Chapter Text
After everything—the war, the year on the run, the sleepless nights in forests and fields, the terrible victories and the unbearable losses—Hermione Granger longed for something stable. Something that hadn’t been destroyed. Something that still felt like home.
And for her, Hogwarts was the only place left that came close.
She had changed, of course. They all had. But returning to finish her studies—to sit in a classroom again, write essays, and prepare for her N.E.W.T.s—felt like reclaiming a piece of her life that the war had nearly stolen.
But she wouldn’t be returning to her childhood home.
Not anymore.
Her parents had their memories back. She had flown to Australia, tracked them down, reversed the charm, and explained everything—how she had erased herself from their lives to keep them safe.
They remembered. They forgave.
But they did not want her back.
They couldn’t reconcile the daughter they once knew with the witch who had wiped them from existence.
She didn’t blame them. Not really. But it hurt more than she let on.
So now she lived with Andromeda Tonks, helping care for little Teddy, offering her time and energy to someone else’s healing since she couldn’t mend her own. Andromeda had taken her in without question. A quiet comfort in a world that had turned colder.
“I’m going back,” Hermione had told her one morning while feeding Teddy in the kitchen.
Andromeda had simply nodded. “Good. You deserve peace. And purpose.”
Hermione managed a smile. “I just hope I can find both.”
That night, Hermione sat curled on the windowsill of her room in Andromeda’s cottage. The moonlight spilled across her blanket, the stars above unblinking.
Ginny wouldn’t be returning with her. The youngest Weasley had accepted a full training season with the Holyhead Harpies.
“I’ll owl you every week,” Ginny had said, her arms wrapped tightly around Hermione. “And if I’m not traveling, I’ll sneak into Hogsmeade just to hex anyone who looks at you the wrong way.”
Hermione had laughed, but now, she felt the loneliness creeping in.
“I just want one year,” she whispered to the stars. “One year without fear. One year to just… feel like myself again.”
Meanwhile, miles away at Malfoy Manor, cold sweat clung to Draco Malfoy’s skin as he sat bolt upright in bed, breath coming in short gasps.
The nightmare had returned.
He could still hear her voice.
“Please, Draco… help me.”
Hermione.
The drawing room. The smell of blood and burning wood. Bellatrix’s laughter echoing off the marble. Hermione crumpled on the floor, her body shaking.
He had tried to save her. He had stunned Bellatrix. He had picked Hermione up and run. But Rodolphus had found them, and the green light—
He’d whispered to her in the dream: “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
Then he’d heard her voice, warm and close.
“Shhh… it’s okay. It was just a nightmare.”
She was beside him. Her fingers on his face. Her breath against his skin.
“I’m right here, Draco.”
He leaned into her. The world faded.
But then—he woke for real.
The bed was cold. The manor was silent. He was alone.
His head dropped into his hands.
He hadn’t screamed in years. But he must have this time. Because he heard footsteps just outside his door.
In the hallway, Narcissa and Lucius stood listening.
“He called her name,” Narcissa whispered. “He’s dreaming of her again.”
Lucius exhaled slowly. “Then it’s begun.”
They exchanged a glance—quiet understanding passing between them.
The next morning, Draco’s voice sliced through the silence like a blade.
“I’m not going back to Hogwarts.”
He paced the study at the manor, fury simmering just beneath the surface. “Why should I? That place nearly destroyed me. Everything I saw… everything I did…”
“You’re not going back for punishment,” Narcissa said, calm and composed. “You’re going back to find her.”
“Her?” Draco narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you talking about?”
Lucius watched his son carefully. “The girl from your dreams. You know who.”
Draco stilled. “That doesn’t make any sense. They’re just dreams.”
“They’re more than that,” Narcissa said gently. “It’s time we told you the truth.”
The Tale of the Dragon and the Girl
There was once a dragon who lived alone on a mountaintop. Every day, he watched a village below, curious about their lives. Most of all, he watched one girl who came to a waterfall near his cave.
She fascinated him.
Day after day, she returned. And day after day, the dragon watched from the shadows, falling slowly, helplessly in love.
One night, he saw a star fall across the sky and made a wish: to be human. To know her. To be near her.
A wandering witch heard his wish and offered a spell—but warned him it came with a price. By day, he would be human. By night, he would return to his dragon form.
He agreed.
The next morning, he found himself with hands and feet and a voice. And he went to find her.
They met at the waterfall. They talked. Laughed. Grew close.
At night, the dragon would return to his true self. The girl would visit, not knowing the beast she sat beside was the same man she loved by day.
She spoke of both the man and the dragon, torn between her feelings.
But then, the villagers grew fearful. They hunted the dragon.
The girl warned him, but it was too late. They came with fire and steel.
When they attacked, the dragon revealed himself and shielded her. He breathed fire and carried her away to safety. In the skies, he told her everything.
That he had been the man.
That he had watched her, loved her.
That he had deceived her.
And she forgave him.
The witch returned and told them their bond had changed fate.
“Your descendants will inherit this connection,” she said. “When they meet their other half, they will know. By instinct. By fire in the blood.”
When the story ended, Draco sat frozen.
“You’re saying… that this is real?” he asked slowly. “That I have this… curse?”
Lucius’s voice was firm. “It’s not a curse. It’s an inheritance.”
Narcissa added, “And you already know who she is. Don’t you?”
Draco looked between them, heart pounding.
“Who is she?” he asked.
They answered together.
“Hermione Granger.”