?” Ginny leans forward eagerly.

I'm sure I know what she wants to hear.

I give her a sly smile, “That he minds his business and I mind mine.”

“Until you became his business?” She looks like she's going to burst out of her skin, “I mean, I don't blame you! He's kinda hot. In a pale aloof way—”

Yeah.
And he's /my/ husband!
Mind who you call ‘hot’ Mrs. Potter!

I smack her arm, “Ginny!”

“Don't you think? I mean he looks like he's lost some weight but maybe those quidditch muscles—”

I cover her mouth and giggle.
And maybe all of it isn't an act.

Although what's between me and Draco isn't light at all.
Isn't anything to giggle about at all.

“Harry and Ron think it's a scam. That he's using you somehow,”

The laughter dies on my lips and I hunch back into my chair.

Of course, they would.
Have I not proven myself enough?
Have I not been to hell and back with them?
And did I need a hero to save me?

No!
(Except I did but I did not know that until recently)

Anyway! Harry and Ron had no right to think I was some sort of damsel in distress!

“Yeah, because when was I able to think for myself, huh?”

“I told them that. I also said out of you three you're the one least likely to get scammed. Especially by someone like Malfoy. But Ron said something about you ‘always having had a thing of defending that ferret.’”

Huh? Always?
Really?

I guess I did defend him once or twice at school.
I guess I told Harry he's delusional when he said Draco has become a Death Eater.

Although I was also wrong about that…

“Anyway, tell me. Is he good?” Ginny smiles suggestively.

What the hell woman!?
It's my husband we're talking about!
Our private life, you want me to spread it open?
It's private for a reason!

(Also nonexistent, but IF it was happening it would be private!)

“Ginvera!” I smack her again as she laughs her heart out.

But somehow, the words Ron had said, stay with me,
even after Ginny has gone home.

I had defended Malfoy.
Even when I hated him as much as he hated me.

And Draco had taken the curse for me.
Even when he did not like me any better.

Curious

.
.
.

The next couple of events are pretty light.

Some coffee meeting and a trip to Hogsmead, which is actually nice.

Even Draco seems to enjoy himself a little in the middle of the candy piles in Honeydukes.

Only a little.
Like 10 percent.
But it's something.

And I do still remember the curse is easier to break when he's happy — happier.

But of course, the light and easy events are a trap.

“A ball?” Draco falls back in his chair, covering his face and groaning dramatically, “a fucking dance ball?”

Based on Slytherin's reaction alone, there's something I probably don't know about dance balls in the wizarding world.

“Is it a big deal? We dress formally and dance a few songs?” I spread my arms so they'd explain the frowns.

“How many have you been to?” Blaise asks.

“Like,” I shrug, “We all were at the Yule Ball, right?”

“Okay, no,” Pansy throws her hands up in the air, “listen, Granger. We were raised in a world of all sorts of elite Pureblood events, we don't simply put on formal clothes and dance a few dances.”

“When we were kids, a Dance Ball was a huge event. Preparations and plans took weeks because everyone wanted to prove they were the prettiest and wealthiest and most thriving house of all. It's a show-off. An elite event to show your family was still fit to belong to the upper class.” Daphne continues.

“It's a trap.” Draco points out gloomily, “They want us to think we can slide with as little effort as we can and then claim we're acting because if we weren't we'd do the ball like our families.”

“So we don't?” Pansy continues inspecting her nails by the dining table.

“I'm not going to dress up and —” Draco begins

But he is,

Because on the day of the ball, Pansy and Daphne snatch me with them and tell Dipsy that the boys need to be fit for a dance ball by evening. I add Dipsy should not listen to their complaints about the situation and make sure they're presentable.

I've been to a couple of formal events after the war.
For one, I even got my hair done in a salon.
But the beauty routines Daph and Pansy make me go through are out of this world.

There are a million soaps and hundreds of creams I need to rub on my skin.
The make-up consists of items I've never even seen used.
And I don't even know what they do to my hair and what's the name of everything they pour into it.

But at the end of it, I look at myself in the mirror and take a deep breath.

In my midnight blue gown, my hair curly but sleek, my nails done and skin glowing, I look like a Pureblood wife.

I look like the Mistress of this Manor.
I look like Mrs. Malfoy.

Royal
Powerful
Beautiful

At Yule Ball, I felt like out of my skin.
I looked beautiful but I did not feel like myself.

Today I feel like the Slytherin girls knew exactly how to paint the outline of me.
How to take the plain old Hermione Granger and set her on fire instead of covering her up.

I don't even know what to say.
Like a simple “thank you” would be too little.

“What would I do without you?” I say, turning in front of the mirror.

“Fail,” Pansy says simply.

.
.
.

The Ministry ballroom is a royally elegant place.
Chandeliers sparkle on the ceiling and heels click on marble floors.

But the champagne flute is already slipping in my sweaty hands and we've only just arrived.

I wish I was more drunk maybe that would ease my nerves.

“Where are the boys?”

I hope they'll be here!
We don't have time to waste on Draco's stubbornness.
If the ministry decides we're not fit for each other —

I almost drop the flute.

I don't know what they've done.
But the man by the door looks like the joint effort of Blaise, Theo and Dipsy managed to do what I've tried to do for weeks already.

Because there's no trace of a lethal curse in Draco's demeanour as he walks into the hall.
He's still holding the cane.
But it certainly doesn't look like he needs it for support.

He looks like what he is: the young leader of two great houses.

I knew he was a good actor.
But with all that glow-up, he really outdoes himself.

Ginny was right,
he does look good.
Better than good.
And I realize there are butterflies in my stomach as we start to approach them.

He spots me from a distance.
And everything, from the expression on his face to the glow in his eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips —
It's like we're in a dream.
Or a parallel universe that we've suddenly jumped into.
In something that exists only within these walls and only for tonight.

I reach him and give him a smile.
And he puts a hand on the small of my back and leans to whisper, “You look beautiful.”

Ah, fuck.
I don't know what's wrong with me, but somehow his words throw me off guard completely.

My heart speeds up and butterflies in my stomach start a rave party.
I feel heat rising to my cheeks and my ears feel hot too.

Don't blush, it doesn't suit your role. I try to think, but I don't think it helps.

I could tell him, likewise.
I could compliment him
I could tell him I'm happy to see him
But as so often before I use blunt reality and rationality to calm my own running mind,
“What did they give you? How many hours do we have?”

“Trust me, you don't want to know. Probably two hours or so.”

I can feel the movement of his lips on my skin and it makes it almost impossible to think straight.

“You think it's enough?” I hiss, trying to regain control.

“I think we need at least three,” his eyes roam around the crowd on the dance floor.

“Then we'll have three.”

“Whatever, but then my death is in your hands.”

“It already is.”

I notice very soon that we did the right thing.
I can tell at first glance who had been on a pureblood ball before and who hadn't.
If we had tried to get away with anything else than we are now, they would have noticed.
We would have raised suspicions.

We still do — among my friends especially.
But hopefully not among the Ministry people.

We chat lightly with people.
We get drinks and small fancy snacks and pretend to be all posh and fine.

It's almost laughable.
Like a scene in a play I'm acting in.
Or the sequence of a dream where I watch myself in the shoes of an elegant lady.

Our two hours have almost passed when Pansy tells all of us, “We need to dance.”

Draco sighs and I glance at the dance floor.

I've danced formally once — with Victor at the Yule Ball.

It's been years.

I'm just about to tell him maybe we don't have to, but he offers me a hand.
I stare at it.

His pale elegant fingers, without gloves.
As if he was offering me himself — without armour.

“A gentleman doesn't dance with his wife with gloves on.” He tells me, having spotted my reaction.

Of course.
It's just something he /has/ to do.
I put my hand in his and let him lead me to the dancefloor.

“I don't know how to dance like that,” I tell him as the band starts to play a slow waltz and people around us start to dance.

The sounds of wistful piano and violin carving their way straight to my skin.
Making shivers run down my spine and filling the air with the magic of music.

“You're lucky I do.” He says, putting his hand on my waist and pulling me closer, “Just follow my lead.”

I'm about to tell him I don't think it's that simple.
I'm about to say maybe we should just sway a little.
I'm about to tell him that maybe it's enough if we're here for this one song.

But we're already dancing.
And excuse my language, but fucking hell, he knows how to dance.

He knows how to lead too.

“Don't think so much Granger.” He tells me.
And for some reason, I do as he tells me and follow his lead.

Step by step
Turn by turn
We melt into the music.

It feels like I'm flying
or floating on air.
Like I was air-light in his hands.

I've heard someone compare music to magic before but I never got the point

before this moment.

People around us fade.
And eventually, it's only me and him,
The glitter of the chandeliers and the flow of music.

His arms guide me on,
holding my hand as he spins me around.
His eyes, calmly on me the whole time.

As if someone cast a spell on us.
Built a bubble where only we exist.

As if in this dream I belonged to him.
As if we were more than friends and allies.
As if we were real.

Not a deal signed on paper.
Not chosen only to buy time.

We slow down with the music.
But his eyes still linger on me.

And I think that maybe
Maybe it was us who chose each other.

Maybe I did choose him,
Long before the law or even the war.
Maybe I did choose him when I told Harry he's delusional and Malfoy is up to nothing

Maybe I did

But I know for certain, as I drown in the feel of his hands on me, that he chose me.

He chose me.
Not because of any duty or selfish gain.
Not because he adored and loved me.
Not to get anything himself.

He picked my life over his.

He picked me once then.
And then another time to petition my hand.

He did not pick me to save him.
When we made our deal and I moved into the manor, he was ready to die.
He did not pick me, so I could save him.
Or to gain anything but peace from prying eyes.

He had even told my dad he planned to leave his inheritance to me.

I tilt my head and his hand lifts to the side of my face.
Butterflies dance in my stomach and my feet feel faint.
I feel faint.

Until his lips are on mine.
And I feel only right.

The kiss — the first we ever share — isn't for show.
I'm only vaguely aware of where we are anymore.

It's not for anyone else.
Only us.

His lips are cool on mine.
But his hands steady.
And he kisses me like he means to kiss me.

Like a lover would.

He kisses me like you'd kiss a girl you just danced to the heavens with.
With a kiss that tastes like red wine and fine chocolate

And holds a promise of more.

It's a kiss you'll remember weeks and weeks afterwards and it still makes your toes curl and knees weak.

Not a kiss of someone who's dying,
But someone who relishes in their life.

When it ends, his hand stays on my face.
His face, only inches from mine.
I keep my eyes closed, breathing his air,
hoping he'd kiss me again.

“We're leaving.” He speaks almost against my lips.

Honestly, I have no idea if our time is up.
Or if it's responsible in any way to leave with him after a kiss like that.

But I want to get away.
I want him to kiss me again.
I want —

But as we walk to the apparating point, his hand stays around my waist.
Keeping me as close to him as possible — I realize this can not go the way I want it to.

I can't allow it.

If we have any sense in us.
We can not take it further.

I can want,
but I shouldn't act on it.
I can yearn, but only that.
I can dream and fantasize

Not a thing more.
Not an inch closer.

We apparate straight to the hall.

He's still close.
His body against me.
Still holding on to me

And I can only imagine it's because he's as reluctant to let me go as I am him.

“Draco,” I whisper in the darkness of the manor.

“Don't,” he tells me with a sigh, leaning so close his nose touches my cheek and inhaling deeply, “Let me have this.”

He breathes in and then lets out a long exhale, “Let me walk you home, Granger.”

I'd point out we are home.
But I don't dare,
Scared the spell breaks if I speak, so I only nod.

He holds my hand lightly as we make our way to my bedroom door.
Spins me almost gently to look at him once there.

“Would you —” I start

But he puts a finger over my lips.

“This is as far as I go. Let’s not even bring an option to the table, okay?”

I want to argue, but he's right.

“Just let me have this,” he whispers, “I know tomorrow we have to wake up to the reality again. But let's just have this night, as if we were characters of a romance novel. Just a girl and a boy who have just met. And I get to walk you home and kiss you goodnight.”

Yes, let's live in this beautiful, written dream.
Let's not analyse and overthink.

Tomorrow we have work to do again.

“Does this story have a happy ending?” I ask slowly.

He shrugs, “I've heard it might be a tragedy.”

“I hope not,” I say before leaning to him.

He hooks a hand around my waist, pulls me close effortlessly
and kisses me softly on the lips, “Goodnight, Hermione.”

And just for tonight, I go to bed as just a girl who's met a boy.
A girl with butterflies still flipping in her stomach and her lips still tingling from the contact with his.
A girl with a new infatuation and hope that maybe tomorrow he'll call.
Hope that they'll get to meet again
And explore this further.

Just for tonight, I'm a girl who falls asleep to dream of pink butterflies and his eyes.
Just for tonight, I let myself get absorbed in the feeling of falling for someone.

Just for tonight.

Chapter Text

I was over desiring anything anymore.
The fight, first to die in peace and then to not die, was all I was in for.

I was over enjoyment and pleasure.

Except when she melts in my arms with the music.
Except when it's only me and this unearthly beauty in front of me.
Except when our lips make contact.

I want it all.
I want it
badly.

I've never kissed anyone like her.
Frankly, it feels like I've never kissed at all before her.
It feels like my heart will stop and my body give up altogether — except not in a bad way.
Any minute now I'm going to die and zoom straight to heaven where there's light and love and music and laughter.

If I could just keep kissing her.
If I could freeze time and seize this moment to live in it forever.

Only when her lips are on mine I realise I've lied to myself.
I've lied and lied and lied so many times that I actually thought my lie to be true.

I never hated her.

I never petitioned her just to buy time.
I never looked up every article any paper wrote about her just because I took a curse for her.

I wanted her.

Nothing, not even to live, more than her.

I
wanted
her

And I could not have her.
Not more than a moment.

Tragic.
But was I not used to tragedy already?

So I do the bravest and most noble thing I've ever done,
and walk away from her.

Into my own room, with the feel of her lips still on mine.

Someone might argue I've done more noble things, like saving her life, but no.
I did not think about what I was doing then.
I acted purely out of impulse.

But this time
I consciously walk away,
when all of me wants to stay,
that’s what real courage is about!

.
.
.

We're on the front page of The Daily Prophet the next day.

I did not know someone was taking photos.
But there we are, in the middle of a dancing crowd, looking like we see only each other.

And the headline isn't even about us!
The ministry has made us two some sort of heads of their Marriage law campaign. Trying to prove they're doing the right thing.
Showing people even opposites like me and Granger can this way find something beautiful.

Yes, she is beautiful.
In the picture as she was last night before me.
As she is now, as we sit at the breakfast table, staring at the picture of us kissing.

I'm not saying I don't look good in that picture.
But I'm only the moon
reflecting her light.

“Hmph,” she huffs, “They should have made us the front page news, not the law.”

YES!
That's what I said, didn't I?
Me and her having a romance would have made far more interesting headlines than the stupid marriage act.

She looks at the picture again, “At least we look good. I did not know we were photographed,”

I shake my head.
Neither did I.

Dipsy pops in with a puff of white smoke.
The Prophet tightly in her hand, “Mistress and Master, What a great morning indeed! Dipsy saw! Yes, she did! She saw Mistress Hermione and Master Draco have finally —”

“It's not real, Dipsy,” Granger says rapidly and before I can catch myself I throw a glance in her direction.

What do you mean “not real”?
It was fucking real when we were in it!
It's not an act that's for sure.
Any random person can tell from the picture alone it's not an act.

“At least not in the way you think it is,” she adds without noticing my stare.

But Dipsy seems to not be listening, “Dipsy went to Bobby first thing in the morning to show what Dipsy has been saying for /months/,”

Hold on —

“Who's Bobby?” Granger asks as if that was the most important thing here.

“The Parkinson elf,” I mutter, waving my hand to try and get her to focus.

“Yes!” Dipsy squeaks, “and then Dipsy went to Hogwarts.”

Great, we're the gossip of the day.

“Okay,” Granger looks like she might be holding a smile.

Personally, I don't find this very funny at all.

I have enough work with trying to keep myself up and going,
plus keeping away from Granger and stopping myself from thinking how very much I'd like to kiss her again.

And again
And again
And never fucking stop.

Now I have to put up with my house elf running around the world waving that blasted paper to everyone's face.

“Then Dipsy went to mistress Narcissa. And she said —”

I bang my head against the table and don't hear what my mother has said.

I don't want to know.
I want to sleep,
bury myself into the sheets in my dark room and not get up for a week or so.

Or take Granger to bed with me and not sleep at all…

I'd prefer that, actually.
But since I can't do that, sleep is my sole focus.

Granger is by me in seconds.
Her warm hand on my shoulder.
“Draco, are you okay?”

No

I was not okay before.
I'm even less okay now.

But we have no time to waste, so I straighten my back.
Won't look her in the eyes but nod, “Fine, let's get back to work.”

I manage fine, staying close to her and keeping it like it was before.
For the time it takes us to walk into the library and get to work.

Then she touches me
and the thoughts in my head make a somersault, throwing me straight back to the emotional turmoil of the previous evening.

It's like a lightning strike.
Like an immediate throwback to the dark corridor, her hand on my arm and lips on mine.

Oh, the things I'd give up to get back to that.

The contact pauses her, too.
And her eyes shine as our eyes meet.

But she blinks, clears her throat and straightens her back, “Okay, I'm going to begin.”

We're back on track

or she is.
I'm still a mess.

.
.
.

“Okay, spit it out,” Pansy confronts me only two days later.

Granger left for two hours and told me to rest.
My friends seem to ignore her orders, instead they find this the optimal time to throw me a third degree.

I lie on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, knowing they're all looking at me.

“What?”

“Come on, mate. You know what she means,” Theo states impatiently.

I close my eyes, “No idea.”

I know what she means.
I'm not ready to talk about it.

“So last Saturday?” Pansy clicks her nails against the tabletop

“Stop tiptoeing around y'all!” Blaise sighs loudly, “Did you fuck her or not?”

Are they stupid?
What the fuck do they think of me?

I open my eyes and look at them.
Everyone stares at me unblinking.

Apparently the worst.
Should have guessed.

“On this condition?” I manoeuvre my failing body, “Do I look like I'm capable of doing that?”

“It did not seem to bother you back there on the dancefloor,” Theo points out.

“Well, it did. Which part of “lethal” is hard for you to understand?”

“Would you have if you knew you could?” Blaise leans forward with a knowing look.

I roll my eyes and return to staring at the ceiling.

“Is that even a question?” Pansy snaps at him.

“No, I want him to answer. Would you have, Draco?”

Some people just don't know when to stop.
I snap my mouth shut and close my eyes again.

“Because Merlin forbid, I would have if I were you.”

Shut the fuck up, Zabini.
She's /my/ wife!
Mine
Don't you dare!

“Fuck you, Zabini.”

“I'm just saying I would have —”

“Fine!” I jump up into a sitting position so fast black dots swim in my vision, “I would have. I would probably /still/ be in bed with her if I could. I would fuck her on every surface of this fucking house if I could and she'd have me.”

Daphne clears her throat.
And I snap my mouth shut.

I know before looking what's happening and still turn to see the crash happen.

Granger is standing by the door.
The expression on her face is something like a mix of surprise and horror.
As if she didn't know if she should be sorry for eavesdropping or furious about the way we talk about her when she's not here.

Fuck.
I did not think I had any chances on her.
But now —
Now I know I don't.

“You got the answer you wanted, Zabini?” Hermione asks with her voice cold as ice that chills my insides.

“Granger, how nice of you to join us,” Theo steps in front of her, and Blaise just won't stop fucking smirking.

“You should leave,” She says slowly.
Emphasizing every word.

“Yes, we should,” Pansy stands up, “call me later, Granger.”

She pulls the others with her and I stand up to follow them.

“Not you, Malfoy,” Granger grips my arm when I try to walk past her.

So, it's Malfoy now?
Well, at least I don't have to question my choices from now on since she'll want to stay away anyway.

Slytherin's are out the door
and she's still gripping my arm.
Staring daggers at me.

I wonder how big of trouble I have gotten myself into?

They asked!
It's not really me she should be angry at.

“‘On every surface of this fucking house’?” She talks with a strangled tight voice.
As if holding something back.

“It's not what you —” I begin, but realize it's exactly what she thinks.

“‘On every surface of this fucking house’?” Her eyes are dark like an approaching storm.

And all I want to do is to harness that storm
and my own roaring hunger for her.
To grab her face between my hands and kiss her like I meant it.
To prove her every word she overheard was true.
Not some boasting between friends.
True.

To show her every fucking second close to her without being able to touch her is a fucking torture.

To tell her every cell in my body that isn't completely consumed by the curse aches for her.

I want her so bad I have no idea which part of my suffering is because of the curse and which part is my yearning for her.

“Look, Granger, I'm sorry I —”

She takes a deep breath.
Maybe to calm her nerves.
Maybe to stop herself from hexing my balls off.
Maybe to gather her thoughts.

“You were the one to ask for us to ignore it.”

“Yes! Because I'm —”

“I /know/ your condition, Draco! I'm the one trying to mend it too. Have you forgotten? I /know/ what's happening in your system.”

“Then you know we're not any closer to breaking the curse. Are we?”

“I —”

I put my hand on hers, still having a hold on my arm and unhook her fingers one by one, “I'm still dying, Granger. You know it as well as I do.”

I hold her fingers and she glances at our joined hands.

“It doesn't matter what I want,” I say, dropping her hand, “I can not have it anyway.”

Her eyes gleam now
and I look away.
I can not possibly bear to see her cry because of me again.

Not because of this.

“What about what I want?” She whispers fiercely.

“You want to save me,” I tell her, taking a step to walk around her, “because that's who you are.”

I take another step.
But she grabs me again, flips me back to face her with surprisingly little effort, glides her hand to the back of my neck

and before I get myself in control to pull back,
she has pulled me in for a kiss.

Her hand, hooked to my neck, pulling my lips against her with force.
Her other hand grips the side of my shirt, tangling into the fabric, pulling my body against hers.

Much closer than we were before.

I can feel the heat of her body.
And her curves against me.

If I was a perfect person, I'd stop it right there.
I'd step back before she could feel exactly how much I wanted her.
I'd tell her I don't want her,
not the way she wants me to want her.

But close like we are now.
My body, reacting the way it is now — she would never believe me.

So I kiss her back with heat similar to hers.
Let my hands feel her in my arms.
Close my eyes and throw myself into the hurricane of emotions she makes me feel.

Fuck the curse
Fuck decency
Fuck time limits and noble ideas
Fuck self-doubt and precautions
We only have this moment

She sighs against my lips and I think I might lose my mind.
Or pass out

Oh fuck
I might actually —

I only get to separate us and take a step back before the black dots cloud my vision completely.

Shit

“Draco?” She puts her hand on my cheek and shakes a little.
It sounds like she's talking from the bottom of a deep well.

My ears start to ring and vaguely I think she understands what's going on.
I think she tries to get me to sit down.

But my feet won't move.

I put my hand on her shoulder and —

—
—
—

I float
in and out of consciousness.

Her voice, the only sound that resonates in me.
I think she's talking to someone.

Or maybe to me.

I can't understand the words but I recognise the tune of her voice.

I feel her in the room with me.

Is this how I die?

Not the worst way to be honest.
Going after getting to kiss her one last time.

I could deal with that.

But
On the other hand
I only got to kiss her a couple of times.
It's nowhere near enough.

Maybe it's the price I pay for wasting time pretending to hate her all these years?
Maybe it's karma smashed right at my face.

Frankly, I think I do deserve that.
A lot more than I deserve to have her.

“He's just passed out,”

Her words penetrate my consciousness.

So not dead yet after all?

“Master should contain himself, yes he does. Too much resting time spent with friends.” Dipsy seems to be in the room too.

“It was my fault,”

Even on the edges of consciousness, I try to protest.
None of this is her fault!

“Miss should not —”

“I kissed him again.”

Dipsy squeaks.

“I mean, I know it's reckless but —” Granger's voice is silent and full of self-doubt.

But, what?
What's the but?

It's reckless, but?
There's the curse, but?
We barely have time to sleep from our working, but?
I can't even move properly, but?
We have to pretend for the ministry, but?

We can't, but?

Give me one good excuse.
I've been weak before.

“Dipsy isn't one to give advice,”

Yet she's going to give it anyway.
She's my elf, I know her.

“But Mistress Hermione must listen to her heart.”

There's a pause.
I wish I could open my eyes and see how Granger took the words.

“What if I've never done that? I've always just listened to my head, really.”

It's not true!
She, if someone, listens to her heart a lot.
Maybe I should tell her that.

But Dipsy is a step ahead, “Who said they're two different things?”

.
.
.

I wake up in my own bed the next morning.
Not really sure if the conversation I overheard last night was just a product of my unconscious hallucinations.

If the whole kiss was one?

We don't talk about it afterwards.
Just continue our work with the curse like before.

Although I do think she makes extra effort not to touch me too much.
Not to lean too close
or to meet my eyes when she works.

I hadn't realized how much she touched me before.
Only when it's gone do I notice the difference.

Before — all of this — she had a habit of keeping her hand on my arm when she worked on the curse.

Not too intimate, but a light touch that kept me grounded.
Kept me linked to her and in that way to the reality
to light.

It feels colder, darker and heavier without the contact.
The dark thoughts swim around the edges of my mind.
Trying to get a hold of me and pull me under.

The despair comes back.
Lurks in the shadows of my room and whispers words of doubt in my ear.
Like black claws on my ankles, pulling me closer and closer to the edge of the dark pit of my hopelessness.

Nightmares return too.
Leaving me with only two or three hours of sleep a night.

And the absolute knowledge that my body is failing, rotting from the inside day by day, creeps back into my mind.

When I don't wake up in nightmares of Dementors and Voldemort and the war, I dream of her escaping my reach.

Turning to smoke in my hands.
Disappearing from my arms or falling from my reach.
Taking all the light with her.

And I'm left to stand in the emptiness alone.
The darkness around me repeating all the mistakes I ever made.

.
.
.

The next ministry event comes like a sent from the heavens.
I can't believe just a few weeks ago I resented anything even remotely linked to these events.

Now it means I get to /pretend/ that last week wasn't an act.

It's dinner at a homey Italian trattoria.
Hermione is wearing a summer dress and her hair is messily tied up.

In my eyes, she's so beautiful it hurts.
Like every day keeping my hands off of her only adds to her appeal.
Like every time I looked, she seemed to get more beautiful.

I don't even bother to pretend I'm not taking advantage of our “fake marriage” situation, but slide my hand around her waist the minute we arrive.

Pull her close to my side and exhale what feels like for the first time in days.

Here she's mine.
Here I don't have to doubt each of my actions.
Here I have permission to act like a smitten husband.

Here I'm worthy of her.

For a few glorious hours.

She leans into my touch for the whole evening.
Sits beside me and has her hand on top of mine,
her fingers stroking my knuckles whenever she feels my muscles tense even a little.

Here she's mine.

And I can pretend she wants me as much as I want her.
That every moment we've spent in the manor this week has been as hard for her as it has been for me.
That she anticipated this event as much as I did because it would give her an okay to touch me again.

Pansy throws me a few questioning looks, but I ignore her.
She can ask questions later and then I'll weigh if I have answers for her.

At the moment I'm not sure I have answers even for myself.

“How are you holding up?” Granger asks after the first course.

Honestly?
I haven't thought of my internal state for once since we've been here.
My sole focus has been how to get even closer to her.
Now that she asks, I think I do feel like shit.
My vision is a bit cloudy and sounds around me seem muted.

But I'm up and about.
I'm here.
I'm eating.

And she's beside me.
So I turn on my chair to face her and as an impulse (or a well-thought act) tuck a loose curl behind her ear, “Don't worry about me.”

She hides a frown into a fake smile and mutters, “We leave as soon as dessert is finished.”

I hope I don't pass out again before that, but I nod.
My hand, lingering on the side of her face.

“What's your deal, Malfoy?”

I groan soundlessly before turning towards Weasley, now staring at us a few seats away.

“My deal?” I settle my face to something akin to indifference, “I suppose same as anyone's here, Weasley.”

The redhead eyes from me to Granger beside me.

“Ron, we've talked about this.” She sighs, returning her hand back on mine.

I glance at her.
They have? And when was that?

“I don't trust him,” Weasley mutters.

Hermione squeezes my fingers, “But I do. And that should be enough for you.” She eyes her other friends around Ron, “all of you.”

Then she stands up forcefully,
flicks her hair and offers her hand to me, “Come on Draco, we're leaving. I have /nothing/ to prove to any of you.”

She points a finger at her former housemates, “All of you should think long and hard about why we fought a war in the first place!”

I suspect she's using this as an excuse to get me out of here.
She seems to see through my tough act even when I try to tell her I'm fine.

“I'm with Draco,” she declares with a loud voice, “I'm with him this week and next week, next month, next year. The amount of your doubt, Ron,” she gives Weasley a certain kind of look, “won't change it.”

I shrug my shoulders to our friends as she pulls me out the door with her.

“I'm so /sick/ of their bullshit,” she mutters as she drags me to the apparating spot, “Making up all kinds of stories and thinking they're true. I've told them enough of times — Gosh I'm so /angry/ I could just —”

Right!?
I'm angry too! We had at least an hour more to pretend if they didn't provoke her into leaving.

But I'm also tired.
I also just want to lie down and sleep.

What if I asked her to join me?
What if I asked her to come share my bed?

Would she?

Just to sleep next to me.
Just to be able to stay close to her a little while longer.

But I don't ask
The momentum slips from my reach as Granger tells Dipsy to make sure I get to my room okay.

I fall asleep the minute my head touches the pillow.

.
.
.

We don't talk much next week either.
I sleep a lot and Hermione says it's good to gather strength,

“It gets harder the closer we get to the core of the curse.”

I don't know how much harder I can possibly take like this.
If she stays distant and professional I think I'll fade in sync with her weaving.

The event of the week is an autumn dance at (of course, why the fuck not?) Hogwarts.

She wears a dress coloured like autumn leaves.
Similar to the ones they have charmed to fall from the roof, float in the air and ruffle on our feet.

“Someone went overboard,” Theo says kicking the leaves slightly.

“I think it's pretty,” Granger shrugs and tilts her head upwards to the ceiling charmed to look like the autumn sky.
The magical sun rays touch her hair and form a golden halo around her.

“You've got to do something about that, Draco,” Pansy whispers next to me.

“About what?” I ask, my eyes still on Granger.

Pansy doesn't answer and when I bother to glance at her direction she has already moved to the others.

Huh?
What was she about?

The whole event I spend in a dreamlike haze of oranges, reds and yellows.
And Hermione is glowing in golden.

We dance and I hold her close to me.
Her cheek against my chest swaying in a slow tune.

And I'm not sure if I'm conscious or not?
Dreaming or not?
In my own bed or at Hogwarts hall?
In a hallucination or not?
Dead or alive?

No one interrupts us this time.
No one comes to question.
Maybe they're still looking but I can't make myself care, really.

She's in my arms and that's the only thing I care about.

The only thing.

By the end of the night, we apparate back to the manor.

Stand face to face in the entrance hall.
Neither of us moving.

I swear I won't pass out this time.

“Draco —” she breathes out

And that's the only indication I need.

Her lips, red like rose petals, are soft and inviting on mine.

I grip her.
My hands, pin her arms to her sides.
As if trying to hold her still
hold her back.

Or maybe it's myself I'm trying to hold back.

It's a kiss that tastes like lust and promises.
Like strawberries and red wine and temptation.

It's a kiss that would lead somewhere.

Maybe in another life — the one where I'm not broken beyond repair —, I get to strip her off that dress and fuck her on the marble floor right then and there.
Maybe in some other universe.

In
Some
Other
Universe

In this, I gather all my willpower again and take a step back.
She leans into the lost contact, eyes still half closed.

I squeeze her arms.
The ones my hands are still holding before concentrating on letting my fingers open to let her go.

She opens her eyes and I shake my head.

We can't.
I can't.

I
can't.

I don't even know what to tell her.
As if a simple ‘I can't’ wouldn't explain all the reasons we can't let this go any further.
So I say nothing.

Just leave.
Let her go and turn away.
Make my way into the corridor and up the stairs.
Each step booming like the beat of my heart that refuses to slow down.
That refuses to understand she's still not mine to have.

My mind has already run to all the things I would do to her.
All ways I would have her.
All places I would touch her.
And in all the ways she would respond.

All the ways she would have me.

But I have nothing to give her.
Nothing for her to have in this shadow of a man I am.

I may delude myself all I like.
But I must be stronger than my delusion.

So I bang my door shut and throw my clothes off.
Lie in my bed and pull the sheets over my head.
Willing my mind to /stop/ throwing images of her at me.

But how do I stop when my heart beats like crazy
and my own arousal is like a grip around my insides.

I think this is the night I finally say goodbye to my sanity.
This is the night I either die of need or the curse or heart attack
or go crazy for the same reasons.

I lie on my back.
Breathe in
Breathe out

My heart rate seems to slow a little.

In
And out

The door clicks silently
and she steps into the room.
Still wearing her dress from the dance, but her feet are bare as she tiptoes in.

“I'll leave if you want me to,”

I sit up.
She closes the door.

Maybe I already fell asleep?

She pauses to stand before me, her features mostly hidden in the shadows.

Maybe this is a dream?

“I can't continue like this,” her whispered confession rings like a declaration in my head.

“I can't keep pretending to be pretending at the events and then pretend like I don't want you when we're alone,”

But how can we know it's for real and not because you pity me?
Or because you think you owe me something?

“Tell me you don't want me and I'll go,” she takes one step closer, “tell me you want to keep it as it is and I'll never bother you with it again.”

And that's better, how?

“I—” I look up to meet her eyes, “I can't..."

“You can't?”

“I can't say it, Granger okay?”

My words seem to freeze time altogether.
Everything slows down,
even the ticking of the clock in the corner
as she drops the dress to her feet.

Not sure if I'm hallucinating, I offer her a hand and pull her to the bed with me.
Pull her on me and fall on my back to the bed as her lips lower on mine.
As the weight of her body presses on mine.
As her skin makes contact with mine and my hands land on her hips,
slide along her figure and feel her freely.

It's not a dream
because none of my dreams are capable of producing this!

She
is
mine

Mine

And I will never,
Alive or dead
Cursed or not
Let her go anymore.

I gather her curls into my fist and pull her lips on mine.
Holding on as she moves over me.

Holding on
And letting go.

Breathing her air,
drowning in the taste and smell and feel of her
in this dreamlike haze, we share.

Like the first time we danced, the first time we fuck is the moment all else stops to exist.

It's only me and her,
our hands and bodies and heartbeats.
Her skin, under my fingertips and lips on mine as we move together.

Lights flash behind my closed eyelids.
For the moment I'm not a man dying,
but chasing for more.
And she's the drug I would get high on.
The liquor I would drink until I pass out.
The poison I’d gladly take.

My salvation
and last downfall.

And no matter what I thought of myself
I would never have been strong enough to tell her no —
about anything.

When she comes her lips stay on mine.
The vocals of her whimper resonating on my skin
and I follow her just a thrust behind.

Pulling her only closer.
Holding her just a bit tighter.

With no intention to let go ever again.

She doesn't get up when it's over.
I barely lighten my hold on her.
Only tilt her on the bed next to me.
My fingers still tangled in her hair on the back of her head.
My other hand, still on the curve of her bare back.

And that's how we fall asleep.
She snuggles only closer,
combing her fingers through the hair on my neck,
her breath, still on my skin.

In my dream lingers the scent of fresh roses
and butterflies fly around a grassy field.
Leaving a trail of silver light behind them.

As I watch the streams of light twist and turn, forming swirls of silver smoke that morph into two small animals.

And all I can feel
as a silver otter runs through the field,
followed by a silver ferret,
Playfully jumping around and coming to circle around my feet,

is calm

and maybe happiness.

Chapter Text

I've been consumed by my studies and our adventures before.
I've been so invested in things, I've forgotten the outside world.
I've been emotionally attached to things.
But not to people.

Never to people.
Not to the extent I'm with Draco after the night of our first kiss.

After the kiss, I'm so focused on saving him that most things outside of the walls of the manor seem to fade almost completely.

My friends ask how I am,
I tell them ‘I'm good, busy with my studies, you know the usual.’

Ron confronts me about Malfoy, again,
And I lose my cool completely.

I tell him if he has nothing better to say maybe we shouldn't meet then.
I tell him, I'm in this for the time being and if he can't keep his mouth shut about it and be decent then maybe we shouldn't see each other as often.

He settles on muttering it's not what he meant.

But I barely care.
I barely hear.

All I can think about is how much time I have to spend here and waste precious hours of breaking Draco's curse.

Because I know
and fear
That every minute not weaving, is a minute wasted.
A minute less chances to break the curse.
A minute less time.

I care too much already, I've realized.
In healing practices, we are taught that we shouldn't take our loved ones as patients.
Because emotional attachment makes us careless, self-sacrificing, desperate and prone to mistakes.

I get first-hand experience now.
I try to keep my hands to myself and my mind clear.
I try to think of the threads of magic and the signs of the curse.
I try to see him only as cells and synapses.

But I fail.

He's much more.
So much more.

I watch our hands link at the next Ministry meeting,
his long fingers sliding around mine —

and think that somehow this deal we made
has made us belong.

To the world
and to each other.

It's not an easy decision to go to him.
Or the decision eventually is easy.

But to actually do it is not.

I kiss him and he faints in my hands.
Even though my diagnostics tell me it's not his condition getting any worse it already is, I beat myself up about it.

‘What about what I want?’ I had selfishly said.
Like forgetting this isn't about me!
And that he's in the situation completely because of me.

I have no right to ask anything of him!
No right to demand him to think of my needs.

As long as the curse is still in him, I have no freedom to want anything from him!

Least of all, to confront his feelings about me.

I decide to /stay/ away
once
twice

and then I lose count.
and track
and my mind apparently.

There's not an ounce of act in me left during the autumn ball.
I lean to Draco because I want to.
I hold his hand because I want to.
I turn to him and smile because I feel like it.

And when he leaves me in the dark hall after with the sensible opinion (again) to not let it get further,
It's not Hermione Granger The-Brightest-witch-of-her-age who decides to follow him.
It's Hermione Granger The-lovesick-fool

It's like I can not control myself anymore.
Like I need him to restrain me,
to show me the limits,
to get me on the right track,
to be able to get there.

Maybe it's unfair of me to ask it of him.
But I can't go on like this.
Or I think I'm going to explode.

He's sitting on his bed in the dark.
Chest bare, heaving visibly heavy and looking at me as if I was a ghost.
Or a fairy,
Or simply just a product of his imagination.

“I can't —” he tells me again.
But this time
This time it's not to keep me away.

I ask him to tell me to go,
but instead of pushing away, he pulls me to him.

The final step from the floor to his bed
is the last time I pretend to not want him.

Then I'm on him
his hands on me
and we've passed the point of no return.

He's all I want
All I need
more than air
more than anything right or sensible.

More than I've ever needed a person before.

I'm all his

And he's all mine

All mine.

I could describe the things we do.
I could tell how his touch quavers my whole being.
I could
but it wouldn't do it justice.

It's more than having sex
or simply fucking.
It's beyond body parts meeting and fitting and sending us somewhere only we know.

It's beyond words how it feels when he grips my hair and slides his hands on me.
Trying to narrate the act would take away the profound feeling of letting go completely.
Of being out of control and entirely swept into the moment.

I think I speak
or moan
probably whimper
Words on his lips.
And on his skin.

But it would be unholy to repeat them now.
The words spoken in the heat of the moment are not meant to be repeated.
They're not for anyone else but me and him.
All I say when he's inside of me, his lips sucking my flesh and hands in my hair, stays between us.

But when I fall asleep in his arms,
there's nowhere I'd rather be.

Nothing to hide
Not from him
Not anymore

.
.
.

I don't know what time it is when I wake up.
His arm is still around me and he's spinning a finger lazily in my hair.

I look up at him
and he gives me a slight smile.

Well, almost a smile.
More like a slight upturn of his lips.
But considering who we're talking about here, we might as well describe it as a smile.

“Hey,”

He lowers his head to the pillow heavily, “Does it have to be morning?”

Yes.
Yes, it really does.
We can not waste a moment more.
We need to get up get dressed and continue working.
As soon as possible

We should

But seeing him like this —
all walls down, his finger now drawing patterns on my back —
Does he not deserve a break?
Haven't we worked hard enough for months unend?
Don't /We/ deserve a break?

No, we don't.
The curse spares us no breaks.
I lift my gaze only to catch him already looking at me.
His eyes are surprisingly bright today.
Even in the dimly lit room with curtains closed so tight only a small stream of light can fight itself in.

I watch the light touch his hair and illuminate his face.

Only a small stream
but that's all that is needed to break the darkness.

Only a flicker but enough to light the shadows.

Maybe this is ours.

So I stretch my hand to move a stray hair from his forehead.
The touch makes me tingle all over.
As if I hadn't touched him a hundred times before.

Not like this.
Not in a setting like this.
Not privately like this.

He closes his eyes at the contact and my fingers stay on the side of his face.

“Maybe we have an hour,” I suggest before
boldly
leaning to kiss him again.

He doesn't faint.
Or hold me — or himself — back.
He doesn't tell me ‘he can't’.
Only meets me halfway.
Peels the sheets covering me away with hasty movements.

Maybe I should remind him he's still cursed —

His hand slides up my naked thigh.

Mentioning the curse would surely kill the mood.

He kisses my neck.

I could just save him the trouble.
So I push him back and straddle him.
My hair falls to cover us as I lean over to kiss him again.

He grips my things as I lower myself to take him in.

And then
And then we're one again.
Everything else loses meaning again

But that he's there
And he's with me.
And we're here
And the overflow of feelings swallows me whole.

“Draco —”
I /moan/
beg
plead
whatever

At that, he grips my hair and tilts my head to him.

“Look at me,”
His voice is restrained
Tight
and I can almost hear
he is pleading too

So I do
look at him.

Under me,
eyes hooded,
lips slightly parted,
breathing heavy as I move.

And it's the most glorious thing I've ever seen.

“Draco —,” I say again.
His eyes flash and he pulls me harder against him.

Draco
Draco
Draco

My magic stirs with the sound of his name.
As if ignited alive and setting me aflame.
As if released from bounds I did not know were holding me back.
As if finding something I did not know I was looking for.

How much do I really know about magically binding marriage contracts?

How much do I really know about breaking a lethal curse with time weaving?

Draco puts both of his hands in my hair and pulls me in for a hard kiss.

And I think I know nothing.
Knew nothing.

And even if I did
I'd still choose this.

.
.
.

Dipsy brings us breakfast sometime later.
Sets it up silently, but looks like she'd very much like to say something.

I open my mouth to ask but Draco cuts in before I get to say anything, “Save it, Dipsy.”

The elf bows deeply, “As master says. But Dipsy would like to point out —”

Draco opens her mouth but I raise my hand to stop him, “Let her speak.”

“Dipsy is most pleased for this turn of events, and so is Mistress Narcissa!”

Maybe I was too hasty letting her speak.
Certainly, I did not want to know Narcissa was already informed —

Draco covers his face with a pillow and groans loudly, “You told my mother /already/?”

Dipsy sets the tea down on a small table, “Well of course! Mistress Narcissa told me to inform her immediately if something significant was about to happen.”

I glance at Draco but his words are still muffled by the pillow on his head.

“We could hear you better if you did not speak into the pillow,”

He doesn't move
so I lie back down next to him and lift the corner of the pillow to peek at him, “you were saying? Something about telling Narcissa?”

He tosses the pillow across the room, “Dipsy! Do not speak to my mother about me and Granger.”

“But Master —”

He spreads his arms on the bed and rolls his eyes to the ceiling, “Just don't! Do you understand?”

I don't know what Dipsy answers, because my eyes are fixated on a long scar across Draco's chest.

A slash from his elbow all the way to the hipbone.
And then I spot the claw marks across his shoulder.

An image of a Hippogriff slashing through the air flashes in my mind.

I've seen him without a shirt multiple times.
But I guess I've never really looked.

We made fun of him after the hippogriff attack.
We believed he was acting.

Tentatively I raise my hand to slide a finger along the scarline.
Tracing across the rough-edged claw marks and fighting the urge to apologize.
To tell him I blamed him for bullying but was I ever better?

“Thank you, Dipsy,” I say without looking away from Draco, “You can go now.”

I don't know if she left.

Our eyes meet.
Draco leans towards me.
Inhaling as if —
As if tempted.
As if drawn to me.
As if

Damn, we must stop kissing!
His lips collide with mine forcefully and coherent thoughts threaten to escape me like sand through my fingers.

The curse!
We need to stop kissing and start working.

“We're wasting time,” I speak against his mouth, “we have to keep working on —”

He gives me no sign that he's even listening.
Kissing my neck as his hands slide downwards.

“Draco,” I wiggle further, “We've wasted enough time!”

“I'm fine,”

Like hell he is.
But as he trails kisses down my chest I'm tempted to believe him.
Tempted
but not fooled.

So I take a hold of his shoulders and push him further from me, “No, seriously,”

Frustrated he lowers his head back to the sheets and runs a hand through his hair.
And I remind myself to keep my head.

I've been distracted enough for a day
A week
Probably for forever
At least as long as there's a curse to break.

Anyway
I'm the sensible one here.
So I must get us back to work!

Somehow leaving here, though, feels like forcing myself to wake up from a dream.
Like leaving behind something I really don't want to leave behind.

Not really sure what I'm trying to postpone, I put on only a morning robe Dipsy kindly left me, and pour myself some tea.

Draco spreads his hands on the bed, as if on a protest, “Do we need to be in the library? Can't we just stay here?”

I open my mouth to tell him no but snap it closed only a blink later.
Yes, why couldn't we?

I can tell he's expecting me to tell him no.
He's already ready to protest whatever my argument would be.

I sit on the edge of the bed and shrug, “We could if we can concentrate here.”

I could laugh at the expression on his face.
Bet he had the whole conversation planned in his mind and my lack of resistance threw him completely off script.

I kind of like ruining his plans.

But also, the idea of not leaving this room feels fatefully tempting.

We don't need to be in the library.
I could let him stay in bed while I work.
He would get the rest he needs and we could —

Dipsy pops in with a puff of smoke, “Dipsy is terribly sorry to interrupt again, but Miss Pansy is asking for Mistress Hermione downstairs,”

Draco rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated, “Can we not get a single minute of peace here?”

“I'll take care of it, Draco,” I put my hand on his shoulder, “You can use a minute to rest. We'll begin when I've seen what Pansy has on her mind.”

He sighs but closes his eyes without an argument.
I hesitate only a moment before leaning in to kiss his forehead lightly.

Pansy is sitting in the drawing room, inspecting her nails with a bored look on her face when I enter.

“You wanted a word?” I realize I sound unnecessarily impatient only when the words are already out of my mouth.

Pansy stands up and I look around to check if she really came alone.
I'm not in the mood for Blaise and Theo trying to be smart about our situation.

Pansy arches a neatly shaped eyebrow and puts her hands on her hips, “So, you finally got over yourselves.”

It's not really a question so I say nothing.
And when she gets no response Pansy seems to melt before me.
She lowers her hands and her face softens a bit before taking a step closer to me.

“Granger, do you realize how much he means to me? To everyone else too, but especially to me?”

I don't know?
I thought I did?
But now I feel like I'm thrown into a completely foreign situation.
This isn't how I'm used to seeing Pansy. Even after I've started to consider her as a friend, she has always been somewhat collected and cold.
Now she stands before me, eyes shining like she was about to cry asking if I know what Draco means to her.

“We've known each other for as long as I can remember. He's as good as a brother to me,” she takes my hands in hers and whispers, “You have to save him.”

“I was always going to save him,” I say slowly, “nothing has changed.”

Maybe it's not entirely true.
Pansy shakes her head, “You know it's not true.”

I glance at her hands in mine and then her eyes again.

What if it was Harry who was cursed and Pansy who'd be married to him?
Pansy in my place?

I'd ask the same of her.
I'd beg the same.

Please love him more than I can.
Please take care of him.
Please save him.

“We'll help. Whatever you need,” she tilts her head, “if you need space, we'll cover for you.”

“How?”

She shrugs and gives me a smirk that seems to be a brand within Slytherin, “I'm sure we'll figure something out.”

I smile in response.

“Look, Granger, I can see he's not well. Someone who doesn't know him well enough maybe couldn't tell the difference but I see him fading.”

“I'm doing my best.”

She squeezes my hands, “What if it's not enough?”

The familiar spark ignites in my chest again, “It has to be! I'll make sure it is. I will not let him die, Pansy! I swear!”

Her gaze is piercing but she nods, “What can we do?”

Time.
I need time to concentrate.
I need peace.
And I need eyes off of us.

Pansy promises to keep the others away.
To make sure we have peace to work.
To keep eyes off of us and distract my friends.

I have no idea how they're going to do that, but no time to ask either.
All I want to do is to run back to Draco.

As if the minutes I spent away would somehow change his situation.

When I return Draco has barely moved.
Only fallen asleep in the middle of the bed, sheet around his pelvis, arms spread to the sides.

He looks peaceful like that.
Dark circles around his eyes and hair messed a little, but his face is clear,
skin smooth and lips slightly pink.

I sit next to him on the edge of the bed.
Careful not to wake him.

Twenty
That's how old we are.
Barely over twenty.
Too young to fight as much as we've had to fight.
Too young to suffer what we've suffered.
Too young to die.

I move a stray lock of hair from his face and travel my finger lightly over his cheek.

I will save him.
I will
I swear

.
.
.

If our bubble was small before it gets even smaller now.

We abandon the library and stay in Draco's room.
Lay in his poster bed and wear only morning robes.
And sometimes only sheets.
He drifts in and out of sleep and I weave.
My skin against his.
Touching him every moment.

I open the curtains to see the view of the yard.
But only on evenings when he can't complain about the sunlight.

Dipsy brings us food and stares at us strictly until we really start eating.

Apart from the environment, there's a shift in our relationship too.
In the way we approach one another, sleep in the same bed and touch freely.

He's still cursed and I still need to work.
So don't get me wrong, it's not a sex-fest.
Just closeness and —

Some unexplainable connection we share.
As if I knew everything he wanted to say without him saying a word.

After a week we're forced to leave for another ministry event.

“Do we have to?” Draco asks, putting on proper clothes for the first time in days.

“Trust me, I wish we didn't,” I tell him, manoeuvring him to zip my dress.

His hand stays on my hip as he leans to breathe against my neck, “How is it fair that we can not save the stamina we have for things we want to do instead?”

It's not.
It's not fair,
I agree.
But we have no choice.

I step away from his greedy touch, “It doesn't matter if it's fair or not. We need to go.”

He follows me through the corridor muttering to himself all the way.
The clicking of his cane making it impossible for me to hear every part of his complaints.

It's not that I don't agree.
But there's not much use in complaining when there's nothing we can do to change the situation.

Or is there?
What if I've been so focused on ‘having to’ do something I've ignored the possibility of escaping this duty?

Would they run tests if I told them I was pregnant?
If I told them I did not feel well because of the early symptoms, would I have to prove my word?

How much time would that lie buy us before I would have to make up another lie?

We enter a beautiful winter garden where the gathering is held this time and I have no time to muse my plans further for now.

It's the first time we don't have to pretend to be pretending.
But I've never felt less motivated to act like a romantic couple.
I'm tired of this.
Tired of coming here and plastering a smile on our faces.
Tired of the worry that feels like crushing me under every time I look at Draco faking there's nothing wrong.
Tired of being watched and judged by the way we act on the outside.

We sit with the Slytherin's when Ginny comes to pull me aside.

“How are you, Hermione love?” She asks with such a fake voice I lift my eyebrows at her.

Giving me a meaningful look she whispers between her teeth, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie quickly.

But Ginny was always too good at spotting a lie.
She frowns at me, “Really?”

She has always been by my side. Why would I keep lying to her?

“It's Malfoy, isn't it? There's something wrong with him?” She glances over her shoulder at Draco, “What’s going on?”

I, too, take a look at Draco.
He's sitting by the fountain, staring at the water absentmindedly, looking like he only half listens to what the others are saying.
I know he's trying, but he looks sick.
I'm not sure if it's obvious to anyone who doesn't know him well enough, but I can see the glamours and the meds won't hide his condition much longer.

“He's cursed,” I whisper to Ginny, “Dolohov’s experimental magic in the final battle. I'm doing my best breaking it, but —”

I snap my mouth shut.
No ‘buts’.
I will not say there's a possibility I won't succeed.

Ginny puts a hand on my arm and nods slightly.
As if a sign she understands what I'm saying.
Or not saying.

Suddenly I feel like crying.
Like telling her about the doubt and the petrifying fear.
Like confessing how much it pains me to look at Draco and know he's not any better.
How much I fear I'm going to fail.
And about my nightmares where he dies in my hands.
Where I can not save him.
Where we run out of time.

“Can we help?”

I shake my head and squeeze my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.
Blink away tears that are suddenly trying to pour over.

“Hermione?”

We turn to see Pansy approaching us.
She's glancing behind towards the boys and then back at us.
Somehow I think I know what she's about to say before she even words her worries.

“I need to take Draco home,” I tell them.

My friends
from two completely different lives.
They, too, were enemies once.
Now they look at me as if ready to cooperate to help me out.

“We need time,” I tell them quietly, “We need peace and time.”

Both Ginny and Pansy nod shortly.
As if I gave them orders.

“I told you,” Pansy emphasizes, “We’ll cover for you.”

“I don't want you to get in trouble for it. You're already under supervision because —”

“Yes,” Ginny cuts in hastily, “But we are not. Don't worry Hermione, we'll figure something out,” she glances at Pansy, “right, Parkinson?”

Pansy tilts her head in Ginny's direction as something I think might be considered an agreement.

I take both of their hands and squeeze, “Thank you.”

Maybe there could have been better words.
Or better plans.
Maybe I was letting them take too much of a risk.
But I only saw Draco and the way he rolled the cane in his hands uneasily.
Only Draco and the cold sweat on his forehead.

We can not be here.
We should not be here.
.
.
.

He falls asleep the minute we return to his room.
Tells me only, “Thank you, for taking me away from there, Granger,” and then he's out cold.

I sit on the wide window sill and stare into the darkening gardens.
Silent tears slide slowly down my face and I don't even try to wipe them away.
Tomorrow I'll rise up strong again.
Tomorrow I'll make up a plan.
Tomorrow I'll lift my chin and wand and spirits.

But tonight I can't.

Fog swirls around the garden, making everything look dreamlike.
And I wish I knew if this was a dream
or a nightmare.

.
.
.

By morning I've made up a plan

We can't do anything.
He barely can get off the bed.

But who said we need to stay in this dark, dusty, old manor?
Who said we need to give ourselves up to the dementor magic to ruin and just fight? Why should we stop living?

We have magic!
What on earth should keep us still?

“We're leaving,” I tell Draco almost cheerfully a few days later.

He looks at me like I've gone mad, “What has given you the impression I'm suddenly fit to go — anywhere?”

“I'll take us,” I lie next to him on the bed, “You won't have to do anything, I promise. Let's just get out of here! Hide from the world for a while. Changing the location from the library to here already lifted our spirits plenty. Imagine what something, like a tropic, will do.”

“What if I splinter?”

“Dying is worse.”

He scowls at me.

“The dementor magic loses its power if we're in good spirits. It'll ease my work,” I remind him.

And a few hours later he has frowned at me tens of times.
Rolled his eyes more than I can count.
Tried to make up a million excuses.

And finally admitted his defeat.

“Fine! It's not like the ministry won't come looking for us in two weeks maximum. But if it makes you happy —”

So I take us to where we don't have to do anything.

To places where there are only us and hotel sheets, ocean waves and the stars in the sky.

To a glass Igloo somewhere on the Arctic Circle.
Where the sky is clear and snow sparkles when sunrays touch it.
I've never seen stars so bright as in the freezing nights we spend under them.
The aurora borealis set the skyline on fire as they dance in hues of colours I never knew before.

And to a bungalow in the tropics.
Where waves hum and tropical thunderstorms light the night sky.
Where the sun paints patterns with shadows and warms our room when I open the balcony doors.

To mountains where the sun melts the snow into streams on our windows.
And vineyards where the air is mellow and sunflowers bloom.

I weave and he sleeps and at nights we lie in each other's arms and listen to the world around us.
And our respective heartbeats.

Until words have long ago left us.
I have nothing to comfort him with.
And he has nothing to prove to me.

I hold onto his hand
and hope

and sometimes I feel like he holds my heart.

And the threads that tie us to the reality in our bubble of curse-breaking.

We take Dipsy with us.
To make sure we eat
and shower
and sleep occasionally.

She doesn't interrupt us much.
But she comes when called,
and there's a certain sort of comfort in her presence.

As if we were still here and things were still real when Dipsy was around.

I lace my fingers into Draco's.
Watch our entwined hands and wonder if he'll forever be entwined into my soul too.

I'm not sure if it's love.
But somehow he's mine.

Mine

Mine

Nowadays I feel like I don't know much of anything.
But I know
for a striking certainty

That he is mine.

Mine to hold
To have
To protect
To save.

And there's only one place I belong to in this whole entire world — in his arms.

I never felt like belonging anywhere before.
Not really.

After a week we should go to the ministry event.

We don't.

No one comes after us.

After two weeks they send an owl telling us we are now allowed to be absent.

Draco rips the letter and squeezes it into a ball.

After three weeks they seek us out.
A strict-looking lady knocks at the door of our Bungalow.

Dipsy opens but we hear them all the way from the bedroom.

“Mr and Mrs Malfoy are very busy nowadays, yes they are ma'am.”

“Yes, I simply need to give them instructions —”

“Ma'am forgive me,” Dipsy talks in a high-class accent, her small back as straight as she can manage, “Dipsy is just a silly house elf, but Dipsy understands you're here because of the law that states Mr and Mrs should reproduce?”

“Yes, but if I just —”

“I'm sure ma'am also knows how hard it is for pureblood wizards to reproduce nowadays?”

“I simply —”

“Again Dipsy is just an elf, but I must say we must not interrupt.”

We listen in silence and for some reason, I feel like giggling.

Draco shakes his head slightly at my expressions and I cover my face with a pillow.

“I was informed that Miss Granger —” the official clears her throat, “Mrs. Malfoy might be pregnant?”

I throw the pillow from my face.
So Pansy or Ginny use my excuse to buy time?

Dipsy lowers her voice dramatically, “Ma’am Dipsy would mind their tongue if they were you! Very sensitive topic to Mistress, yes it is.”

“Right,” The Ministry Lady lowers her voice too, “Would you please tell your Mistress that if such happy news were true we're waiting for them to confirm the pregnancy by our healers.”

“Certainly. Goodbye,” Dipsy bangs the door shut on the Lady's face.

I snort a laugh.
Even Draco looks amused,
“How much time do you think that bought us?”

I don't know.
Probably a month?

A month from the ministry.
But later as I look at Draco sleeping,
Moonlight illuminating our room,
I wonder if he knows

that we don't have a month.
He doesn't have a month

The curse doesn't either but I'm not sure which is winning.

All I'm sure of is that I'll fight
As long as there are seconds left

even one.

I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.
If it was up to me I wouldn't sleep at all.
But unfortunately, I'm not a superhuman.
My body still needs rest.
A few hours and I'll be back to work.

As long as there are seconds left,
There's hope.

Chapter Text

I don't think I have anything to pay back to her for what she offered me for the supposedly last weeks of my life.

No money or possession or title is sufficient enough to repay for the fantasy she gives me.

All her time
and the world from so many angles.
If only just in hotel rooms, it barely matters.

I have all I could ever ask for.
I have more I've ever dared to dream about.
I have her

And if it was an eternity I got to just lie still and watch her work,
I'd gladly take it.

I'd give everything I own and more to have it actually.

Mostly I feel exhausted and awful.
But it's still the best I've ever had.

I twist my fingers in her curls,
fall asleep against her soft skin,
and wake up surrounded by the scent of her.

Sometimes we lay awake in silence, watching our hands entwine with each other.
Swirling our fingers together with small fine caresses.

I don't know how many of the words spoken are real.
And how much a dream.
how much a fantasy
And how much a hallucination.

“What if I survived?” I may or may not ask in the darkness of one tropical night.

“Whatever you please. You're free then, Draco. You can do whatever you want.”

I huff out a humourless laugh, “Funny, I've never had that.”

I think she looks at me.
But again I might just be dreaming, so I turn my head to meet her gaze, “And what about us?”

“What about us?”

In the low light, I can only see the gleam of her eyes, “Would we still be married?”

“We agreed, two years.”

“And then?”

I watch a stream of light dance in the dark ceiling, “Then I'd ask you to marry me. For real, not just on paper. We'd have a proper wedding —”

“In the garden,” she whispers but as I glance at her she's not looking at me.

“Wherever you wished to.”

“In the garden,” she says again almost wistfully, “when it blooms.”

Only now do I realize which garden she means.

The one she watches from the windows of my room when she thinks I'm not looking.
The Manor Garden.
/Our/ garden.

If I concentrate hard enough I can imagine our wedding.
The blooming garden and our closest friends—

I've never wanted a wedding in my life
But suddenly I find myself craving for it to be true.

For us to be able to have it.

“And we'd see all these places,” she says, twisting her fingers in my hand, “from other perspectives than hotel rooms. Anywhere you want to go, I'll follow. If you want me to.”

If /I/ want to?
Me wanting was never really the question.
And here she is now, telling me she'll follow if I want her to.

The later the clock ticks the less I believe these words we speak are actually spoken.
The more she says the more convinced I am this is a dream I'm having while in a restless sleep confused by the tropical heat of our room.

In this game of ‘What would our hypothetical future look like’ we go beyond any boundaries of being ashamed of our wishes of the future.
I've long ago abandoned my fear of driving her away with things I say.

“Would we have children?”

“Two,” I tell her, “A girl and a boy.”

“Lyra or Cassiopeia,” she tells me as if she'd thought what would the names of our daughter be beforehand.

“Scorpius or Orion,” I just carry on, like her words did not shake my entire being.

“Scorpius?” She snorts almost lightheartedly.

I shrug, “I thought it would be a cool name. When I was young, you know.”

“Like Draco?”

I huff and close my eyes, “No, Draco is cooler.”

She smacks my chest lightly and chuckles.
As if this was normal
and not a dream of another life.

“Scorpius and Cassiopeia,” she says laying her head on my chest, “I like the sound of that.”

We talk about how they would be like — our children.
Make up a whole story of how our family would grow and flourish.
And I find myself wanting more of things I never thought I wanted at all.

Like being a father.
Or a husband.

Being a partner — her life partner.

That night I get a break from my usual nightmares of death and terror.
That night I dream about them,

a girl with blond bouncy curls and a boy with shining grey eyes — our children.

And Granger, beaming at me with a kid on her hip.

I dream of toy brooms and Christmas decorations.
The sound of small feet and excited giggles echo in the manor halls.
And the sun, shining in from every window.

I dream of a world where my heart isn't heavy and the weight on my shoulders more than I can bear.

Of happiness, I didn't even know I was capable of feeling

A future I'll never have.

I wake up in the middle of the night.
Finding Granger looking at me in the darkness.

“You were smiling.”

I put my hand on her cheek to make sure I am awake, “I had a good dream.”

She smiles at me but there's sadness in her eyes.

I should tell her how I feel about her.
I should tell her —

But how would it make it all better?
How would it change the situation?
Would it ease her pain?
Or mine?
No

So I kiss her instead.
We haven't kissed too much during our journey around all the hotel rooms in the world.
And if we do, she always halts and tells me I must save my strength.

If I was the one in charge I wouldn't fucking care.
I'd spend all my strength if that meant I get to spend it on her.
I'd spend it all to have as much of her as I possibly could.

But I appreciate her wishes.

Tonight she doesn't stop me though.
Lets me deepen the kiss and slide my hand into her hair.
Allows me to strip her from the light nightgown
and make love to her in light slow caresses.

As if we were still in my dream.
As if we were still in the future where we were content and calm and happy.
As if we had years behind
and years ahead.

She bumps her nose against mine as she moves over me
and I taste salt on her lips.

I ignore the thought, to chase her high along with mine,
to kiss her a little deeper and hold her a bit tighter,

But after
When I have nowhere to hide from my own mind
I can't fight the feeling
that everything about our love-making

Every kiss and touch and caress and sigh

Felt and sounded and tasted

like only a prelude towards the end.

.
.
.

The efforts of Pansy, Weaslette and Dipsy buy us a month uninterrupted.

We knew it wouldn't last forever.
But somehow the days blending into each other make me forget we ought to be somewhere else.
We're expected to be somewhere else.

I don't know if Granger expected it, but when the time finally comes I think neither of us is fully prepared.

It's probably late afternoon
or might be morning
I don't really keep track of time these days.
When Dipsy pops in with an urgent tone in her voice.

“Mistress Hermione, Master Draco, Dipsy is afraid she can't keep the Ministry people out any longer.”

Granger lowers her wand and stands up.
And when I look at her, I know she already knows this isn't a simple matter anymore.

“What is it, Dipsy? What do they want?”

The elf twists her hands and looks from Granger to me, “They're waiting for you in the manor,” she sighs as if defeated, “accompanied by Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Dipsy tried to tell them to leave but they refused. Impolite people, telling Dipsy she can not speak for her family. As if Dipsy was just a silly housepet.”

Granger puts her hand on Dipsy’s shoulder, “Thank you, Dipsy. We appreciate your efforts very much,” then she turns to me, “We need to return. I'll handle it.”

That's not right!
How is it fair she needs to take care of the matters when I lie incapacitated in my room?
I should —

But I don't have time to argue.
Or to say anything really.
Typical

Dipsy pops us into the manor and Hermione only tells the elf to take me to my room and make sure I'm okay before rushing off to take care of matters I should be taking care of with her.

We haven't been here in months.
I haven't walked more than a few meters in weeks, but when Dipsy turns to me I straighten my back and take a hold of the wall to balance myself, “Hold on.”

Yes, the horizon wobbles in my eyes making me dizzy.
And yes, cold sweat runs along my back and I feel like throwing up.
There's nothing I'd rather do than lie down and close my eyes, except go to her.

Hermione might need me.
/My wife/ might need my support.

I can not lie down when she fights our battles.

(Yes, I know both of us have been in real battle and this isn't even close to it. Also, the real, real battle is in my room with the curse. But the faster we get this off our backs the faster she can return to me — to the curse breaking)

“I'm going to join them,” I tell Dipsy surprisingly determinedly, “Give me my cane and make me presentable, please.”

“But Master, maybe —”

I shake my head and regret it immediately since it makes my dizziness worse, “Dipsy, now.”

For a moment I'm almost sure Dipsy is going to tell me no and force me to return to my room.
Instead, she gives me a displeased look and snaps her fingers a couple of times, “Master must know this only gives him some ten minutes.”

“That's all I need.”

I hope.

I hear their voices all the way to the entrance hall.
Granger trying simultaneously to be polite but hold her ground,
and the official tones of the Ministry workers.

Behind the double doors to the drawing room, I stop to take a few deep breaths.
They sting my lungs and don't really clear my head.

But even if this was the last thing I did.
I'm needed here.
So I push the doors open and step into the room, now struck silent by my sudden appearance.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

Even I am impressed by the exact copy of my father's tone, I get to manage out as I stop to stand beside Granger.

She looks at me
and for a split second, I can see panic in her eyes before she gets it under control.

She knows as well as I do we’re wasting time here.

To calm her nerves
or to stay standing
I reach for her hand and link our fingers together before letting my eyes roam the room.

There are three Ministry workers accompanied by the duo of losers Hermione calls her best friends.

I roll my eyes at them.

“Mr Malfoy,” The first ministry worker begins and I realise she's the same lady Dipsy sent away a month ago, “We were telling Miss Granger here —”

“Mrs Malfoy,” I correct trying to give the hag the best look of despising I can manage.

The lady clears her throat, “Yes, Mrs Malfoy here, that we have given no permission to stay absent from our weekly meetings.”

Idiots

“I'm under the impression our house elf /clearly/ explained the situation to you a month ago, yes?”

Granger squeezes my hand.
I keep my eyes on the Officials, concentrating hard to keep my face blank.

“Yes, but it's been a month and —”

“It's not like her to disappear like this,” Weasley speaks up taking a step towards us.

I raise my hand, “What part of ‘sensitive matters’ is hard for you to understand?”

“Mister Malfoy,”

I direct my words to the ministry lady, ignoring Weasley completely,
“Do you have children, Ma’am?”

The lady looks offended, “That's hardly relevant Mr Malfoy.”

“I think it's very relevant,”

I need to apologise to Granger later, what I'm doing is purely improvised.

“Have you ever /tried/ to have children?” I emphasize wondering how long I can go on before I pass out from pain and exhaustion, “Have you tried to have children under pressure?”

The room has gone dead quiet.

“Hermione?” Weasley whispers but I keep ignoring him.

“I assure you,” I lower my voice, “My wife is the brightest witch of the century, maybe even more, but even she can not temper the course of nature. If what you really want, is for your damned law to work, you should give us space to make it work. So I'm politely asking —” I pause for better effect, “— to leave us the fuck alone. Stop demanding attendance to your stupid events that take us no closer to producing offspring. Stop snooping around our private lives and Stop putting pressure on /MY WIFE/ when she's doing more than her best to work with the hand that she's been dealt with. You gave us two years, let us have it and then evaluate. Otherwise, it's only yourselves you should blame for failing.”

Did that even make sense?
I feel like I can barely stitch words together.

Hermione says something next to me.
And I suppose the Ministry people believed me because they leave five minutes later after pointing out the number of months we still have left before our two years are up.

As if that fucking mattered.

My ears are ringing as I sit down on the sofa after they've left.

“Draco?” She lays a hand on my shoulder
but of fucking course it's not over yet.

Of course, Potter and Weasley are still here.
Actually no
Looks like it's only Potter

“I want to talk to you, Malfoy,”

Oh, lucky me, the saviour of the world wants to talk to me.

“You are talking,” I answer plainly.

“Draco,” Granger frowns, “please?”

Fine!
Fine, I'll talk to your stupid friends.

I spread my hands and shrug my shoulders.
And suppose she gets my meaning because she leaves me alone with Potter.

“What's your deal Malfoy?”

So we go straight at it again, then?
Fine, have it Scarhead.

“That’s what you people keep asking. Two years. She gets to concentrate on her studies and I get my mother off my shoulders.”

“I did not mean that. What are you playing at? That's clearly not what's going on. We suspect you’re up to something, but you look like shit and Hermione seems anxious. Ginny told us to stay away but she can't possibly expect us to believe your shitty excuses.”

I close my eyes briefly.
Black dots swim behind my eyelids and blood hums in my ears.
What's the point of not telling?
Everyone will find out soon enough anyway.

“Fine! I won't bother your precious friend very long anymore,” I spread my hands tiredly, “In case it's not obvious to you I'm a lost cause. A stray curse, at the final battle. She's trying to break it but we've been too far behind ever since the beginning.”

Based on only how I feel now we have hours rather than days.
And I'd much rather spend them with her than Potter.

“Look, Potter,” I meet the eyes of the chosen one and I realize we're on the same page finally.
We want the same thing — for Hermione to be happy and safe.

“She’s my wife. Everything I own will be hers. I've seen to it. I will take care of her,”

I'm tempted to add ‘I promise.’ but it would be too out of character probably.

“What's the catch?” Potter asks but everything about him tells me he believes me.

“No catch.”

Silence falls between us and after a while, I realize he knows what I'm going through.
Potter has been there. He knows how it feels to know your only option is to die.
That there's nothing else to be done.
No safety around the corner.
Nowhere to run.

I stand up with wobbly feet.
Straighten my posture and offer my hand to him.
Like once before
a lifetime ago.

“I promise.”

He hesitates only a second before shaking my hand firmly.
Looking me dead in the face and nodding.

And it's almost like I've come full circle.
From the first time in Hogwarts Express when I thought I knew firmly who I was
To now when I've come to realize all I thought then was false
and all I know now is irrelevant anyway.

We’re all just ash and dust.

My head hums and my feet go numb.
My hand falls from Potter's grip limply

and I can almost hear the bells toll in the distance

-
-
-

I blink, lights too bright in my eyes
and realize I'm back in my room
on my bed
and she's back by my side.

Always so hopeful.

She's still working.
Still waving her wand in sharp precise movements.
Glancing at me every now and then.
Still holding on to hope.

Refusing to believe this is the final line.
That we've run out of luck
and time.

It's never too late.
She had said the day she decided to heal me.

Except today.
Except this moment when there's nothing left of me.
When I've given every single drop of life there's left.
When I've believed and hoped and willed more than I ever thought possible.

I close my eyes to gather strength to tell her — to order her to stop and fucking hold my hand or something as I go.

I can't just die in her hands after this.
Not before a thank you
a goodbye
and maybe an I —

Would it make things better or worse?
To say it aloud?
To even think of those three small words?

Maybe she'd understand then,
why I did what I did.
Maybe she'd have the answers she needed to get on with her life.
Maybe it would make her feel better about staying here, my Manor — our home.

I take a deep breath and despite the burning in my lungs I open my eyes,
gather strength and lift my hand on hers.

“Granger —”

Her hazel eyes flick to me and she even gives me a reassuring smile, “It's going to be okay.”

I shake my head slightly.
But she turns back to working, “I'm so close. I can feel it! Please, Draco just hold on a little longer.”

Would if I could.
At this point, I think I’d do fucking anything she'd ask of me if I could.

“You are not leaving me,” She says steadily.

All kinds of mushy things I could say pop into my head.
The first being ‘I’ll never leave you.’
but it's not what I want to say and waste the last strength I have to tell her anything really.

My last words are going to be meaningful and I need her to hear them.
I need her to listen.
So with all I have, I lift my hand again, and grip her wand hand, pulling it on my chest and holding it still.

“Listen.”

She frowns.

“Granger, I’m sorry.”

That's the first thing I need to say.
Sorry for what I did when we were kids.
Sorry for pulling her into this.
Sorry for not being honest from the beginning.
Sorry for being such a stubborn brat.
Sorry for letting this thing between us evolve when there was no hope for it to flourish.
Sorry for giving her hope.
Sorry, I couldn't give her the victory she deserved with my case.
Sorry, I couldn't give us more time and for the time I wasted not seeing what was in front of me.
Sorry for leaving.

I hope she someday understands everything I meant with those words.
Today I don't have time to say them all.

I won't let her interrupt, only squeeze her wrist to let me continue.

“Thank you.”

For everything.
Every
Single
Fucking
Thing

Even the ones I moaned loudly about.

Her eyes fill with tears and she starts to shake her head.
I wipe a single tear from her cheek as it slides down.

“Don't!” She says angrily, voice quavering, “Don't say goodbye! It's not over!”

But it is.
And I need her to accept it.

“It's okay,” I tell her.

And suddenly realize I really mean it.
It's okay.
Or more okay than ever before.
We did everything we could.
I did not just give up and waste away.
We may have had just moments.
But they were moments I was happy in.
Moments I did not think I could have anymore.
After the curse, I thought I'd die slowly hating every second I had left.
But I hadn't.

And she gets to live.
She gets to do whatever her heart desires.
She'd have money and resources.
She'd have time and life.
She was still young and had so much to give.
She'd fall in love and have a family.

Just not with me.
Well, that stings a little — okay, a lot — but it would still be for her best.

“I'm so close! So close! Just a little more, please, Draco.”

Ah, the ‘please’ that I find almost impossible to resist.
But death waits for no one.

My hand doesn't leave her cheek and she doesn't dare to move.

Just let me say this.
You can continue then if it makes you happy.

I don't say it aloud but I hope she understands it from my eyes.

“You did good.” I say slowly, “Please —”

Please don't blame yourself.
Please don't cry too much about me.
Please, forgive me.
Please, live your life.

She leans closer, touching my cold nose with hers.

“It's not over!” She chokes out, almost angrily, “Tell them — Death, God, The creator, a ferryman, whoever is waiting — you're mine! Mine! And it's not over! I won't let it be.”

She's sobbing then.
Teardrops falling on my face,
gliding along my nose and into my mouth.
I'm not sure if they're mine or hers.

With all that's left in me I tangle my fingers into her curls and pull her face closer.
Her nose against my wet cheek.
Lips almost on mine,
sharing the same air,
just once more.

“You're mine!” She sobs, “and I haven't given you permission to go.”

I huff
almost amused how, even in a situation like this, she manages to show so much of her spirit.

And the time has come,

My first and last “I love you.” is just a breath against her lips.
Just barely there words among tears and carbon dioxide.
But it's all I have.
All I'll ever have
All I can give her
And hope she understands.

The last thing I hear is her, desperately calling my name as the world fades to black.

Chapter Text

I love you

I love you

And I feel Draco fade away.
The beat of his heart, painfully slow and his breathing so shallow.

But I'm not giving up!
No!
I will not let him go!
Not if there's still something left to fight for!
Not before there's no life left to chase!

So I lift my wand back up and smash forward.
The time to be careful is over!
Time to make sure what I do leaves no damage behind has passed.

I will save him.
No matter the cost!

It's just a curse!
Just a curse

And when it comes to curses, I never lost a battle.
This one,
this most important one,
won't be an exception.

I will not let it be.

Layer by layer I tear away his magic.
If I can't destroy just the curse
I will destroy it all.
I will take it all down
to save him.

The threads of magic burn around me like golden ribbons as I tear them away.
All that he's learned and all that he was born with — destroyed.

If I stopped to think,
if this was my patient,
someone random,
I'd consider the ethics of what I'm doing.
If I was a professional I'd ask what kind of a life he is able to live after I'm finished?
What happens to someone born with magic when that magic is taken away?

I'd proceed carefully and consider the option.
But I am not perfect either.

And this is so selfishly driven I don't even know if I continue more for him — or for myself.

I can't lose him.
I can't
I can't

He's my friend.
My confidant.
My ally.
My husband.

Mine

No one takes him from me!

Seconds
Minutes
Hours
Days

I have no idea how much time passes.

Angrily I wipe the falling tears to my sleeve to stop them from blurring my vision as I unravel the magic from him.

And then finally
finally, I reach the core of the curse.
Wrapped around his magic like a black snake.
Everything around it is burned and dull and the threads don't glow as they leave his body
— they scream.
Scream in agony
with his voice.

The room fills with sounds so horrid I'll probably never be able to sleep a night without hearing it in my nightmares.

Draco is still lying motionless,
fading every minute.
But all around me, he screams like being tortured with a hundred crucios.

The sound fills my head and almost knocks me off the air.
My vision blurs, my feet feel faint and the weight of losing him is threatening to pull me under.

Black hooded figures lurk on the edges of my consciousness, breathing in with rattling sounds.
Seeking for souls to suck out from their hosts.

Dementors, I realize only vaguely.

The curse is still fighting.
Still trying to convince us it's unbeatable.

I grit my teeth.
And think of dragons.
Think of Draco smiling.
Think of the sun, lighting his pale face
and wind sweeping his hair.

I think of his hand in mine
and how handsome he looked in a suit in the glow of the ballroom.
I think of his laugh as Blaise made a stupid joke.
And the soft tint in his eyes as he looks at Pansy like a little sister.

I think of his fingers in my hair
and his lips on mine.
Firm and warm and alive.
I think of the press of his hand on the small of my back as he guides me forward.
I think of him, buried deep in a book.
I think of his mildly amused face when I rant about things dear to my heart.
And his husky laugh when he finally lets himself be free to actually laugh.

Then I think of the future.
I think of him opening his eyes and smiling at me “You did it!”

I think of him on a tropical beach, waves tickling his toes.
I think of Italian vineyards and artist quarters in Paris.
I think of his hand in mine on the streets of New York and his arms around me in a bungalow on an island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Hopelessly
I call for hope and happiness to chase away the shadows.
I have no time for a patronus.
But the dementors are not really here either.

It's all in my head.
And my head won't stop me today.

I imagine my silver otter charging towards the black figures and the screaming in my mind quiets down a little.

Slowly the burned threads turn lighter and lighter and the screams of Draco's agony fade completely.
But my time is up.

The last grain of sand has fallen.
The curse is gone.
But his heart —
his human heart with no magic left — stops to beat at the same time I pull the last thread of magic out of him.

“No”

The dementors are gone.
The darkness is gone.

Draco is gone.

I —
I killed him

The light of the rising sun streams into the room from every window.

Winning a battle does not make me a conqueror.
I won the curse.
Now there's one more enemy to be defeated — death.

I toss my wand aside, put my palms against his chest and start to pump.

He
Is
Mine!
And I will bring him back, even if it means fetching him from the underworld myself.

Please
I pray to every god I can think of.
Please let this work!
Please bring him back!

One
Two
Three

We got so close.

I pump
And time stands still

One

Two

Three

He gasps for air.

I lose my balance.
Fall on the floor on my knees and put my palms against the cold stone floor.

The reality of it all pours over me as I fall, pulling me from the bubble of my fight into reality where I still might have lost.

And I'm sobbing.
Crying uncontrollably, sobs wrecking my body and tears clouding my vision.
Shaking all over, unable to get up anymore.
Unable to look up.
To move.
To see if I really succeeded or if he even woke up.

Above me fabric ruffles as something moves.
I barely hear.

If he's dead, I'm dead too.
If he's dead I have nothing left to give.
I’m drowned of all my powers, sucked out all the energy.
If he's dead it was all for nothing.

Someone slides next to me on the floor, wraps their hands around me and buries their face into my hair.

“You did it.” He whispers
and I only cry harder.
Take a hold of the front of his shirt to really feel him here.
Push my nose against his,
still scared to open my eyes,
still shaking from crying.
My tears getting mixed with his.

“I love you.” I choke out between sobs, “I love you, I'm sorry. I —”

He pulls me closer.
Holds me to him so tight it feels like he might never let go.
At the moment I don't even want him to.

I want to stay here.
In this moment where there's nothing but us.
Nothing but the morning light and his arms.
No curse,
No darkness,
No dementors.

And not the reality of what I've done.

“I'm sorry, Draco. I couldn't I —” I whisper as he kisses my wet cheeks.

“Don't. You did it. I'm here, Granger. I'm here.”

He strokes my hair,
still damp from sweat and tears,
from my face with gentle hands.

I have to tell him.
So I take a deep breath, gather my thoughts and open my eyes.

He looks different.
On his knees before me, dark rings still under his eyes.
But his face looks clear, his eyes look bright and there's colour on his cheeks.

He looks alive.
Even exhausted and just brought back from the brink of death, he looks more alive than I've seen since Hogwarts days.

I want to cry again.
But I can't.
I made this decision, I have to live with the consequences.
Straightening my back and I take his hands in mine.

His hands —
With no gloves.

“Granger—”

I shake my head, “No, listen. Before you decide how grateful you want to be. Before you thank me, please, I need you to listen.”

He frowns slightly but doesn't argue.

I open my mouth to speak.
A speech, planned in my mind.
A logical explanation that he'll understand and would be able to process.

I'm a professional,
I've explained myself before.
I've been in a situation where breaking a curse needed drastic measures.

A little voice in my head reminds me that I was a child then… but I don't care!
I know him, I should be able to explain it to him.

“Granger, you won! We won!” He takes my face between his hands, “Look at me! I'm here! I'm alive! I /feel/, Granger! I did not even realize how little I /felt/ before.”

“Draco —” I whisper, “Your magic — I took it. It's gone. I had to. It was the only way to keep you alive and I — I couldn't let you die. I couldn't!”

He blinks as the information sinks in.
Lets me go and lifts his hands in front of him to inspect them.
Turns his palms as if expecting to see the change in them.

I wait, subduing the urge to beg him to say something.
Trying to read the expressions on his face.

The one thing he valued above all — magic.
And I just took it.
As if it was my decision to make.

“I had no time to extract the curse. I had to weave it all away. I did not know what else I could —”

“Can it be relearned?” He asks dangerously calmly.

I shake my head, “Honestly, I don't know.”

“So if I take my wand now it's just like holding a regular wooden stick?”

“I don't know,” I whisper, “I'm sorry.”

Maybe he wants me to go?
Maybe he doesn't want me around after this?
Maybe I should just offer to leave?

He takes my hands in his again, “You saved my life. Practically brought me back from death and you dare to tell me ‘you're sorry’?”

I don't know if he's angry.
I think I don't know anything by now.
Like I've lost all the confidence I had.

Like I was so sure what I was doing a few minutes ago.
And so unsure about everything now.

Like I never knew anything less than I do now.

However, there is one thing I know.
For clear certainty,

“I love you,” I say, not looking at him but at our joined hands.

Gently, he puts his hand below my chin and tilts my head up, “Granger, you're the most brilliant, amazing, beautiful, brave human being I've ever met. Don't you dare make yourself believe I'd be angry at you for doing everything you could to save my life?”

His eyes glint, reflecting the light the room bathes in now.

“I love you,” he declares.
Clear and certain and almost victorious.
As if he was finally free to admit it
to me
to himself
to the world probably.

“We'll figure it out, won't we? You always told me, we'll sort it out.”

And I realize we will.
Magic is part of who he is and we'll find it back.
We defeated death, of course we'll find his magic again.
And if we don't then we'd figure that out too.

We are here.
We are alive
And we are together.

A smile rises to my face.
Slowly, but certain as a sunrise.
And with that, a new confidence and hope stirs in my chest.

We are together
And there's nothing we couldn't achieve.

I kiss him.
His lips are warm and taste like life.
And when his hand goes familiarly into my curls to pull me just a little closer, I wrap my hands around his shoulders.

“We'll sort it out,” I tell firmly against his lips.

We'll sort it all out.

Chapter Text

My life — the second one — begins on the floor of my room,
with her hands around me and her lips on mine.

Begins with declarations of love — I used to think was never for me.
Begins with the sunrise of a new dawn.

Everything laid new before me.
Every option open again

I get a second chance,
to start over
and do better.

And if I'm lucky, she'll stay by my side.

I will not mess this up.

Hermione smiles at me
and my heart — once heavy and dark and hopeless — tingles with joy.
With pure happiness, I never thought I'd feel again.

She's mine

To have
To hold
To save
To love

Forever

Chapter Text

It's noon when I'm awoken by Dipsy announcing there's someone knocking at the door.

Or not really woken.
More just alerted.

I did not sleep.
Not even though I'm exhausted.
Because every time I closed my eyes, Draco died in my hands over and over again.

I dozed off a couple of times, only to be woken by my own sobs.
And in the early hours of the morning, I wonder if I'll ever recover from losing him.

I love you

He had told me.
And then he had died.

He had left.
Gone.

Tears rise to my eyes again, but I force myself up and down the stairs.

Can't a person have a minute of sleep in this blasted manor?

It's the same Ministry lady from before.
She's wearing all black, standing in our hall with a compassionate look on her face this time.

“My deepest condolences on behalf of the whole of our department, Mrs Malfoy.” She lowers her gaze.

I glance at Dipsy by my side, but she doesn't look at me.
Only stares at the lady, unblinking.

The lady clears her throat as if moved. “I have come to confirm your status regarding the law.”

If I was confused a minute ago, her words spike me with a whole different feeling: rage.

No.
I will not tolerate this.
No matter what happened or is about to happen. The Ministry won't come to my house mere hours after my husband's passing to tell me about my status in their marriage law.

As if I'm a thing to be collected and reused.

“I—” But she cuts me off, lifting her hand.

“We just want to confirm your status. We don't expect you to remarry before the grieving period is over. Our skilled mind healers will have monthly meetings with you, and they have the full capacity to confirm when your mental state is—appropriate to fulfill your duty to the law again.”

I almost argue.
Almost tell her their healers can shove their diagnosis up their— But I halt just before opening my mouth.

Hold on.

Does this mean—

“Also, it looks like your late husband left his entire inheritance to you,” she says, offering me a paper with Draco's signature. “I will not bother you longer, Mrs Malfoy. Again, I'm sorry for your loss.”

She leaves, and I stand in the hall,
feeling like the walls are closing in on me. Wondering if I'm still asleep and this is part of my nightmares.

I thought I knew what was real and what was not.
But now—

Can you confuse the magical records of living people?

“Dipsy, could you—” I turn, but before I can finish my sentence, the Floo turns on and Narcissa steps through, looking nothing like her usual poised self.

It's as though she has run to me straight from bed. “Oh, darling.”

Again, I'm just a pawn on the board, unable to complete any move or sentence before the Malfoy matriarch pulls me into an embrace.

“I came as soon as I heard,” and then she's crying, “My son, my only son.”

But— Didn't I— Am I—

There's a cold fist squeezing my insides as Narcissa holds me tighter.
Fear like I've never known before, making my hands feel cold and my feet numb.

The Floo hums again, and I'm pulled from one pair of hands to another.

Pansy is crying freely as she hugs me, whispering, “You did everything you could.”

And then Blaise pulls me against his chest and tells me, “He loved you, you know?”

I thought I knew reality.
I thought I was in control of the situation.
I thought I knew what was happening.

But this?
This feels like— Like what happened in my head and what happened in reality are two completely different things.

I'm crying too.
All the desperation and exhaustion and fear pour out of me in the arms of the people he loved the most.

They hold me and each other.
And in their arms, I really am the wife whose husband just died in her hands.
The healer who did everything they could and still lost the patient.
The woman who just realized her worst nightmares were real after all.

And Draco, My husband—

Is really—

“Who's dead?”

Arms unhook around me as I spin towards the direction of the voice.

Draco is watching us from the door,
Leaning lazily against the doorframe,
arms crossed, a half-amused look on his face.
His hair is messed up, and there's color in his cheeks.

He might still be recovering, but everything about him radiates the fact that what pulled him under has let go.
That the curse is gone.

He looks fresh and alive.
His eyes flicker, and there's a crooked hint of a smile on his lips.

It takes only a millisecond for my tears of confusion to turn into tears of relief.
Because I know it's not a nightmare.

The nightmare is over.

It's over!
And he's still here.
He's still here.

Pansy shrieks and leaps to Draco's neck. “You're alive! What the hell?”

“Nice to see you too,” he laughs.

Only then do his eyes meet mine.

And he lets Pansy go immediately.
As if all the people in the room ceased to exist the moment he sees me cry.
His lazy happiness is gone in a blink as he hastily moves Pansy aside and reaches for me.

Stop it,
It's nothing,
I want to tell him.

But all I get out is a wet snort and a shake of my head.

“What's wrong?”

His hand lands softly on my shoulder,
and worry swims in the grey of his eyes.
His gaze is soft and full of something—

like love.

“It's stupid,” I whisper. “But they all came and said you were gone, and I thought maybe—” I inhale to stop my voice from shaking, “—that maybe you never woke up, and I just thought you did.”

The words come out so fast and tangled together, I'm not sure if they even make sense.
But he seems to catch them anyway,
puts his forehead against mine and lifts my hand over his heartbeat.

The beat that I restarted.

I close my eyes,
breathe in and out in sync with his beat.

It's kind of scary to realize what I'd do to keep that beat going.
The lengths I'd go to, to keep him here with me.

Now that I know what it feels like to lose him, I refuse to ever go through it again.

I curl my fingers into his shirt and take another shaky breath.

He doesn't rush me.
Doesn't ask if I'm okay.
Doesn't try to talk it off.

He knows what we went through.
He lost me as I lost him.

And we'll battle the aftermath and our nightmares long into the future.

But we'll be together.
Wherever we get to, we'll get there together. Whatever nightmares and post-traumatic stress reactions we have to endure, we'll do it together.

I love him.
More than any words I could ever think of could tell.

.
.
.

It turns out that the combination of losing his magic and his heart stopping resulted in his name being listed as “dead” in the Ministry records, hence the visit from the Ministry that first morning.

It turns out we got rid of the curse and the obligations of the law at the same time.
I tell the Ministry healer at the first meeting that I'll be leaving the magical world for a while.

It's no problem lying to her.
More of a problem lying to Harry and Ron.

I will end up telling them what's really going on a couple of months later, though.
But I'm not sure how easily they'll ever forgive me for the initial lie.

Probably they will—we've been through worse.

I'm sure all of you would like to know what we did then. Did we travel? Did Draco get his magic back? What happened?

But I'll only tell you this:

We did everything and more than we could ever have dreamed about.
We lived more than we ever had before.

In the end, I don't think it was only Draco who got a second chance at life, but me too.
I don't think it was only Draco who had to redeem himself from his past sins, but me too.
I don't think I saved only Draco the day I restarted his heart, but myself too.

We will return to magical society eventually. And when we do, we'll be two complete people, stitched together so tightly nothing will ever tear us apart.

We'll walk through the manor doors,
and this time it will be Draco who opens the curtains.
Draco who lets in the light.

The light, that will flood the whole house,
from the dust in the corners to the high chandeliers of the ballroom.
From the very foundations to the highest rooftops.

It's nothing new.
But the light— Bright and clear and blinding—

Will be what leads us into a beautiful tomorrow.

The end.