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Amidst the battle, Draco Malfoy stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the wind biting at his skin as he gripped his wand tightly. The night was cold, and the sky hung heavy with clouds, casting everything in an eerie gray light.
He hadn’t meant to be out here.
He saw her. Like a ghost, slipping through the corridors of the castle, just beyond his reach. In the midst of screams and curses flying through the air, Draco caught glimpses of her. That combined with the memories of the Manor, of her screams, of the war—it was all too much. He needed air. He needed… something, but he didn’t know what. He just knew he had to escape the crushing weight of it all.
A shadow flickered in the distance, and he instinctively stepped back, wand raised. The Dementors were out tonight, drawn by the lingering darkness, seeking anyone who was still vulnerable. And Draco knew he was vulnerable. He had always been. But as the icy figures glided closer, sucking the warmth and light from the air around him, Draco realized with growing dread that he had never been able to cast the Patronus Charm.
He cursed under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to focus, tried to remember how it was done. “Expecto Patronum”. Barely a whisper, the incantation felt foreign on his tongue. How could he summon happy memories when all that filled his mind was pain, guilt, and confusion? When every time he saw her all he felt was a hollow ache in his heart?
But as the Dementors drew closer, its skeletal hands reaching out, something shifted. A memory flickered in the depths of his mind—faint at first, like a half-forgotten dream. A fireplace. Candlelight flickering in the darkness. A mane of curls, brown eyes wide and filled with an emotion that made his heart instantly fill the void that seemed permanent.
Draco’s breath caught in his throat as the memory became clearer, sharper. He could see her now—Hermione. The way she had looked at him, as if he were something more than just a Death Eater’s son. As if he were more than the darkness that surrounded him. And then it hit him—hard and fast—like a wave crashing over him.
He remembered her.
Stolen moments in the shadows. The way her voice trembled, low and breathless, as she whispered his name. The feel of her fingers brushing against his skin. The tears in her eyes as she raised her wand, her voice barely audible as she said, “Obliviate.”
Draco staggered, his hand flying to his temple as the rush of memories slammed into him. He gasped, the pain almost unbearable, but amidst the agony, there was something else. Something warmer. Softer.
The way she had loved him.
For once in his life, he hadn’t been alone. She had been there—Hermione—his sun, his light in the darkness. And now, standing in the cold, with the Dementor closing in on him, he realized that she was the only thing that had ever made him feel alive.
Draco raised his wand, his heart pounding with the weight of everything he had lost, everything he had once cherished. His voice, steady and resolute, rang out into the night.
"Expecto Patronum!"
For a moment, nothing happened. But then, a brilliant, silver light exploded from the tip of his wand, taking shape before him. A massive dragon—sleek and powerful—emerged from the light, its wings unfurling as it charged toward the Dementor, driving it back into the shadows.
Draco stood there, panting, his chest heaving as the Patronus hovered before him, a symbol of the memory that had brought it to life. It was her. The thought of her. Her warmth. Her light. The only thing that had ever been real.
As the dragon dissolved into the night, Draco sank to his knees, the scent of her invading his senses. He could feel the sweet warmth of vanilla mingled with the delicate floral notes of jasmine, so inherently hers.
And as he stared up at the sky, a witch watched from the shadows, her heart aching as Draco’s Patronus disappeared. Hermione longed to reach out but remained hidden, her worry for him mixing with a deep, unresolved longing.
“I’ll come back to you. Always.”