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Three years.
Three years in that Merlin forsaken place and he was finally being released. Quite frankly, he didn’t know what to feel. There was relief, yes, but there was also a sense of discomfort and uncertainty. What would his life look like now? What would he do? Who would he be?
His mind roved around with a plethora of thoughts and worries as he moved along with the Azkaban Guard at his side. He held nothing in his hands, save for a small black journal — a two-way (which he still doesn’t really quite understand how he was able to keep) — and a small scrap of parchment.
When they made it to the entrance of the prison, Draco flinched, surprised at how bright it was. After spending three years in a dark, grey cell, the light was something to adjust to. The front guard gave him back his belongings: his wand, the clothes he was wearing when he was admitted, and a watch — with which he noted it was 7:00 AM. He took the wand, but left the other items behind, having no desire to keep any of them. Turning towards the Auror standing at the entrance, he nodded once and stepped towards him.
The Auror took him by the arm and, with no clear warning, apparated them to the Ministry. Upon landing, Draco swayed a bit before settling and heard the distinct pop of disapparation as the Auror left him alone. His breathing quickened and he gripped his wand as he took in the busyness of the Atrium, people bustling about in all directions, their voices clamouring loudly. He took a deep, steadying breath and slowly made his way over to an open fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and, with shaking hands, brought the small slip of parchment he’s been gripping up to his face, reading the address scrawled across it, disappearing in a burst of green flames.
When he appeared on the other end, he was blinded by her. She abruptly stood, a blanket falling off of her shoulders on to the couch behind her. Her head of curls seemed more riotous than usual, as though she had been madly running her hands through it for hours.
“Granger,” he breathed.
She looked back at him with those honey-gold eyes of hers and slowly took two steps towards him.
“Draco,” she spoke softly, pulling at her fingers — a nervous habit.
For several moments, they both just stood there staring at one another, their eyes drinking in the other’s face. Eventually, Draco broke the silence, feeling like he was being dissected by her stare.
“Can I take a shower?” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse.
This seemed to snap her back into action as she blinked and took a step back.
“Of course. I only have one shower, through the master bedroom, which I’ve made up to accommodate you as well. Of course if you feel uncomfortable, I’ve also set up the guest room. I’ve gotten you some pajamas, though I’m not sure if they’ll fit. If they don’t, we can charm them so they do. And later, whenever you feel up for it, we can go and buy you some new clothes. If you don’t want to—
“Granger,” he interrupted, grabbing her fidgeting hands. “Relax. All I need right now is a shower. And of course I want to stay with you.” He hesitantly added, “If that’s still what you want?” At her nod, he continued, “Okay. Lead the way then.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, gripping his hands. “Sorry,” she spoke softly, looking at the ground. “I’m just . . . nervous. Follow me.” She turned around and began leading him through her flat.
They came to a room at then end of the hallway and she pushed the door open leading him inside. She left him alone for a moment, saying that she was going to grab him a few things. In his moments alone, Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm his rattling nerves, wondering if she left to do the same. Not having the chance to do so in the living room or through their walk through the flat, he took the time to look around. Hermione Granger’s room was cluttered, but in a cozy, comforting way. The whole room was bathed in warm, golden light, coming from the several lamps and lights scattered around. Unsurprisingly, there was a small wall on the left side of the room that was entirely a bookshelf — crammed so full of books he wondered why it hadn’t collapsed under the weight. There were several plants scattered throughout the room, their rich green leaves sprawling and stretching. In the centre of the room was a large, king-sized bed with soft blue-grey linen sheets. It looked unquestionably comfortable, as if you’d just sink right into it and never want to leave. On either side of the bed was a small wooden night table. The left one was empty, but the right held a stack of books, 2 picture frames, and finally, a small, black leather journal. The match to his own. He wondered if she cherished it as much as he did. The journal that, more than once, saved his life, her sweet words flowing through the pages like honey. 3 years worth of back and forth. Of fights, and bickering, and flirting, and learning, and love. He suddenly felt a sense of discomfort — what if it didn’t translate to real life? What if what they were only lived within those pages?
The door creaked open again, pulling him out of his thoughts. He turned to face her. “I know it’s not much, but…” she trailed off shrugging.
“I like it.”
She smiled at that and stepped forward. “Here’s a towel and a toothbrush. And a razor, if you want it. And some clothes. The bathroom’s just through there,” she pointed to a door on her right. “Take as much time as you need.” She handed everything to him and he nodded.
“Thank you,” he spoke quietly, looking her in the eye. He found he was having trouble converting just how much all this meant to him into words. He could only hope she could read it in his face. She nodded and gave him a small smile, and he walked towards the door.
Upon entering the bathroom, the first thing he did was strip off his clothes and head to the mirror — his first look at himself in three years. He did not like what he saw. His hair, grown out from the last yearly buzzcut they administered in Azkaban, curled around his ears and fell messily over his forehead. It was also dirty, looking more of a dingy grey than its usual white-blond. His face, and the rest of his body, was sunken in, his skin stretched over his bones. It was no wonder Granger was hesitant to talk to him — he looked like a corpse. Who could want that? Finally, his gaze drifted down to his left arm. The now faded Dark Mark was covered in a criss cross of scars, some healed and silvery, others still angry and fresh. He was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of misery and insecurity. How could Hermione Granger, who was the embodiment of all the good in this world ever want someone like him? Ever love someone like him? It didn’t make sense.
He sighed heavily and turned, making his way to the shower. He stepped into the welcoming, hot stream of water and allowed it to run over him, washing away the years of grime and dirt.
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He exited the bathroom, wearing the simple black joggers and white t-shirt that Granger had given him, to find her sitting on the bed. She looked up at him and her eyes widened just a fraction, probably her reaction to seeing how terrible he looked. A pang went through his heart at that thought.
“Do you want to eat something?”
He shook his head “Not right now. I just feel like sleeping.” His voice sounded rough and coarse from disuse.
“Okay,” she nodded.
He stood frozen for a few moments, unsure how to invite himself into her bed. She eventually stood and walked towards him, grabbing his hand. It was his left hand, and he flinched as her eyes trailed down it, landing on his scarred forearm. He tried to pull it away — to shield her from such an ugly sight — but she only held on tighter.
“It doesn’t define you, Draco. You are so much more than it.”
How? How was she so lovely, and kind, and good? For all that this world, the he, did to her, how was her heart still so open and soft?
Still grasping his hand, she led them over the bed and he watched as she turned down the duvet and slipped inside. At her encouraging look, he did the same. He nearly groaned at the comfort. His earlier beliefs were correct — he never wanted to leave. The bed was so large that they could both sleep on opposite ends and never touch. But he didn’t want that. He turned onto his side to find her already on hers, looking at him. He gravitated towards her and found her hand beneath the sheets, clasping onto it like a lifeline.
Up close like this, with only a few inches separating their faces, he could see how pretty she really was. The smattering of freckles along her nose and cheeks. Her cute button nose, and full pink lips. And her eyes. He felt like he could stare into her eyes forever. Little pools of honey, with golden flecks throughout. They were so full of warmth and comfort that he felt safe just staring at her. He had the sudden urge to bare his soul to her. The words came without warning.
“I’m so sorry, Granger. I’m sorry you somehow got stuck with me. Who was miserable and cruel to you for years. Who never did anything but put you down. Who stood by and watched as my aunt —“ He sucked in a sharp breath at that, not having the strength to say the words. Tears were stinging behind his eyes as he stared at her. She looked at him with nothing but concern and care in her eyes.
“You’ve already apologized, Draco. I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. It’s in the past.” She inched further until they were only centimetres apart, and rested their foreheads together. He closed his eyes. “I forgive you,” she breathed again, her warm breath skating over his face.
In a bout of vulnerability the words spilled out of him:
“Tell me you love me, Granger. I need to hear it.”
With no hesitation, she responded, “I love you, Draco Malfoy.”
The words sent a jolt through him. He never knew that love could be like this — so pure and ardent. Her words urging him forward, he closed the last few breaths of space between them and slanted their lips together.
This wasn’t like any kiss he had ever had before. It wasn’t rough and hurried. This kiss was sweet, and slow, and lovely. His hands came to rest on the sides of her face and hers dropped down to his waist under the covers. His entire being melted into her, and he tried to pour every unspoken emotion into her as he nipped and caressed her lips. His gratitude. His awe. His hope. His love. Her hands slid up until they rested on his chest as their mouths opened for each other, both giving and taking in this shared intimacy. When she made a low whine in the back of her throat, he slowly pulled away from her, keeping his eyes closed and reconnecting their foreheads.
“I love you, Hermione Granger, more than you could ever know. You have no idea how much you mean to me.”
He opened his eyes and found her staring back at him with such a strong look of adoration that it struck his heart. “I think I do,” she murmured. She gave him another soft kiss and whispered, “Sleep,” against his lips. He drew her further into his arms and breathed in the citrus-jasmine scent of her. The scent of home.
Draco Malfoy fell asleep that day, for the first time in his life, completely at peace. There was nothing sweeter in the world.
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