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May 2005
The rain was hard on her skin—unforgiving. It seeped through her sweater and froze her bones completely. Her teeth clattered and as the rain fell from the clouds onto the crests of her cheeks, the drops intermingled with her own tears and Hermione no longer knew where she began and the sky ended.
She looked at the view in front of her, only able to make out a few blurs. Her tears made it nearly impossible for her vision to be able to focus. But she could hear Narcissa. Hermione could hear her pained cries as they echoed throughout the whole graveyard.
It hurts. I should be there too. It hurts.
She couldn’t help but think about how unfair it all was. If there was one person in this broken world that knew Draco Malfoy better than he knew himself, it was Hermione Granger.
And yet, she couldn’t even attend his funeral.
Not officially, at least. Forced to stay hidden, Hermione mourned her lost lover silently.
Alone.
And as more raindrops doused Hermione’s small frame, she thought the weather was fitting. It was as cold as the day she lost him and the sky cried—mourned alongside her.
June 1998
Hermione swore she heard something crack as her head hit the wall. She felt as if her body was on fire and her head was lead atop her shoulders. The witch let out an exasperated breath as she tried to get on her feet, but the pain from the hit was too much and she immediately found herself on the ground again.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Malfoy?” Hermione asked incredulously. She brought a hand to the back of her head and winced when her finger came in contact with a stickiness on her skull. She was bleeding, that was certain. But that wasn’t the most important thing in her mind at the moment, no. It was Malfoy.
The fact that he was standing in front of her and hadn’t tried to instantly kill her was beyond her. Hermione knew how valuable she was to Voldemort. She was The Boy Who Lived best friend’s after all, and that position came with a price—a bounty on her head. So why was Draco Malfoy, one of the most well-known Death Eaters, kneeling beside her?
“For someone who’s supposed to be the Brightest Witch of her Age, you do seem to always find a way to put yourself in incredibly stupid situations,” Malfoy said as he aggressively ran his hands through his blond locks. “Let me see your head.”
She tried to muster her angriest tone but all that came out of her lips was a mess of jumbled up words, “Get your dirty Death Eater hands away from me right this instant!”
“Granger, I’m trying to fucking help you,” he cursed through gritted teeth. “I did just save your bloody life, after all.”
Her life? What in Merlin’s name was he talking about? As far as she was concerned, Draco Malfoy had done absolutely nothing for her, let alone save her life.
She tried to argue with him but her head was throbbing and all of it was simply overwhelming. To be fair, she still didn’t quite understand what exactly was going on. So, she rationalized that saving her strength was a much smarter option and just flopped harder against the concrete wall and let herself be at his mercy.
Logically, she knew that this was probably a bad idea. A very bad and dumb idea. But Hermione was far too weak to allow herself another moment of recklessness and most-likely get herself injured even more.
“Stay still,” she heard him say. It was barely a whisper and, had his face not been so close to hers so that he could inspect her injury, she was sure she would have missed it.
He brought a hand to her jaw and slightly angled her face to the left. With his dominant hand, he seized his wand and pointed it directly at her wound, a soft incantation leaving his lips. All Hermione could feel was his slender fingers as they gently grasped her jaw and the soft tingly feeling of the spell putting her back together.
Hermione would never admit it aloud and, in case it ever got out, she would blame it on momentary insanity, but she quite liked the feeling of Draco’s fingers on her.
Yes, definitely insane, Hermione reasoned with herself.
Because there was no way that Hermione Granger—the Brightest Witch of her Age—would ever , in her right mind, genuinely think about Draco Malfoy in that way. She hated him. Always had. How could she not? He was her childhood bully and, as if that wasn’t already bad enough, he was a Death Eater. A well known and respected one at that. And a murderer.
He was a murderer.
At that realization, it was as if someone had just flipped a switch inside of her mind and she was once again back in reality. In a swift motion, she pulled herself away from him and back onto her feet, accidentally knocking him over.
“What the fuck, Granger?”
Although she still felt a little dizzy, she could now at least stand on her feet without support, thanks to the spell Draco had used to heal her. Which meant nothing, by the way. He was still everything she hated in the world and the fact that he showed her a moment of mercy—to her, of all people—meant nothing to Hermione. “Thanks for the help, Malfoy, but never come near me again.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Malfoy growled, an angry scowl decorating his pale features. He glared at her, outrage written across his face as he got up from where he had fallen. He didn’t even bother to clean his robes. He simply picked up his wand, brushed his fingers through his hair in frustration and started to walk away. “This is what I fucking get for trying to help people who I clearly shouldn’t be helping,” he murmured.
“Next time, Granger, I’m letting you die,” was the last thing he said before he apparated away without giving her a second glance.
May 2005
It was a lie.
She now knew that Draco would have given his life for hers if it had ever come to it. She would have too. Even now, if there was a way, Hermione was sure that she wouldn’t even think twice before exchanging her life for his. But one look at the sight in front of her only served as more confirmation that he was gone.
She waited and waited and waited. Always hidden in the shadows, gone unnoticed by the few people who attended the funeral. Hours had passed before she was finally able to make her way to his grave.
In loving memory of
Draco Lucius Malfoy
05/06/1980 — 02/05/2005
Loving son
Hermione felt as if the world had stopped. Looking at his name engraved in stone, really looking at it, just made it all the more real. As if it hadn’t sunk in yet until that very moment. As if there was still a sliver of hope that maybe this was just some horrible nightmare.
It was a nightmare, indeed . Just not one that Hermione would ever be able to wake up from.
She reached out then, her fingers tracing the engraved letters of his name, stopping short just above where it read loving son . A sob broke out at the words and Hermione reasoned about how unfair all of it was. Draco was more than that. Yes, he was a son, a damn good one at that. He gave up everything for his family’s sake—his mind, his heart, his freedom.
But he was so much more than that.
He was a caring friend—only to those he deemed worthy of his trust, yes, but caring nonetheless; he was a good lover as well, contrary to popular belief. He always put her safety first despite being on opposite sides of the war, constantly making sure that she was safe and out of harm's way as much as possible; Draco was also—
Draco was everything and so much more.
Hermione choked up on a sob as her knees gave out, the wet fabric of her jeans meeting the muddy soil next to his grave.
Gods, he was going to be a brilliant father—she thought as her hands promptly came up to her stomach and she gently massaged it.
Her heart broke a little more when she looked down at the tiny bump on her stomach. Hermione carried a part of Draco with her. The only thing left of him that wasn’t memories, old photographs or perfumed shirts. And yet, no one would ever know—could never know.
They were supposed to tell everyone. Sometime around the week that he died or the one following. But how could she tell them now? How could she look everyone in the eyes and tell them that she was in love with Draco Malfoy? That they were in a romantic relationship and that she was carrying his child?
As far as everyone was concerned, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were enemies. In the eyes of the world, they had hated each other since they were eleven. So who would ever believe her?
Maybe they would. When the child was to be born. Because Hermione knew, without a single doubt, that their child would be the spitting image of Draco. She hoped he would be, just so that she’d still have a living piece of him with her. Someone she could hold on to.
But she was supposed to still have Draco. Right by her side. For the rest of their lives. And he should have had the opportunity to be a father. And a husband one day as well.
Hermione remembered every little detail of the day she had told Draco that they were going to be parents. How could she not? It was one of her most precious memories. One that she would hold dearly in her memory for as long as she shall live.
It was the happiest she had ever seen Draco.
April 2005
Hermione sat in the old wooden bed, her legs tucked underneath her. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously as she intensively observed the glowing, pulsating yellow light in front of her. She so desperately hoped she had been wrong about this. However, it seemed that luck was not on her side. The glowing yellow light on the magical scan was a clear giveaway of that.
It wasn’t that Hermione did not want to be a mother. It had never been her priority, yes, but she wanted to have her own family one day. Just not then. Not in the middle of a war. Not when she had no idea what the future held for her and Draco.
What would Draco say? She knew that he loved her, but was he ready to permanently taint the Malfoy name and lineage?
“Please say something,” Hermione pleaded, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
Draco’s eyes had not once left the yellow glimmer for the entire thirty minutes they had been sitting there. Hermione hopelessly wanted to know what he was thinking, but his face was unreadable. Void of any emotion, as if he was frozen in time.
She could not blame him, though. Because when she had first cast that same scan the week prior, her reaction had been almost the exact same. Except that after staring at it for what felt like hours, she had cried herself to sleep.
“You’re pregnant.”
It wasn’t a question. It was barely anything, really. His voice trembled and his hands shook as his eyes remained glued to the small candescent light. Hermione could only hum in acknowledgement.
“You’re actually pregnant.”
“Yes, Draco, I am,” Hermione whispered, and with a small hand movement, she wordlessly ended the spell.
“I’m going to be a father,” Draco muttered, and for the first time that night, his eyes darted to Hermione.
She could only nod, too scared of what that meant. A child, in the middle of a war. She was terrified of what it all meant. The wheels in her mind hadn’t stopped turning since she found out about her pregnancy, constantly thinking about every outcome possible.
Could they do this? Could they raise a small human? Would Draco even want to be a father? What if he didn’t want this? What if he didn’t want a family?
As if he could read her mind, Draco broke the silence again. “I want this, Hermione,” he murmured against her lips. “I want us to be a family.”
“Are you sure?” Hermione was afraid to ask but she needed confirmation. She had to be sure that this was what he truly wanted. “Are you really sure?”
“I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Hermione. I want you. I want to have a family with you.”
“I love you,” Hermione said as she crashed her lips to his in a searing kiss. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“We’re going to be a family. Merlin, we’re really going to be a family,” he said, breaking the kiss. “I love you, Hermione Granger. I love you so fucking much.”
A tear fell freely from the silvery sea that was the depths of his eyes and Hermione let out a small gasp.
She had never seen Draco cry before.
May 2005
Hermione remembered how she had initially thought that Draco wouldn’t take the pregnancy news well. She was scared that he would resent her. Above all, however, she was terrified that he would resent himself .
She had never said anything but she knew. Hermione had always known how scared Draco truly was of becoming a father. She would sometimes catch little glimpses of him, his blond head laying on her chest as he stared worriedly at the small bump on her stomach. He never voiced it aloud, but Hermione knew that Draco was terrified of becoming like his father. But, that was exactly how she knew that he would never have been to their child what Lucius was to him.
Draco would have been an amazing father. Hermione had felt it then and she felt it now too—in her heart––she knew that he would’ve loved their child more than anything in the world. More than he ever loved her even.
And it pained her to know that the world would never have the chance to see that side of Draco. Hermione had only had the chance to have a glimpse of it—of what he could have been as a father—and she cried harder at the thought that their child would grow up without him.
She sank harder into the ground as her mind raced with countless memories of her happiest moments with Draco—of everything that had made all their hardships worth it.
November 2001
They met in the middle.
It was hard being on different sides of the war, but they compromised, always meeting each other in the middle. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t perfect. But it was theirs.
Being with Draco was like being stranded in the middle of a storm. It was hard, cold, and cruel, but it was also soothing all the same.
Hermione always loved the rain—especially that comforting feeling of standing outside in the rain. It was cold on her skin but it was liberating at the same time. And that is exactly what being with Draco felt like.
She smiled as she craned her head upwards and came face to face with Draco already looking at her. “You’re staring.”
“Never do that again,” Draco said, his jaw clenched as his fingers traced the fresh scar on her ribs. “You’re scared the fuck out of me.”
“I didn’t see it coming.”
“You could have died, Granger.” He was angry. That much she knew. His voice was low, as it always was whenever he was angry at her. When Draco was angry, he didn’t scream, no. His voice was quiet, severe, deadly. And it sent shivers down her spine.
“This is war, Draco,” she declared, looking away. “We’re at war. People die every day.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to be one of them.”
She sighed, counting to ten in her head in order to calm herself down. They had had this conversation more times than she would have liked to admit. Ever since they had started these little encounters of theirs many moons ago, Draco started showing his true colours a bit more. Granted, they weren’t dating. Together? Yes. Whatever that meant.
To be honest, Hermione didn’t quite know what their relationship was. They were simply Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Two lonely people with way too many burdens on their shoulders for their young age. They found comfort in each other's arms. They were each other's escape from this vicious world. She loved him. That much she knew. If there was one thing that Hermione was a hundred percent sure of in the world, it was that, somehow and somewhere during the war, she had fallen irretrievably in love with Draco Malfoy. And it scared her. It terrified her knowing that even though she was in love with him, they were still out there, fighting each other every day. On completely opposite sides of a war.
She sighed and detangled herself from his embrace, leaving their bed. “Every time we leave the front door, we’re in danger, Draco. The moment we step outside, we’re targets. That’s our life and there’s nothing we can do about that besides fight,” she cried aloud, not meeting his eyes.
“Don’t fucking patronize me, Granger,” he snarled. She wasn’t looking at him but she knew that with every passing second, he grew angrier. She heard the sheets rustling and soon enough, Hermione felt his rapid breathing on the back of her neck. “I know damn fucking well how war works. Don’t try to fucking explain shit to me as if I’m a fucking child.”
“Well, if you aren’t a child then quit acting like one!” The pitch in her voice increased and she was screaming, turning around at the last moment and jabbing a finger in his chest, “You know what the chances are that we both make it out of this alive. We’ve been over this. Merlin, over and over again. Why do you keep bloody bringing it up?”
“Because I’m fucking scared of losing you!” he shouted and Hermione’s mind went blank. He never yelled at her. He was never like this, not with her. She didn’t understand what was driving him into such extremes. Especially when this was something they had discussed before. Nevertheless, she was fuming. All she wanted after the hell that was earlier was to come to their shitty hideout and be in the comfort of his arms.
That certainly didn’t go as planned, she thought.
“And you think I’m not? Every time you get out of that fucking door I’m scared that the next time I see you will be as an abandoned body in a random battlefield.” She grew angrier by the second and she barely recognized her own voice anymore. She could feel the heat in her face, the rage coursing through her veins. The fear. Mostly, she could feel the fear. “But this is the reality we live in. The best we can do is try to enjoy every moment we can in the best way we can because we never know if this might be it, if this is it for us.”
“I can’t fucking live like that. Don’t fucking ask me to just live blissfully like nothing’s wrong. To just let you walk out the door and not worry when you come back to me bloodied and almost dead. Don’t fucking ask me to do that because I fucking can’t!”
“Well, you have to!”
“I fucking can’t, Hermione .”
She gasped and she could feel something sour dancing inside of her.
She had dreamed that the first time he would call her by her given name would be amidst a sweet moment. Not in the middle of a fight. Not screamed at her in anger.
“You can’t ask me to do that, Hermione,” he repeated, his voice lower now and his features softer—almost tired. “I can’t not worry about you and wish that you would be safe every second of every day because I love you.”
Hermione paled and held onto the nightstand for support, fearing that her knees would give out under her. “What?”
“I’m in love with you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He punctuated each word with a step in her direction. “That I love you and that I’m bloody terrified of losing you?”
She closed the distance, barely centimeters between them. “I love you too, Draco.”
They were face to face.
And then his lips crashed into hers.
September 2004
“Please, Draco. Don’t be such a sour arsehole,” Hermione whined with a pout.
“Fine,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes. “But know that it’s only so that I don’t have to deal with your incessant whining anymore.”
Hermione smiled with excitement. She had been begging Draco to take a photograph with her for weeks and the blond had denied her request every single time. Suffice to say that Hermione was delighted, after weeks of constantly pestering the boy, that he finally granted her wish.
With a chaste kiss to his lips, Hermione got up from the bed and made her way to the small wooden desk in the corner of the hotel room. She rummaged through her bag with sheer difficulty, thanks to the extension charm she had put on it, huffing in frustration until she finally located what she had been looking for.
A small, vintage polaroid camera. It had been her father’s and it was one of the few things she brought from her house after she Obliviated her parents at the beginning of the war. Her father used to capture everything with it, taking endless pictures of her, her mum, the sky, everything he deemed beautiful, really. Hermione hadn’t really used it much –– not since the war started. She could count on her fingers how many photographs she had taken in the past seven years. There wasn’t any beauty in war.
Hermione made her way back to the bed and sat in between Draco’s parted legs, resting her back against his warm chest. She craned her neck up to notice the blond eyeing the camera in her hands with curiosity. Hermione found it adorable –– not that she would ever admit it out loud to him.
Draco hummed, eyes still on the camera. “What kind of camera is that exactly? It doesn’t look like any muggle camera I’ve seen before.”
“It’s a Polaroid Camera. You see this slot right here?” Hermione questioned, her finger motioning to the bottom of the device.
“Yes.”
“Well, with this camera, once we take a photograph, it develops immediately. Meaning we will have it as soon as we take it.”
Draco nodded in acknowledgement and Hermione leaned further into his chest, a content sigh escaping her lips.
“Ready?”
Instead of replying, the blond reached out and wrapped his arms around her middle, hugging her. Hermine smiled and stretched out her arms in front of her, ready to take the photograph. Just as she was about to press the shutter-release button, Draco pressed a wet kiss to her right cheek. Hermione couldn't remember ever taking a picture so fast.
Hermione grabbed the small polaroid and shook it softly as she waited for the photograph to develop.
“Can we take one more?”
The question surprised her. She didn’t understand why the blond suddenly wanted another photograph when he had been so against taking just one for weeks. She agreed nonetheless.
They took another photograph. This time Draco held out the camera instead, as Hermione craned her neck up, one hand coming to rest on his left cheek as she gave him a soft kiss on the opposite cheek.
“One for each. So that wherever we go, we will always have a piece of each other.”
Hermione smiled fondly at the blond’s reason for wanting two pictures and kissed him. Hard and passionately, hoping that the kiss would tell him everything she felt for him.
Hermione kept the first photograph on her at all times. Always safely tucked into the inside pocket of her old jean jacket.
May 2005
She carried the photograph on the back pocket of her jeans now. Her jacket was long gone. She burned it the day after she lost Draco.
It was too dirty. Too bloody. Too much.
Hermione tried washing it time and time again, hoping that maybe it would look somewhat decent again. But her blood never came out, no matter how much she scrubbed it. It carried too many dreadful memories, anyway. Just one more reminder of everything she lost in the past years. So, she found a new home for the small polaroid in the pocket of her jeans –– a protection charm on it to ensure that it would never get damaged.
Hermione reached for her back pocket, then, and carefully brought the picture into her line of sight. And for the first time since she lost Draco, she smiled. A weak, barely-there smile, but a smile nonetheless.
And then her mind tricked her and dived back to the worst day of her life. The day of the Final Battle.
The day she lost everything.
May 2005
Her vision was blurry from the tears. Her face was stained with dirt, blood, and tears as they freely fell down her face. Her hands were shaking. Her heart beat so fast inside her chest, she felt like it was about to explode. Her right leg was soaked with her blood—from a nasty slashing curse some Death Eater threw at her. And Hermione was panicking.
She was panicking because the last time she saw her blond lover, it had been at the beginning of the battle. She saw him come up from the dungeons and he locked eyes with her before they ran to opposite sides of the school. Fighting on opposite sides.
But Hermione knew that Draco wasn’t fighting, not really. Because while the other Death Eaters always shot spells and curses to kill, Draco threw harmless jinxes and hexes. Hermione knew that the only reason Draco remained on Voldemort’s side was because of his mother, Narcissa. He would do anything to protect her, even if it meant tainting his heart black and having the world think of him as a monster. Hermione knew better, though.
Ignoring the pain in her leg, Hermione kept looking for Draco.
She looked for him for what felt like hours. She rummaged relentlessly through the broken halls of Hogwarts and she only stopped once she spotted that blond hair she knew so well. Hermione let out a relieved sigh at the sight in front of her.
He’s alive. Gods, he’s alive, thought Hermione.
A smile crept up on her face as her eyes locked with Draco’s. There he stood in front of her, on the other side of the corridor with barely a scratch on him. Draco’s blond hair was more of a light brown by then, probably dirt, but besides that and a few scrapes and bruises, he was alright.
Hermione tried to run to him but a cry escaped her throat, now hyper-aware of how much her leg hurt. Draco’s entire face contorted in worry as he saw Hermione hunch in pain and suddenly he was the one running. Hermione’s hand flew to her right thigh, putting pressure on the wound in hopes it would stop the blood.
Draco was closer now. Hermione could feel him, just a few feet away from her. She could almost feel his warmth again. Almost.
Almost never came.
Because as Draco Malfoy made his last steps towards her, Hermione noticed a boy creeping up on his right, his wand up and aimed at Draco.
“Draco! On your right!” screamed Hermione.
Draco turned right. The boy, a Gryffindor, had his wand pointed right at Draco’s heart. “Avada Kedavra!”
“Draco!”
Her ears were buzzing and she couldn’t breathe as she watched the love of her life fall in slow motion. His eyes—his beautiful, silver eyes, once so full of life, now void of it.
Hermione felt as if the world had stopped. And in a way, it did. Because Draco Malfoy was her world—he was everything to her. So, to Hermione, when his heart stopped beating, her world stopped turning.
Mustering up all her strength, Hermione swallowed her pained cries as she made her way to Draco. His body laid lifeless on the floor and she couldn’t help but scream as she fell next to him. A scream so painful, raw, and agonizing that Hermione was sure it shook the walls of Hogwarts.
“Please,” Hermione cried out as she stroked Draco’s cheek. “Please, Draco, don’t leave me.”
Hermione tried to speak again but the words got caught in her throat as broken sobs made their way out of her mouth instead. She cried and cried and cried. She cried so hard that she could feel her eyes swell up. Hermione could barely feel the tips of her fingers too because of how tight she gripped Draco’s shirt. But none of it mattered. None of it fucking mattered if Draco was dead.
She laid down her face on his chest, her ear just above his heart, and closed her eyes as more silent tears made their way down her face and onto his shirt. She so desperately wanted to hear his heart beat again. She knew it was impossible—that he was gone—and Hermione’s thoughts drifted back to all the times when she had laid her head on his chest, as his heartbeat lulled her to sleep and how she took it for granted. Because, in that moment, Hermione Granger would have given anything just to be able to hear Draco Malfoy’s heart beat once again.
“I can’t feel you anymore,” cried Hermione into Draco’s chest.
Hermione did not know how long she stayed there, clutching to Draco’s lifeless body as if she thought that, by some sort of miracle, he would come back to her. She wasn’t ready to let him go. How could she be? How could anyone ever be ready to say goodbye to the love of their life? But Hermione knew she had to go. Her leg hadn’t stopped bleeding and she worried that if she waited too long to get it checked by a Healer, it could have serious consequences.
So, for the last time, Hermione traced the little moles on Draco's face, his skin now cold under her touch and placed one last kiss on his lips, “I love you. I love you so much. I will always love you.”
He was gone.
And then so was she.
May 2005
Hermione thought about the irony of it all. Green had always been Draco’s favourite colour, with it being his house colour and all, and that same colour was the last thing he saw before he took his last breath. She let out a dry laugh at the thought. The world surely had a cruel way to go about things.
After what felt like ages, Hermione mustered up all of her Gryffindor courage, took a deep breath and got up. Her legs felt like jelly after being in the rain and mud for so long, so long that she had to hold onto his gravestone for support. Hermione choked on a sob at the thought that, even in death, Draco was still her support.
He was her safe haven, her courage, her faith, and her heart. He was everything to her.
Now, he was just a memory.