Chapter Text
The oars stopped.
The boat drifted the last few meters on its own momentum, slicing through the dark water like it was reluctant to let him go. Draco sat rigidly on the wooden bench, fingers clenched into fists, eyes fixed on the thinning fog ahead. He’d imagined this moment dozens of times in the six months. How he’d feel, what he’d think, whether he’d crumble or endure. He never imagined that his heart would be pounding like this.
The dock emerged from the mist, weathered wood and iron bolts slick with salt spray, and the boat bumped into it with a dull thud. The guard stood, tossed the rope around a post, and nodded at him.
“Up, Malfoy.”
The command cut through the cold air. Draco rose, his legs stiff from months stuffed in cramped spaces. The dock felt wrong beneath his ministry issued boots, springy, almost alive. The wind hit his face next, sharp but carrying something more alive than Azkaban ever did.
Not silence. Not despair. Not anymore.
He blinked against the brightness, grey eyes watering as if he hadn’t used them properly in months.
Inside the dockside outpost, another guard handed him his wand.
His fingers trembled when he touched it. Hawthorn. Familiar warmth. An echo of who he’d been but also who he still might be.
His chest tightened. Do I deserve this? Do I deserve anything beyond those walls?
But then he remembered Hermione’s voice, unwavering, stubborn, maddening Hermione, telling him that he wasn’t the sum of his worst moments. That he had a future outside that cell, he just had to be brave enough to take it.
He held the wand tighter.
“Through the Floo,” the guard said, already bored.
Draco stepped into the hearth. The green flames curled eagerly around him.
“Ministry Receiving Room,” he said.
The world spun away.
+++
He stumbled out, boots skidding on polished marble. The receiving lobby was too bright, too loud, too… much. People moved. Someone laughed. A fountain trickled softly behind him.
Draco’s breath caught.
It was overwhelming and magnificent and terrifying all at once.
He barely had time to steady himself when-
“DRACO!”
Theo Nott barreled into him like a bludger.
Draco grunted as strong arms wrapped around him in a crushing embrace. “Merlin—Nott—gerroff—!”
Theo squeezed harder before pulling back, eyes scanning Draco head to toe.
“Look at you,” Theo said, voice gruff. “Still pointy. Still pale. Good. I would’ve been devastated if Azkaban made you rugged.”
“You’re insufferable,” Draco said, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “And dramatic.”
Theo punched his arm lightly. “You love it.”
“Debatable.”
Theo’s gaze softened, just for a moment. “I missed you, mate.”
Draco’s throat tightened. He looked away.
“Careful,” he murmured, “you keep saying things like that and I’ll start thinking you’ve gone soft.”
Theo clicked his tongue. “Hermione’s fault. She’s been civilizing me. Some kind of humanitarian project. ‘Reforming Slytherin Men 101.’ She’s relentless.”
Hermione.
Her name rippled through Draco like warmth.
Theo smirked when he saw the change in Draco’s expression. “Speaking of which, she’s here.”
Draco turned before he could stop himself.
Hermione stood just behind Theo, her coat deep blue, curls slightly wild, eyes fixed on Draco with a mixture of relief and something else he didn’t dare name yet. She looked small in the giant room, but somehow she still grounded the entire world.
Theo cleared his throat loudly. “My job here is done.” Then, to Hermione: “Try not to snog him in the middle of the Ministry. It’s his first hour out, and Salazar knows he needs a proper shower.”
Hermione elbowed him. “Go away.”
Theo retreated a few steps, but stayed close enough to eavesdrop like the menace he was.
Hermione stepped forward.
Then she hugged Draco, tight, warm, real, her arms looping around his waist as though she’d been waiting weeks to do it. And maybe she had.
Draco froze. Then melted. His arms wrapped around her, one hand sliding instinctively up her back, the other settling at her waist. She smelled like cinnamon and parchment. She trembled, just once, and the tremor went straight through him.
He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d missed being touched.
When she eased back, her hands lingered on his standardized robes, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.
“Hi,” she whispered.
His voice was wrecked. “Hi.”
“You look…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Different.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “That’s polite for half starved, hideously dressed and questionably feral.”
“No.” Her eyes softened. “You look like you’re finally breathing again.”
Something inside him cracked open. He wanted to touch her again. He wanted—Merlin, he wanted everything he’d been too afraid to wish for.
Theo rolled his eyes so hard Draco could hear it. “This is disgustingly wholesome,” he whisper shouted. “I’m getting cavities. Good thing your parents are tooth healers, Granger!”
Hermione ignored him. “Are you okay? Truly?”
Draco swallowed. “I’m… trying to be.”
And then, quieter, “Seeing you helps.”
Her cheeks flushed.
Theo snorted. “Unbelievable. She had you half-in love in fifth year, fully in love before you even got out; now she’ll have you simpering at her feet by supper.”
Draco shot him a glare. “You’re just jealous someone finally likes me better than you.”
“That’s impossible,” Theo said, offended. “I’m delightful.”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please stop talking.”
Theo held up his hands. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you two your dramatic reunion. But if there’s crying I am leaving.”
He wandered off far enough to pretend to be uninterested.
Hermione stepped a bit closer to Draco again, voice soft. “Really… how are you feeling? This must be overwhelming.”
“It is.” Draco didn’t sugarcoat it. He didn’t have to with her.
“Everything’s too loud. Too bright. Too alive.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “And somehow not nearly as scary because you’re here.”
Her breath caught.
Draco felt his pulse spike. Say it. Ask. Before you lose your nerve again.
But she spoke first. “You must be exhausted. And hungry. And probably disoriented. We can go slow, you know. One step at a time. I’m sure your mother is dying to see you.”
He stared at her; the the girl who’d visited him when no one else could, who’d listened, forgiven, challenged him. The girl who’d held him together when he couldn’t.
And suddenly, the question stopped being frightening.
It felt inevitable.
“Granger,” he said quietly.
She tilted her head. “Yes?”
He inhaled deeply. “Would you… have dinner with me?”
She blinked. Once. Twice.
“Dinner?” she repeated, voice faint.
He nodded. “Dinner.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Draco… are you asking me on a date?”
His heart slammed against his ribs. “Yes.”
For a heartbeat, she was still.
Then she smiled, soft and brilliant and so full of wonder that it stole the air from his lungs.
“Then my answer is absolutely yes.”
Theo groaned loudly from across the room. “I knew it. I KNEW IT. This is disgusting. I’m telling everyone.”
Hermione turned to shout, “No, you’re not!”
“Yes I am! Gin and I have a betting pool going, you know. Draco, you just made Neville ten galleons!”
But Draco barely heard. His chest was light, warm, full in a way that scared him and thrilled him at the same time.
Hermione faced him again, lowering her voice. “We’ll go wherever you want. Or nowhere. Or just… walk around until it feels normal again.”
He couldn’t stop staring at her. “I want all of it. Any of it. As long as it’s with you.”
She slipped her fingers into his tentative and gentle.
He held on.
She smiled. “Good. Because you get to decide your future now. And you don’t have to do it alone.”
Draco’s breath trembled.
Maybe hope wasn’t dangerous after all.
Maybe hope was Hermione Granger holding his hand in the middle of the Ministry like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe, just maybe, he could finally hold onto it.
fin