Forgive and Forget (Chapter 20)
Chapter 20: At a Crossroads (Part 2)
Hermione sat anxiously at a corner table in the Three Broomsticks while she waited for Ron to arrive. She had selected her seat carefully so that they could speak in relative privacy. Part of her was hoping against hope that Ron would lose his nerve and not show up, but her hopes were dashed when she caught a glimpse of him, peeking over the people clustered around the front door. With a resigned sigh, she stood and waved him over to her table.
"Hey," he said, sinking into the seat across from her. "How are you?"
"Well enough," she said in a wary voice. "Busy."
"Busy studying night and day for the N.E.W.T.s, no doubt," Ron said with a tentative grin. But something in his off-handed tone only made Hermione freeze up more.
"Yes, well, some of us take our education more seriously than others."
Ron's smile faded and an awkward silence settled over their table. They were temporarily rescued by a server coming over to take their drink order. After they ordered a round of butterbeers, Ron tried to steer the conversation into less hostile territory by digging in his coat pocket for pictures of his newborn niece.
"Here she is," he said proudly, handing them over to her. "Her name is Victoire. It means 'victory' in French."
Hermione already knew that, of course, but she bit back a retort as she studied the photos. Various members of the Weasley family smiled back at her as they held the tiny bundle squirming in their arms, a trace of strawberry-blond hair peeping out of the pink blanket she was wrapped in.
"She's beautiful."
"She's already the most spoiled baby in Britain," Ron declared with a grin. "Ginny can't get enough of her; even George dotes on her. And of course, Mum's pleased as punch to have a granddaughter. She knit the blanket for her, of course. Poor Victoire has so many pink baby blankets, you could stitch them together and make a circus tent."
"Did you take Celestina Warbeck to St. Mungo's to see Victoire?" Hermione asked softly as she handed back the photos. Ron frowned at the mention of his most recent ex-girlfriend.
"Celestina and I are over. I'm sure Ginny told you that by now."
"Oh, so you did tell Ginny to pass that bit of news along to me. I suspected as much."
"Hermione," Ron said with a sigh. "Celestina was...well she was a distraction, that was all. A distraction to try and make me stop thinking about you. It didn't work, though."
When Hermione stared back at him, unmoved, he plowed on.
"She was really annoying, to be honest. And her singing reminded me of how Percy used to sound when he sang in the shower." He scrunched his face up in distaste. "It was awful. She's just...she's not you, Hermione. I know I have so much to apologize for. I don't even know where to begin."
At that moment, the server returned with their butterbeers in hand.
"Thanks," Ron muttered to the server, as he accepted his mug and took a long swig. Hermione, meanwhile, simply stared down into her butterbeer, finding the sweet smell of the beverage somewhat sickening at the moment.
"You said something about apologizing?" she prompted.
"Yeah," he replied, plopping his mug down on the table and wiping the foam from his upper lip. "That whole business with Malfoy, to start off with. It wasn't fair, the way I acted about your friendship with him. I...overreacted, to say the least. If anything, when I suggested we take a break from each other, I probably just drove you into his arms. Bloody stupid idea, that one."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, "but certainly not your first."
"I guess not." Ron hesitated for a moment, using the tip of his finger to trace a scuff mark on the table. "I know you probably dated him to get revenge on me..."
Hermione frowned.
"No, that's not why. I mean, it might have been, at first, but later..."
Ron looked up at her in disbelief.
"Hermione, are you saying what I think you're saying? Did you...did you fall in love with him?"
She stared down at her hands, her cheeks reddening.
"I see," Ron said quietly. "He broke your heart, didn't he? Like I thought he would?"
"No. At least...no more than I broke his." She glanced up at him. "Ron, would you mind if we don't talk about Draco anymore? Please?"
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," he conceded, and Hermione thought he seemed relieved not to have to discuss her relationship with his arch nemesis any further. "The other thing I'm sorry for is how I behaved when you told me you'd won that scholarship. I should've been happy for you, but instead I acted like a bloody imbecile. It was selfish of me to want you to pass up an opportunity like that. You've made just as many sacrifices as the rest of us, and you deserve that trip around the world. It's just a year, after all."
"Well, as it happens, I might not be going after all," Hermione said, finally taking a sip of her own drink. Ron raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been offered a position at the Ministry," she explained.
"Either way, you can't lose, Hermione," Ron said, after she had described her discussion with Hudgkins, and the fact that she had only a few weeks to decide between accepting the position. "You'll get to make an impact on the Wizarding world, and you know we'll all be proud of you, regardless of what you choose."
"I'm surprised Ginny hadn't already told you about my conversation with Hudgkins," Hermione said, trying to ignore the warmth she experienced at his last words.
"Ginny doesn't repeat everything you tell her, you know. She values your trust, and your friendship."
"And I value hers."
"What about my friendship, Hermione?" Ron asked. The anxious expression on his face revealed that he was afraid to hear the answer.
"You know I always valued your friendship, too," Hermione said truthfully. "Even now, I think, despite the fact that you've been a complete arse. But I don't know how to proceed from here. I need time; time to finish my studies, and time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life, before I can even consider what to do about us. I'm not ready to be in a relationship with you again...and I'm not sure if I ever will be."
Those last words wounded him deeply, she knew, but there was a flicker of hope in his eyes as well.
"I understand," he said solemnly, reaching across the table to clasp her hand in his. "Hermione, being apart from you all these months made me realize just how good I had it when I was with you. I've been such a dolt, and I know I can never hope to deserve you, but all I ask for is your forgiveness. I've walked out on you twice now, and I promise never to do it again. No matter what happens, you'll always have my friendship...and more, if someday, you decide you want it again. Will you forgive me?"
At his words, Hermione was suddenly transported to another time and another place, standing in the rubble of Hogwarts with Draco standing before her, lost and broken, his words echoing in her head: "Can't we just forgive and forget?" She had forgiven him, in spite of all that he had done or failed to do. Ron was guilty of lesser crimes. If she could forgive Draco, couldn't she forgive him, too? She shook her head, and the vision of Draco faded, only to be replaced by the red-headed, freckly face of the boy she had been friends with for so many years. The boy who had been her first love, though not her last.
"Yes," she whispered. "I forgive you, Ron. We've through so much together, how can I not? I want to be your friend again...but that's all I have to offer."
"For now, at least," he added, and she didn't have the heart to squash that tiny ray of hope he still carried.
"For now," she echoed.
They didn't linger at their table for much longer. Hermione had to return to the library to study, and Ron was due back at the Ministry. He was still in the midst of Auror training, and he would be spending the rest of the day mastering disguise spells. While Ron paid for their drinks, Hermione stepped out of the Three Broomsticks and into the fresh spring air. Hogsmeade was bustling, as was usual for a Saturday afternoon, and she noticed quite a few students milling around the various shops and eateries. When she caught a glimpse of platinum blond hair down the street, she froze in place.
Draco was just about to enter Honeydukes with a group of fellow Slytherins, and when he noticed her standing there, he hesitated as well. Hermione was about to give him a tentative wave, but Ron chose that moment to emerge from the Three Broomsticks, and she let her hand drop back to her side. When Draco saw Ron standing beside her, his face became blank and expressionless, and just like that, he was as closed off from her as had ever been before. Although it was only a matter of twenty meters between her and where he now stood, it seemed like an entire continent lay between them. Without a second glance, Draco shouldered his way into the sweets shop, and Hermione suddenly felt chilled, despite the warmth of the afternoon sun.
"You okay?" Ron asked her, his brow lowered in concern when he saw how pale her face had become. Draco had slipped into Honeydukes before Ron could catch sight of him, and for that, at least, Hermione was grateful.
After Ron had Disapparated to the Ministry, she walked slowly back to Hogwarts by herself, her mind churning with thoughts about what had occurred in the last week. Ron was back in her life, just as Draco had walked out of it, apparently forever. She had been offered the job of her dreams, but her scholarship, along with her research proposal, still hung in the balance. She could not recall the last time she had so many difficult choices to make.
"Growing up is all about making choices," her father had once told her, and now she could see what he meant. Her parents had also taught her not to lose sight of her goals in life, and that was advice she had certainly not been following these days.
"I've been such a fool," she chastised herself.
She was Hermione Jean Granger, most talented witch of her age, head of her class, and she had let herself become distracted by not just one, but two, messy little romances. Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew that what she had had with Draco was more than that, but she couldn't let herself dwell on such thoughts now.
"Life moves on," she told herself again.
Draco had obviously moved on, and it was now time that she started doing the same. The N.E.W.T.s were only weeks away, and after that, the beginning of her adult life. She needed to regroup and work on the parts of her life she had control over - namely, her career. There would be time enough in the future for love, but for now, she need to focus on herself and her own dreams.
But what were her dreams? Certainly she had never dreamed of working at the Ministry before now. And then there was the research scholarship. That dream wasn't as alluring as before, now that she wouldn't have Draco to share it with. She had imagined that she would be traveling around the world with him at her side, and the prospect of doing it alone seemed much less exciting. Besides, it was unlikely that she would actually be able to discover the gene that made wizards different from Muggles. She knew genetic research could take many years to reap a discovery, and most of the time it was a shot in the dark. However, perhaps if her research showed signs of promise, it would lead to further funding in the future.
To stay or go? Which would it be?
Somewhere on that long, lonely walk back to Hogwarts, Hermione made her decision.
Draco tried to focus on Summoning the pillow to his hand, but no matter how hard he worked at it, he had very little success. Most of the other students in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class were now able to perform the Accio spell without a wand, but for some reason, he was still struggling. He glanced across the room, where Hermione was using wand-less magic to Banish the pillows away from herself after having already mastered the art of Summoning them. He knew that if he had a chance to practice with her one-on-one, as they used to do, he would be able to do the spell, too. He suddenly recalled a winter night in the library, when she helped him conjure his Patronus for the first time and he admired the way the wispy, spell-summoned dragon was reflected in her eyes. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push the memory aside, just as Hermione was currently Banishing those pillows.
They had interacted very little since they had spent that last night together in his family's summer home in Dover. They still studied with the same group of people, but no longer sat side-by-side, and when they spoke to each other, it was generally out of necessity while discussing a N.E.W.T.s question with their classmates. They were never alone together, nor had either of them expressed any desire to be.
With a scowl, Draco recalled how he had spotted Hermione exiting the Three Broomsticks with Ron Weasley. The momentary distraction made his pillow wobble in mid-air, and then tumble to the floor before it could reach him. He nearly threw his wand across the classroom in frustration. He knew he should no longer care whether or not Hermione decided to date the ginger-haired moron. He had wanted her to move on...but did it have to be with Weasley?
"Mr. Malfoy, is something wrong?"
Draco turned to find Professor Hong standing beside him in his stately, black silk robes, an expression of concern on his face. Then he noticed that while he had been so lost in thought, the class had ended, and the rest of the students had already filed out of the room.
"Oh, sorry, Professor. I was just practicing the wandless Summoning spell and lost track of the time," Draco said, flustered.
"I see." Professor Hong stared down at the pillows that lay scattered on the floor, just outside of Draco's reach. "It is not like you to struggle with the mastery of a spell. Perhaps the issue lies with your concentration? For the Summoning spell to work properly, you must be focused. You must desire nothing more than to bring that object within your grasp."
"So, it's about knowing what you want?"
"That's an apt way of putting it, yes."
Well, no wonder I'm having trouble, Draco thought grumpily. Knowing what he wanted was not exactly one of his strong points these days. And wanting what he couldn't have was the other problem. He glanced at the DADA professor, wondering if he could confide in the sage wizard.
"Mr. Malfoy, I sense that there is something else troubling you," Hong said, once more reminding Draco of Professor Dumbledore in his perceptiveness. "What is it you wish to ask me?"
"Sir, earlier this year you mentioned something about love. You said it was the most powerful force in the world."
"Yes, I did. And you do not believe this statement." It was not a question.
"No, I'm afraid I don't."
Professor Hong nodded politely.
"May I ask why?"
"It's just...well, there seem to be other forces out there that are more powerful than love. Like time, for instance. People can fall out of love over time. It happens every day. Even in the Wizarding world, the divorce rate is high. And death. Love can't stop people from being separated by death. Lies, adultery...so many things can tear love apart. So how can you say it's the most powerful force in the world? It seems pretty fragile to me."
"You are right; love is indeed a fragile thing. And yet, so much of human history is driven by love. Men will do anything for it -- fight for it, kill for it...yes, even die for it. For better or worse, love changes people. Even when it fades, it leaves a trace of itself behind, and anyone who is touched by it is never the same again. That is what makes it is the most powerful force in the world."
Draco was silent for several moments, processing the DADA instructor's words. Then Professor Hong spoke up once more.
"I have some essays to grade, and would be grateful for the company," he said, "Since yours was the last class of the day, why don't you go ahead and practice the Summoning spell a little longer?"
At Draco's nod of acquiescence, Professor Hong settled down behind his desk and pulled out a quill and ink-pot. For half an hour, there was no sound but the soft scratch of quill against parchment, and the thump of pillows falling futilely to the floor. Finally, after numerous attempts, Draco regained his focus, and managed to send one of the pillows launching into his outstretched hands. Professor Hong glanced up, and while no smile graced his stern face, his brown eyes were warm with kindness and reassurance.
"You see, Mr. Malfoy, the things we desire will often find their way back to us, in time."
The weeks flew by, and after hours of studying, and more than a few nervous breakdowns on the part of the Seventh Years, the time came to take the N.E.W.T.s exams. Despite all that had occurred in the preceding weeks, Hermione somehow managed to push all of it aside and return to the bookish, studious ways she had mastered during her earlier years at Hogwarts. When she walked out of the Great Hall after the exams were completed, she felt reasonably confident that she had passed. Or, at least, as confident as she was capable of being when it came to exam results.
By the time the N.E.W.T.s were over, the school year was almost over as well, and Hermione found herself spending her last days at Hogwarts. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that she would never again dash through the halls on her way to class, study in the library, eat dinner in the Great Hall, or wear a school uniform trimmed in Gryffindor colors.
The morning of the Parting Ceremony dawned bright and warm, and throngs of family members and friends crowded the halls to join in seeing the Seventh Years off. The Parting Ceremony, like the scholarship competition, had been a new addition to Hogwarts procedure after the war had ended. No doubt the faculty thought it would help increase solidarity and allow the students and their families to focus on the bright prospects of the future, rather than the tumultuous events of the previous year.
Hermione spent much of the morning showing her parents around Hogwarts. They had never had a thorough tour of the school before, and they found the place by turns fascinating and frightening (“The staircases move?” her mother had said, aghast. “Isn’t that some sort of safety code violation?”). The mood in the castle was definitely more festive than it had been at the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts several weeks prior, and when Hermione and her parents entered the Great Hall for the Parting Ceremony, it was to find the room decorated in fairy lights, streamers, and balloons in the colors of all four houses.
Hermione left her parents to admire the magical décor while she went to sit with her fellow Seventh Years on the stage. In the preceding weeks, Draco had been keeping more to his Slytherin classmates, and she saw that she was doing so again this afternoon, as he was sitting with several silver-and-green clad Seventh Years in the back row. Hermione chose a seat closer to the front, with Luna and Ginny.
“It’s hard to believe we’re finally here,” Ginny said, as Hermione settled into place between her two friends.
“I think the end came too soon,” Luna added dreamily.
“Or maybe not soon enough,” Hermione grumbled, as she cast a glance over her shoulder. Ginny and Luna followed her gaze, and the three girls watched as Draco leaned over to listen to something one of his Slytherin friends said, and then laughed along with the rest of them.
“You miss him, don’t you?” Luna asked.
“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “That’s why I’m glad the school year’s ending, to be honest. I just need distance from the whole situation. Having to see him every day in class is…”
“Miserable?” Ginny supplied, and Hermione nodded. “Well, look at it this way,” her friend continued, “life is about to get a lot better for all three of us. At least, I hope so, in my case. I’m trying out for the Harpies next week, and if I don’t make the team…”
“You will,” Hermione reassured her. “I’m certain of it.” What she was less certain of was the choice she had made just a few days prior. The discussion she had had with Professor McGonagall had not been an easy one, and she was still plagued with doubts, but it was too late to go back on her decision now.
“Hermione! Ginny!” two male voices called out, and she looked up to see that Harry and Ron had joined her parents and the rest of the Weasley family in the crowd. She waved back, and even managed a tremulous smile for her two best friends.
Even now, she still wondered how different things would have been, if the war had not touched all three of their lives; hers, Ron’s, and Harry’s. They would all have been sitting up on the platform together, leaving Hogwarts just as they had entered it - together.
And I never would have had the chance to fall in love with Draco Malfoy, she added. As she glanced back at the blond-haired Slytherin once more, she wondered if that might have been a blessing, never having shared those few, blissful months with him.
Hermione was spared from any further thoughts about Draco as Professor McGonagall approached the podium and welcomed the assembled students and guests. She continued with a speech that was rather similar to the one she had given during the Welcome Feast at the beginning of the school year, about honoring the dead and carrying the lessons they had learned from the war, and their days at Hogwarts, into the Wizarding World; lessons about solidarity, forgiveness, and equality. When she was done, she and Professor Flitwick worked together to hand out N.E.W.T.s certificates to the Seventh Years, and Hermione was relieved to find that she had passed with flying colors in all of her classes.
“It brings me great pleasure to award two of our Seventh Years with an additional honor,” Professor McGonagall announced, once the last student had received his N.E.W.T. certificate and returned to his seat. “As many of our guests already know, we are starting a new tradition this school year by awarding two Seventh Years - one male, and one female - with a scholarship to conduct research. Not only did these students have to write an essay outlining their research plans, but they also had to be exemplary students and show great promise as citizens of the Wizarding World.”
“The first student is one who many may be surprised to find a recipient of this award,” McGonagall continued. “But throughout the school year, he has shown himself to be not only a good student and hard-working young man, but also a leader for his fellow classmates. I am honored to award the first Hogwarts Scholarship for Humanitarian Service to Draco Malfoy.”
As Draco rose from his seat to accept the scholarship certificate form Professor McGonagall, Hermione kept her gaze focused on her hands folded in her lap, so as to avoid his eyes when he passed by her chair. There was a chorus of cheers from the student section of the hall, particularly from the Slytherin table, but from the rest of the audience there was only a smattering of applause, and more than a few whispers of shock and dissent. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Narcissa Malfoy sitting upright in her chair, proudly applauding her son’s accomplishment, and stoically ignoring the naysayers that surrounded her.
She’s supportive of Draco, I’ll give her that, Hermione thought grudgingly. Part of her could almost begin to understand why Draco was so loyal to his mother, but she pushed the idea aside before it could take root.
“And now,” said Professor McGonagall, once Draco had resumed his seat, “I am pleased to honor a young lady who has also excelled in her studies this year, and who has maintained the most optimistic and open-minded attitude towards her classmates, despite the hardships she suffered during the war.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted into knots as she waited for the next name to be announced.
‘The second recipient of Hogwarts Scholarship for Humanitarian Service is…Luna Lovegood.”
The applause that greeted Luna’s name was much louder than for Draco’s. Everyone knew about her heroics during the war with Voldemort, and she had become much more popular during the past year. However, Luna seemed to be rooted in place, and her blue eyes were wider than usual as she turned to Hermione.
“But Hermione, you won the scholarship. Why are they giving it to me?”
“Because you deserve it more than I do,” Hermione said gently, giving her friend a pat on the shoulder. “And because you can put it to better use than I can. My place is here. If anyone deserves to be out exploring the world, it’s you. Go on, now. They’re waiting.”
Hermione gave the girl a nudge, and she reluctantly got to her feet and stepped up to the podium to accept her award. A grin spread across Luna’s face, and Hermione spied Xenophilus Lovegood on his feet in the first row of the audience, clapping and telling everyone around him, “That’s my daughter! That’s my Luna!” And Hermione knew she had made the right choice.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ginny asked her, once the ceremony had concluded and they were all milling about the tables, piling their plates high with the Hogwarts House-elves’ finest fare.
“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, as she plucked a croissant from a nearby platter. “I guess I was afraid you would try to talk me out of it.”
“Talk you out of it? Are you kidding me? I’m so glad you’re not going away for that year abroad, Hermione. You’ll be here for my tryouts, and the hols, and we can visit little Victoire, and…oh, won’t the boys be happy you’re staying!”
Ginny wasn’t wrong. The minute Harry and Ron found them, Ron swooped Hermione up in his arms and thrust a fistful of roses in her hand, flushing almost as red as the petals in the bouquet.
“Sorry,” he said, when Hermione gave him an admonishing look. “I know we’re supposed to just be friends now, but I couldn’t resist. I know they’re your favorite flower.”
“You remembered?” Hermione asked, surprised. “You didn’t have to have Harry or Ginny remind you?”
“No,” Ron replied with a frown. “I do remember some things on my own, Hermione. Especially the important things.”
“Erm, Gin, that pudding looks delicious,” Harry cut in awkwardly. “Want to go try some with me?” Before his girlfriend could protest, he grasped her gently by the elbow and steered her away into the crowd, leaving Hermione alone with Ron.
“So, you decided not to go abroad after all,” Ron said.
“Yes. But don’t think it was for you,” Hermione added pointedly. “The position at the Ministry was too good to resist.”
“You’re taking the job at the Magical League for Social Justice, then?”
“I sent an owl with my letter of acceptance just yesterday.”
“That’s…well, that’s wonderful, Hermione. It really is. Now we’ll be together again, you, me and Harry, running amok at the Ministry…can’t you see it? It’ll be just like old times.”
“Just like old times,” she repeated, with a wan smile. Except it won’t be. Because I’m not the same person and neither are you and Harry. Nothing can make it the same as it used to be. So how long are we going to go on with this farce, pretending that nothing’s changed?
“Sorry to interrupt,” said a cool voice that made Hermione’s heart lodge in her throat. She turned to see Draco Malfoy standing there, eyeing the two of them with obvious contempt.
“Then leave,” Ron replied, just as coolly. Draco, surprisingly, did not rise to the bait. Instead, he ignored the red-head completely and turned to Hermione.
“I just wanted a quick word,” he said, in a more hospitable tone.
Hermione hesitated, and then nodded, causing Ron to stalk away with a scowl and a warning look in Draco’s direction. Draco’s shoulders relaxed visibly after Ron was gone, and Hermione couldn’t help feeling a sudden surge of hope. If Draco was so upset about her sharing a conversation with Ron, then that was a clear sign that he still had at least some feelings for her.
But instead of the declarations of love she was hoping for, he only said, “You declined the scholarship.”
“That seems to be the topic of the evening.”
“But why? Please don’t tell me you did it for Weasley.”
“Would that bother you?” she asked shrewdly. “Because I think you’ve lost the right to judge what I do and why.” When he had no reply for that, she sighed, “No, Draco, I didn’t do it for Ron.” I did it because the idea of traveling around the world seems empty without you. “I did it for me.”
“I see. Father did tell me that you have a cushy new seat at the Ministry.”
Hermione felt cold.
“Is that so? And what else did your doting father tell you, Draco?”
“That when I return from my travels, I will do my duty to my family.”
Any hopes that Hermione may have entertained were snuffed out like a flickering candle flame in a strong wind.
“Well, you always were the dutiful son,” she snapped. She glanced over his shoulder to see Narcissa standing in throng of celebrants, glaring at them over the rim of her glass of pumpkin juice. “Speaking of which, your dear mother doesn’t seem to approve of you speaking with me. Perhaps it would be best if you went back to clinging to her apron strings.”
It was uncouth of her, she knew, but she couldn’t resist the little stab at the man who had broken her heart. And from the hard, careless expression on his face, he didn’t seem to be suffering any guilt over it, either. He was as stony and unrelenting as he had been when she first encountered him at the beginning of the school year.
Could this really be the man she had fallen in love with, shared so many laughs with, and shared a bed with more nights than she could count? Could this be the man who had taught her to fly, had made love to her in a handfasting cave, and turned her whole world upside down, for the better? Or had she only imagined it, in some warped, lust-filled, adolescent dream?
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I…I didn’t mean it.”
He nodded, and his face seemed to soften somewhat, though that could have been yet another figment of her imagination.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry for the whole mess I put you in. I…I know you don’t believe it, Hermione, but I want nothing but the best for you, now and always.”
“I believe you.”
A flicker of emotion flashed behind Draco’s gray eyes.
He loves me, Hermione realized, but he doesn’t see it and I don’t know if he ever will. Even his mind did not comprehend the emotion, his heart knew it, and it was there in his eyes for her to see, plain as day.
“Draco,” she said, as he turned to leave. “Please write me while you’re gone. Just a postcard here and there, when you have a chance. I want to hear about all your adventures around the Wizarding World; about the places you see, and the people you meet. It’ll be dull as a tomb here in Britain, you know.” She feigned a smile.
He paused, raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck and discomfort.
“I…I can’t make any promises. But…I’ll try.”
“I see,” Hermione said softly. And she did see. She saw that she would not be receiving a single postcard from him on his journey. It was for the best, she knew. It was better for them to cut ties completely, to move on with their separate lives. But that couldn’t keep her heart from breaking a little more. She wanted to kiss him, slap him, throw her arms around him and beg him not to go. Instead, she held her hand out to him, as she had done a lifetime ago in the Hogwarts library, when he had agreed to be her study partner. Little had she known, then, what would come from a simple handshake. But this one would be different. This one would be good-bye.
“Have a nice life, Malfoy.”
If the use of his last name hurt him, Draco did not let it show. His face had returned to the stony mask, and any weakness that his eyes had betrayed a moment ago, was hidden from sight now, probably forever.
“You too, Granger.”
As their hands touched, it was as if lightning danced between their fingertips, shooting up her arm and electrifying every inch of her body, and Hermione knew then that it had not been a figment of her imagination. It had not been some silly adolescent crush. However brief, however doomed, their love had been real. And she knew with just as much certainty that it was over.
Draco dropped her hand quickly, and Hermione knew he felt the same thing. But by the time she shook herself from her stupor, he was gone, and she was staring at his back as he melted into the crowd.
That was it. The greatest love of her young life, and it had ended quite anticlimactically, with a handshake and a curt farewell. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, she found she could do neither. She had spent all of her tears, and all that remained was emptiness.
Draco flew, faster and faster and faster around the Quidditch pitch, but he couldn’t fly fast enough to leave Hermione Jean Granger behind him. Even his father’s stern words echoing in his ears could not deter his thoughts.
‘You will do your duty to this family.’
Draco scowled and flew even faster, until tears ran down his cheeks. It was from the wind blowing in his eyes, nothing more.
The moonlight shown on the grass, glowing on the pitch like a spotlight. The night was warm, for once, and the promise of summer was in the air, but Draco was blind to all of it.
‘We are the outsiders, now, Draco. It falls on you to restore our family’s standing in society.’
Draco gritted his teeth and brought his broom to a halt in midair, turning it back towards the school. At a slower pace, the breeze seemed gentler, like fingers ruffling his hair. Like Hermione ruffling his hair after a long night of lovemaking... No. He would not think about that tonight.
‘You must put your boyhood days behind you.’
Tonight was his last night at Hogwarts. His trunk was packed with all his old school books, his uniform, and even the green and silver scarf Hermione had knitted for him at Christmas, shoved at the bottom and buried under a pile of socks. If only he could bury his feelings for her as deeply.
With a sullen sigh, he brought his broom down in front of the new war monument that had been erected a few weeks before. Strewn around the base of the statue were the many offerings to the dead. There had been no rain or storms since the dedication ceremony, so the gifts had been spared from the ravages of nature. Draco slung his broom over his shoulder and wandered around the statue, gazing down at what the loved ones of the dead had left behind.
There were bouquets of flowers, in various states of wither and decay. Draco found a cluster of red roses that made him think of Hermione sitting in a certain Hogwarts classroom with tears drying on her cheeks and mistletoe sprouting over their heads…but then the vision was marred by the more recent memory of Weasley swooping her up into his arms and thrusting a bouquet of red roses in her face. Draco frowned and moved on.
He saw love letters and cards, sweets and trinkets, joke shop tricks, and even more unusual, a few pairs of garishly-colored, mismatched socks.
They are not for the dead, but for the living, Draco realized. They were ways to remember a life lived; ways to remember better times…happier times.
And how would he remember his time with Hermione? He recalled the polite handshake they had shared in the Great Hall just hours before. It had ended so coldly between them, and that didn’t seem right. Everything between them had been heat and passion.
Wind and fire, he thought to himself. But his father’s words echoed just as clear.
‘I am proud of you, son, but there is still so much left to be done…’
And then there were other voices, one overlapping the other, until he thought they would drive him mad:
’I forgive you, Malfoy. But I don't know if I'll ever be able to forget…’
‘You will do your duty to this family…’
‘Some things will never change. Your father's position on this matter is one of them…You may think your feelings for the girl would compensate for the loss of your family and your way of life, but eventually you would grow to resent her for it…’
‘Draco, is that all that matters to you now, keeping your mother happy? Whose life are you living?’
‘You must put your boyhood days behind you…’
‘Today we stand at a crossroads… We must never forget where we’ve been. But, like the artist who shaped the stone of this sculpture, we must allow our experiences to shape us into better people, and a better society. Like a phoenix, we can rise from the ashes and begin anew.’
Draco glanced up at the statue before him, with the phoenix spreading its wings as it rose from the flames. Begin anew. Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt had made it sound so easy when he uttered those words in his commemoration speech, but Draco knew better. How to begin anew and build a life without Hermione in it? After all, the loss of her was a death, in its own way. How could he put the memory of her behind him?
‘Today we stand at a crossroads…’
But Draco had already passed that fork in the road. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it.
That was the hard part.
He stared at all the little gifts and offerings strewn all around him and thought that, in a way, the dead had it easier than the living. At least they didn’t have to live with regrets.
Just as he turned to go back to the school for his last night in the Slytherin dungeons, a strong gust of summer wind stirred the letters and notes at the base of the monument, sending one piece of parchment fluttering across the ground to get caught against his ankles. Curious, Draco reached down to pick it up. The words of a poem were scrawled across the page in a steady hand, addressed to no one, and with no signature at the bottom.
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped away
into the next room.
I am I,
and you are you;
whatever we were to each other,
that, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name,
speak to me in the easy way
which you always used,
put no difference in your tone,
wear no forced air
of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we shared together.
Let my name ever be
the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all
that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just around the corner.
All is well.
A/N: The poem is an excerpt from a longer poem by Henry Scott Holland.
Sorry this update took a little longer than I hoped...Still, 2 months between updates is still much faster than the 2 years I had between the update before that, so at least it's an improvement! ;)
This chapter basically concludes the first of two parts of this story. Obviously, this first part was focusing on Draco and Hermione's school years, and the second part will take place years in the future. I intend for the second part of this story to be a fair amount shorter than the first, and yes, I have a plan for how most of it will go, and YES, Draco and Hermione's reunion will be a part of that. :)
Thanks to Dina and Amethyst18 for your beta help, as always. And thanks to you readers, especially those of you who have continued reading this story, despite your doubts. All I ask is that you please hang in there just a little longer, as we start moving towards that seemingly-elusive happy ending...
Previous Chapter
Table of Contents
Hermione sat anxiously at a corner table in the Three Broomsticks while she waited for Ron to arrive. She had selected her seat carefully so that they could speak in relative privacy. Part of her was hoping against hope that Ron would lose his nerve and not show up, but her hopes were dashed when she caught a glimpse of him, peeking over the people clustered around the front door. With a resigned sigh, she stood and waved him over to her table.
"Hey," he said, sinking into the seat across from her. "How are you?"
"Well enough," she said in a wary voice. "Busy."
"Busy studying night and day for the N.E.W.T.s, no doubt," Ron said with a tentative grin. But something in his off-handed tone only made Hermione freeze up more.
"Yes, well, some of us take our education more seriously than others."
Ron's smile faded and an awkward silence settled over their table. They were temporarily rescued by a server coming over to take their drink order. After they ordered a round of butterbeers, Ron tried to steer the conversation into less hostile territory by digging in his coat pocket for pictures of his newborn niece.
"Here she is," he said proudly, handing them over to her. "Her name is Victoire. It means 'victory' in French."
Hermione already knew that, of course, but she bit back a retort as she studied the photos. Various members of the Weasley family smiled back at her as they held the tiny bundle squirming in their arms, a trace of strawberry-blond hair peeping out of the pink blanket she was wrapped in.
"She's beautiful."
"She's already the most spoiled baby in Britain," Ron declared with a grin. "Ginny can't get enough of her; even George dotes on her. And of course, Mum's pleased as punch to have a granddaughter. She knit the blanket for her, of course. Poor Victoire has so many pink baby blankets, you could stitch them together and make a circus tent."
"Did you take Celestina Warbeck to St. Mungo's to see Victoire?" Hermione asked softly as she handed back the photos. Ron frowned at the mention of his most recent ex-girlfriend.
"Celestina and I are over. I'm sure Ginny told you that by now."
"Oh, so you did tell Ginny to pass that bit of news along to me. I suspected as much."
"Hermione," Ron said with a sigh. "Celestina was...well she was a distraction, that was all. A distraction to try and make me stop thinking about you. It didn't work, though."
When Hermione stared back at him, unmoved, he plowed on.
"She was really annoying, to be honest. And her singing reminded me of how Percy used to sound when he sang in the shower." He scrunched his face up in distaste. "It was awful. She's just...she's not you, Hermione. I know I have so much to apologize for. I don't even know where to begin."
At that moment, the server returned with their butterbeers in hand.
"Thanks," Ron muttered to the server, as he accepted his mug and took a long swig. Hermione, meanwhile, simply stared down into her butterbeer, finding the sweet smell of the beverage somewhat sickening at the moment.
"You said something about apologizing?" she prompted.
"Yeah," he replied, plopping his mug down on the table and wiping the foam from his upper lip. "That whole business with Malfoy, to start off with. It wasn't fair, the way I acted about your friendship with him. I...overreacted, to say the least. If anything, when I suggested we take a break from each other, I probably just drove you into his arms. Bloody stupid idea, that one."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, "but certainly not your first."
"I guess not." Ron hesitated for a moment, using the tip of his finger to trace a scuff mark on the table. "I know you probably dated him to get revenge on me..."
Hermione frowned.
"No, that's not why. I mean, it might have been, at first, but later..."
Ron looked up at her in disbelief.
"Hermione, are you saying what I think you're saying? Did you...did you fall in love with him?"
She stared down at her hands, her cheeks reddening.
"I see," Ron said quietly. "He broke your heart, didn't he? Like I thought he would?"
"No. At least...no more than I broke his." She glanced up at him. "Ron, would you mind if we don't talk about Draco anymore? Please?"
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," he conceded, and Hermione thought he seemed relieved not to have to discuss her relationship with his arch nemesis any further. "The other thing I'm sorry for is how I behaved when you told me you'd won that scholarship. I should've been happy for you, but instead I acted like a bloody imbecile. It was selfish of me to want you to pass up an opportunity like that. You've made just as many sacrifices as the rest of us, and you deserve that trip around the world. It's just a year, after all."
"Well, as it happens, I might not be going after all," Hermione said, finally taking a sip of her own drink. Ron raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been offered a position at the Ministry," she explained.
"Either way, you can't lose, Hermione," Ron said, after she had described her discussion with Hudgkins, and the fact that she had only a few weeks to decide between accepting the position. "You'll get to make an impact on the Wizarding world, and you know we'll all be proud of you, regardless of what you choose."
"I'm surprised Ginny hadn't already told you about my conversation with Hudgkins," Hermione said, trying to ignore the warmth she experienced at his last words.
"Ginny doesn't repeat everything you tell her, you know. She values your trust, and your friendship."
"And I value hers."
"What about my friendship, Hermione?" Ron asked. The anxious expression on his face revealed that he was afraid to hear the answer.
"You know I always valued your friendship, too," Hermione said truthfully. "Even now, I think, despite the fact that you've been a complete arse. But I don't know how to proceed from here. I need time; time to finish my studies, and time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life, before I can even consider what to do about us. I'm not ready to be in a relationship with you again...and I'm not sure if I ever will be."
Those last words wounded him deeply, she knew, but there was a flicker of hope in his eyes as well.
"I understand," he said solemnly, reaching across the table to clasp her hand in his. "Hermione, being apart from you all these months made me realize just how good I had it when I was with you. I've been such a dolt, and I know I can never hope to deserve you, but all I ask for is your forgiveness. I've walked out on you twice now, and I promise never to do it again. No matter what happens, you'll always have my friendship...and more, if someday, you decide you want it again. Will you forgive me?"
At his words, Hermione was suddenly transported to another time and another place, standing in the rubble of Hogwarts with Draco standing before her, lost and broken, his words echoing in her head: "Can't we just forgive and forget?" She had forgiven him, in spite of all that he had done or failed to do. Ron was guilty of lesser crimes. If she could forgive Draco, couldn't she forgive him, too? She shook her head, and the vision of Draco faded, only to be replaced by the red-headed, freckly face of the boy she had been friends with for so many years. The boy who had been her first love, though not her last.
"Yes," she whispered. "I forgive you, Ron. We've through so much together, how can I not? I want to be your friend again...but that's all I have to offer."
"For now, at least," he added, and she didn't have the heart to squash that tiny ray of hope he still carried.
"For now," she echoed.
They didn't linger at their table for much longer. Hermione had to return to the library to study, and Ron was due back at the Ministry. He was still in the midst of Auror training, and he would be spending the rest of the day mastering disguise spells. While Ron paid for their drinks, Hermione stepped out of the Three Broomsticks and into the fresh spring air. Hogsmeade was bustling, as was usual for a Saturday afternoon, and she noticed quite a few students milling around the various shops and eateries. When she caught a glimpse of platinum blond hair down the street, she froze in place.
Draco was just about to enter Honeydukes with a group of fellow Slytherins, and when he noticed her standing there, he hesitated as well. Hermione was about to give him a tentative wave, but Ron chose that moment to emerge from the Three Broomsticks, and she let her hand drop back to her side. When Draco saw Ron standing beside her, his face became blank and expressionless, and just like that, he was as closed off from her as had ever been before. Although it was only a matter of twenty meters between her and where he now stood, it seemed like an entire continent lay between them. Without a second glance, Draco shouldered his way into the sweets shop, and Hermione suddenly felt chilled, despite the warmth of the afternoon sun.
"You okay?" Ron asked her, his brow lowered in concern when he saw how pale her face had become. Draco had slipped into Honeydukes before Ron could catch sight of him, and for that, at least, Hermione was grateful.
After Ron had Disapparated to the Ministry, she walked slowly back to Hogwarts by herself, her mind churning with thoughts about what had occurred in the last week. Ron was back in her life, just as Draco had walked out of it, apparently forever. She had been offered the job of her dreams, but her scholarship, along with her research proposal, still hung in the balance. She could not recall the last time she had so many difficult choices to make.
"Growing up is all about making choices," her father had once told her, and now she could see what he meant. Her parents had also taught her not to lose sight of her goals in life, and that was advice she had certainly not been following these days.
"I've been such a fool," she chastised herself.
She was Hermione Jean Granger, most talented witch of her age, head of her class, and she had let herself become distracted by not just one, but two, messy little romances. Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew that what she had had with Draco was more than that, but she couldn't let herself dwell on such thoughts now.
"Life moves on," she told herself again.
Draco had obviously moved on, and it was now time that she started doing the same. The N.E.W.T.s were only weeks away, and after that, the beginning of her adult life. She needed to regroup and work on the parts of her life she had control over - namely, her career. There would be time enough in the future for love, but for now, she need to focus on herself and her own dreams.
But what were her dreams? Certainly she had never dreamed of working at the Ministry before now. And then there was the research scholarship. That dream wasn't as alluring as before, now that she wouldn't have Draco to share it with. She had imagined that she would be traveling around the world with him at her side, and the prospect of doing it alone seemed much less exciting. Besides, it was unlikely that she would actually be able to discover the gene that made wizards different from Muggles. She knew genetic research could take many years to reap a discovery, and most of the time it was a shot in the dark. However, perhaps if her research showed signs of promise, it would lead to further funding in the future.
To stay or go? Which would it be?
Somewhere on that long, lonely walk back to Hogwarts, Hermione made her decision.
Draco tried to focus on Summoning the pillow to his hand, but no matter how hard he worked at it, he had very little success. Most of the other students in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class were now able to perform the Accio spell without a wand, but for some reason, he was still struggling. He glanced across the room, where Hermione was using wand-less magic to Banish the pillows away from herself after having already mastered the art of Summoning them. He knew that if he had a chance to practice with her one-on-one, as they used to do, he would be able to do the spell, too. He suddenly recalled a winter night in the library, when she helped him conjure his Patronus for the first time and he admired the way the wispy, spell-summoned dragon was reflected in her eyes. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push the memory aside, just as Hermione was currently Banishing those pillows.
They had interacted very little since they had spent that last night together in his family's summer home in Dover. They still studied with the same group of people, but no longer sat side-by-side, and when they spoke to each other, it was generally out of necessity while discussing a N.E.W.T.s question with their classmates. They were never alone together, nor had either of them expressed any desire to be.
With a scowl, Draco recalled how he had spotted Hermione exiting the Three Broomsticks with Ron Weasley. The momentary distraction made his pillow wobble in mid-air, and then tumble to the floor before it could reach him. He nearly threw his wand across the classroom in frustration. He knew he should no longer care whether or not Hermione decided to date the ginger-haired moron. He had wanted her to move on...but did it have to be with Weasley?
"Mr. Malfoy, is something wrong?"
Draco turned to find Professor Hong standing beside him in his stately, black silk robes, an expression of concern on his face. Then he noticed that while he had been so lost in thought, the class had ended, and the rest of the students had already filed out of the room.
"Oh, sorry, Professor. I was just practicing the wandless Summoning spell and lost track of the time," Draco said, flustered.
"I see." Professor Hong stared down at the pillows that lay scattered on the floor, just outside of Draco's reach. "It is not like you to struggle with the mastery of a spell. Perhaps the issue lies with your concentration? For the Summoning spell to work properly, you must be focused. You must desire nothing more than to bring that object within your grasp."
"So, it's about knowing what you want?"
"That's an apt way of putting it, yes."
Well, no wonder I'm having trouble, Draco thought grumpily. Knowing what he wanted was not exactly one of his strong points these days. And wanting what he couldn't have was the other problem. He glanced at the DADA professor, wondering if he could confide in the sage wizard.
"Mr. Malfoy, I sense that there is something else troubling you," Hong said, once more reminding Draco of Professor Dumbledore in his perceptiveness. "What is it you wish to ask me?"
"Sir, earlier this year you mentioned something about love. You said it was the most powerful force in the world."
"Yes, I did. And you do not believe this statement." It was not a question.
"No, I'm afraid I don't."
Professor Hong nodded politely.
"May I ask why?"
"It's just...well, there seem to be other forces out there that are more powerful than love. Like time, for instance. People can fall out of love over time. It happens every day. Even in the Wizarding world, the divorce rate is high. And death. Love can't stop people from being separated by death. Lies, adultery...so many things can tear love apart. So how can you say it's the most powerful force in the world? It seems pretty fragile to me."
"You are right; love is indeed a fragile thing. And yet, so much of human history is driven by love. Men will do anything for it -- fight for it, kill for it...yes, even die for it. For better or worse, love changes people. Even when it fades, it leaves a trace of itself behind, and anyone who is touched by it is never the same again. That is what makes it is the most powerful force in the world."
Draco was silent for several moments, processing the DADA instructor's words. Then Professor Hong spoke up once more.
"I have some essays to grade, and would be grateful for the company," he said, "Since yours was the last class of the day, why don't you go ahead and practice the Summoning spell a little longer?"
At Draco's nod of acquiescence, Professor Hong settled down behind his desk and pulled out a quill and ink-pot. For half an hour, there was no sound but the soft scratch of quill against parchment, and the thump of pillows falling futilely to the floor. Finally, after numerous attempts, Draco regained his focus, and managed to send one of the pillows launching into his outstretched hands. Professor Hong glanced up, and while no smile graced his stern face, his brown eyes were warm with kindness and reassurance.
"You see, Mr. Malfoy, the things we desire will often find their way back to us, in time."
The weeks flew by, and after hours of studying, and more than a few nervous breakdowns on the part of the Seventh Years, the time came to take the N.E.W.T.s exams. Despite all that had occurred in the preceding weeks, Hermione somehow managed to push all of it aside and return to the bookish, studious ways she had mastered during her earlier years at Hogwarts. When she walked out of the Great Hall after the exams were completed, she felt reasonably confident that she had passed. Or, at least, as confident as she was capable of being when it came to exam results.
By the time the N.E.W.T.s were over, the school year was almost over as well, and Hermione found herself spending her last days at Hogwarts. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that she would never again dash through the halls on her way to class, study in the library, eat dinner in the Great Hall, or wear a school uniform trimmed in Gryffindor colors.
The morning of the Parting Ceremony dawned bright and warm, and throngs of family members and friends crowded the halls to join in seeing the Seventh Years off. The Parting Ceremony, like the scholarship competition, had been a new addition to Hogwarts procedure after the war had ended. No doubt the faculty thought it would help increase solidarity and allow the students and their families to focus on the bright prospects of the future, rather than the tumultuous events of the previous year.
Hermione spent much of the morning showing her parents around Hogwarts. They had never had a thorough tour of the school before, and they found the place by turns fascinating and frightening (“The staircases move?” her mother had said, aghast. “Isn’t that some sort of safety code violation?”). The mood in the castle was definitely more festive than it had been at the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts several weeks prior, and when Hermione and her parents entered the Great Hall for the Parting Ceremony, it was to find the room decorated in fairy lights, streamers, and balloons in the colors of all four houses.
Hermione left her parents to admire the magical décor while she went to sit with her fellow Seventh Years on the stage. In the preceding weeks, Draco had been keeping more to his Slytherin classmates, and she saw that she was doing so again this afternoon, as he was sitting with several silver-and-green clad Seventh Years in the back row. Hermione chose a seat closer to the front, with Luna and Ginny.
“It’s hard to believe we’re finally here,” Ginny said, as Hermione settled into place between her two friends.
“I think the end came too soon,” Luna added dreamily.
“Or maybe not soon enough,” Hermione grumbled, as she cast a glance over her shoulder. Ginny and Luna followed her gaze, and the three girls watched as Draco leaned over to listen to something one of his Slytherin friends said, and then laughed along with the rest of them.
“You miss him, don’t you?” Luna asked.
“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “That’s why I’m glad the school year’s ending, to be honest. I just need distance from the whole situation. Having to see him every day in class is…”
“Miserable?” Ginny supplied, and Hermione nodded. “Well, look at it this way,” her friend continued, “life is about to get a lot better for all three of us. At least, I hope so, in my case. I’m trying out for the Harpies next week, and if I don’t make the team…”
“You will,” Hermione reassured her. “I’m certain of it.” What she was less certain of was the choice she had made just a few days prior. The discussion she had had with Professor McGonagall had not been an easy one, and she was still plagued with doubts, but it was too late to go back on her decision now.
“Hermione! Ginny!” two male voices called out, and she looked up to see that Harry and Ron had joined her parents and the rest of the Weasley family in the crowd. She waved back, and even managed a tremulous smile for her two best friends.
Even now, she still wondered how different things would have been, if the war had not touched all three of their lives; hers, Ron’s, and Harry’s. They would all have been sitting up on the platform together, leaving Hogwarts just as they had entered it - together.
And I never would have had the chance to fall in love with Draco Malfoy, she added. As she glanced back at the blond-haired Slytherin once more, she wondered if that might have been a blessing, never having shared those few, blissful months with him.
Hermione was spared from any further thoughts about Draco as Professor McGonagall approached the podium and welcomed the assembled students and guests. She continued with a speech that was rather similar to the one she had given during the Welcome Feast at the beginning of the school year, about honoring the dead and carrying the lessons they had learned from the war, and their days at Hogwarts, into the Wizarding World; lessons about solidarity, forgiveness, and equality. When she was done, she and Professor Flitwick worked together to hand out N.E.W.T.s certificates to the Seventh Years, and Hermione was relieved to find that she had passed with flying colors in all of her classes.
“It brings me great pleasure to award two of our Seventh Years with an additional honor,” Professor McGonagall announced, once the last student had received his N.E.W.T. certificate and returned to his seat. “As many of our guests already know, we are starting a new tradition this school year by awarding two Seventh Years - one male, and one female - with a scholarship to conduct research. Not only did these students have to write an essay outlining their research plans, but they also had to be exemplary students and show great promise as citizens of the Wizarding World.”
“The first student is one who many may be surprised to find a recipient of this award,” McGonagall continued. “But throughout the school year, he has shown himself to be not only a good student and hard-working young man, but also a leader for his fellow classmates. I am honored to award the first Hogwarts Scholarship for Humanitarian Service to Draco Malfoy.”
As Draco rose from his seat to accept the scholarship certificate form Professor McGonagall, Hermione kept her gaze focused on her hands folded in her lap, so as to avoid his eyes when he passed by her chair. There was a chorus of cheers from the student section of the hall, particularly from the Slytherin table, but from the rest of the audience there was only a smattering of applause, and more than a few whispers of shock and dissent. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Narcissa Malfoy sitting upright in her chair, proudly applauding her son’s accomplishment, and stoically ignoring the naysayers that surrounded her.
She’s supportive of Draco, I’ll give her that, Hermione thought grudgingly. Part of her could almost begin to understand why Draco was so loyal to his mother, but she pushed the idea aside before it could take root.
“And now,” said Professor McGonagall, once Draco had resumed his seat, “I am pleased to honor a young lady who has also excelled in her studies this year, and who has maintained the most optimistic and open-minded attitude towards her classmates, despite the hardships she suffered during the war.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted into knots as she waited for the next name to be announced.
‘The second recipient of Hogwarts Scholarship for Humanitarian Service is…Luna Lovegood.”
The applause that greeted Luna’s name was much louder than for Draco’s. Everyone knew about her heroics during the war with Voldemort, and she had become much more popular during the past year. However, Luna seemed to be rooted in place, and her blue eyes were wider than usual as she turned to Hermione.
“But Hermione, you won the scholarship. Why are they giving it to me?”
“Because you deserve it more than I do,” Hermione said gently, giving her friend a pat on the shoulder. “And because you can put it to better use than I can. My place is here. If anyone deserves to be out exploring the world, it’s you. Go on, now. They’re waiting.”
Hermione gave the girl a nudge, and she reluctantly got to her feet and stepped up to the podium to accept her award. A grin spread across Luna’s face, and Hermione spied Xenophilus Lovegood on his feet in the first row of the audience, clapping and telling everyone around him, “That’s my daughter! That’s my Luna!” And Hermione knew she had made the right choice.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ginny asked her, once the ceremony had concluded and they were all milling about the tables, piling their plates high with the Hogwarts House-elves’ finest fare.
“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, as she plucked a croissant from a nearby platter. “I guess I was afraid you would try to talk me out of it.”
“Talk you out of it? Are you kidding me? I’m so glad you’re not going away for that year abroad, Hermione. You’ll be here for my tryouts, and the hols, and we can visit little Victoire, and…oh, won’t the boys be happy you’re staying!”
Ginny wasn’t wrong. The minute Harry and Ron found them, Ron swooped Hermione up in his arms and thrust a fistful of roses in her hand, flushing almost as red as the petals in the bouquet.
“Sorry,” he said, when Hermione gave him an admonishing look. “I know we’re supposed to just be friends now, but I couldn’t resist. I know they’re your favorite flower.”
“You remembered?” Hermione asked, surprised. “You didn’t have to have Harry or Ginny remind you?”
“No,” Ron replied with a frown. “I do remember some things on my own, Hermione. Especially the important things.”
“Erm, Gin, that pudding looks delicious,” Harry cut in awkwardly. “Want to go try some with me?” Before his girlfriend could protest, he grasped her gently by the elbow and steered her away into the crowd, leaving Hermione alone with Ron.
“So, you decided not to go abroad after all,” Ron said.
“Yes. But don’t think it was for you,” Hermione added pointedly. “The position at the Ministry was too good to resist.”
“You’re taking the job at the Magical League for Social Justice, then?”
“I sent an owl with my letter of acceptance just yesterday.”
“That’s…well, that’s wonderful, Hermione. It really is. Now we’ll be together again, you, me and Harry, running amok at the Ministry…can’t you see it? It’ll be just like old times.”
“Just like old times,” she repeated, with a wan smile. Except it won’t be. Because I’m not the same person and neither are you and Harry. Nothing can make it the same as it used to be. So how long are we going to go on with this farce, pretending that nothing’s changed?
“Sorry to interrupt,” said a cool voice that made Hermione’s heart lodge in her throat. She turned to see Draco Malfoy standing there, eyeing the two of them with obvious contempt.
“Then leave,” Ron replied, just as coolly. Draco, surprisingly, did not rise to the bait. Instead, he ignored the red-head completely and turned to Hermione.
“I just wanted a quick word,” he said, in a more hospitable tone.
Hermione hesitated, and then nodded, causing Ron to stalk away with a scowl and a warning look in Draco’s direction. Draco’s shoulders relaxed visibly after Ron was gone, and Hermione couldn’t help feeling a sudden surge of hope. If Draco was so upset about her sharing a conversation with Ron, then that was a clear sign that he still had at least some feelings for her.
But instead of the declarations of love she was hoping for, he only said, “You declined the scholarship.”
“That seems to be the topic of the evening.”
“But why? Please don’t tell me you did it for Weasley.”
“Would that bother you?” she asked shrewdly. “Because I think you’ve lost the right to judge what I do and why.” When he had no reply for that, she sighed, “No, Draco, I didn’t do it for Ron.” I did it because the idea of traveling around the world seems empty without you. “I did it for me.”
“I see. Father did tell me that you have a cushy new seat at the Ministry.”
Hermione felt cold.
“Is that so? And what else did your doting father tell you, Draco?”
“That when I return from my travels, I will do my duty to my family.”
Any hopes that Hermione may have entertained were snuffed out like a flickering candle flame in a strong wind.
“Well, you always were the dutiful son,” she snapped. She glanced over his shoulder to see Narcissa standing in throng of celebrants, glaring at them over the rim of her glass of pumpkin juice. “Speaking of which, your dear mother doesn’t seem to approve of you speaking with me. Perhaps it would be best if you went back to clinging to her apron strings.”
It was uncouth of her, she knew, but she couldn’t resist the little stab at the man who had broken her heart. And from the hard, careless expression on his face, he didn’t seem to be suffering any guilt over it, either. He was as stony and unrelenting as he had been when she first encountered him at the beginning of the school year.
Could this really be the man she had fallen in love with, shared so many laughs with, and shared a bed with more nights than she could count? Could this be the man who had taught her to fly, had made love to her in a handfasting cave, and turned her whole world upside down, for the better? Or had she only imagined it, in some warped, lust-filled, adolescent dream?
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I…I didn’t mean it.”
He nodded, and his face seemed to soften somewhat, though that could have been yet another figment of her imagination.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry for the whole mess I put you in. I…I know you don’t believe it, Hermione, but I want nothing but the best for you, now and always.”
“I believe you.”
A flicker of emotion flashed behind Draco’s gray eyes.
He loves me, Hermione realized, but he doesn’t see it and I don’t know if he ever will. Even his mind did not comprehend the emotion, his heart knew it, and it was there in his eyes for her to see, plain as day.
“Draco,” she said, as he turned to leave. “Please write me while you’re gone. Just a postcard here and there, when you have a chance. I want to hear about all your adventures around the Wizarding World; about the places you see, and the people you meet. It’ll be dull as a tomb here in Britain, you know.” She feigned a smile.
He paused, raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck and discomfort.
“I…I can’t make any promises. But…I’ll try.”
“I see,” Hermione said softly. And she did see. She saw that she would not be receiving a single postcard from him on his journey. It was for the best, she knew. It was better for them to cut ties completely, to move on with their separate lives. But that couldn’t keep her heart from breaking a little more. She wanted to kiss him, slap him, throw her arms around him and beg him not to go. Instead, she held her hand out to him, as she had done a lifetime ago in the Hogwarts library, when he had agreed to be her study partner. Little had she known, then, what would come from a simple handshake. But this one would be different. This one would be good-bye.
“Have a nice life, Malfoy.”
If the use of his last name hurt him, Draco did not let it show. His face had returned to the stony mask, and any weakness that his eyes had betrayed a moment ago, was hidden from sight now, probably forever.
“You too, Granger.”
As their hands touched, it was as if lightning danced between their fingertips, shooting up her arm and electrifying every inch of her body, and Hermione knew then that it had not been a figment of her imagination. It had not been some silly adolescent crush. However brief, however doomed, their love had been real. And she knew with just as much certainty that it was over.
Draco dropped her hand quickly, and Hermione knew he felt the same thing. But by the time she shook herself from her stupor, he was gone, and she was staring at his back as he melted into the crowd.
That was it. The greatest love of her young life, and it had ended quite anticlimactically, with a handshake and a curt farewell. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, she found she could do neither. She had spent all of her tears, and all that remained was emptiness.
Draco flew, faster and faster and faster around the Quidditch pitch, but he couldn’t fly fast enough to leave Hermione Jean Granger behind him. Even his father’s stern words echoing in his ears could not deter his thoughts.
‘You will do your duty to this family.’
Draco scowled and flew even faster, until tears ran down his cheeks. It was from the wind blowing in his eyes, nothing more.
The moonlight shown on the grass, glowing on the pitch like a spotlight. The night was warm, for once, and the promise of summer was in the air, but Draco was blind to all of it.
‘We are the outsiders, now, Draco. It falls on you to restore our family’s standing in society.’
Draco gritted his teeth and brought his broom to a halt in midair, turning it back towards the school. At a slower pace, the breeze seemed gentler, like fingers ruffling his hair. Like Hermione ruffling his hair after a long night of lovemaking... No. He would not think about that tonight.
‘You must put your boyhood days behind you.’
Tonight was his last night at Hogwarts. His trunk was packed with all his old school books, his uniform, and even the green and silver scarf Hermione had knitted for him at Christmas, shoved at the bottom and buried under a pile of socks. If only he could bury his feelings for her as deeply.
With a sullen sigh, he brought his broom down in front of the new war monument that had been erected a few weeks before. Strewn around the base of the statue were the many offerings to the dead. There had been no rain or storms since the dedication ceremony, so the gifts had been spared from the ravages of nature. Draco slung his broom over his shoulder and wandered around the statue, gazing down at what the loved ones of the dead had left behind.
There were bouquets of flowers, in various states of wither and decay. Draco found a cluster of red roses that made him think of Hermione sitting in a certain Hogwarts classroom with tears drying on her cheeks and mistletoe sprouting over their heads…but then the vision was marred by the more recent memory of Weasley swooping her up into his arms and thrusting a bouquet of red roses in her face. Draco frowned and moved on.
He saw love letters and cards, sweets and trinkets, joke shop tricks, and even more unusual, a few pairs of garishly-colored, mismatched socks.
They are not for the dead, but for the living, Draco realized. They were ways to remember a life lived; ways to remember better times…happier times.
And how would he remember his time with Hermione? He recalled the polite handshake they had shared in the Great Hall just hours before. It had ended so coldly between them, and that didn’t seem right. Everything between them had been heat and passion.
Wind and fire, he thought to himself. But his father’s words echoed just as clear.
‘I am proud of you, son, but there is still so much left to be done…’
And then there were other voices, one overlapping the other, until he thought they would drive him mad:
’I forgive you, Malfoy. But I don't know if I'll ever be able to forget…’
‘You will do your duty to this family…’
‘Some things will never change. Your father's position on this matter is one of them…You may think your feelings for the girl would compensate for the loss of your family and your way of life, but eventually you would grow to resent her for it…’
‘Draco, is that all that matters to you now, keeping your mother happy? Whose life are you living?’
‘You must put your boyhood days behind you…’
‘Today we stand at a crossroads… We must never forget where we’ve been. But, like the artist who shaped the stone of this sculpture, we must allow our experiences to shape us into better people, and a better society. Like a phoenix, we can rise from the ashes and begin anew.’
Draco glanced up at the statue before him, with the phoenix spreading its wings as it rose from the flames. Begin anew. Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt had made it sound so easy when he uttered those words in his commemoration speech, but Draco knew better. How to begin anew and build a life without Hermione in it? After all, the loss of her was a death, in its own way. How could he put the memory of her behind him?
‘Today we stand at a crossroads…’
But Draco had already passed that fork in the road. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it.
That was the hard part.
He stared at all the little gifts and offerings strewn all around him and thought that, in a way, the dead had it easier than the living. At least they didn’t have to live with regrets.
Just as he turned to go back to the school for his last night in the Slytherin dungeons, a strong gust of summer wind stirred the letters and notes at the base of the monument, sending one piece of parchment fluttering across the ground to get caught against his ankles. Curious, Draco reached down to pick it up. The words of a poem were scrawled across the page in a steady hand, addressed to no one, and with no signature at the bottom.
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped away
into the next room.
I am I,
and you are you;
whatever we were to each other,
that, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name,
speak to me in the easy way
which you always used,
put no difference in your tone,
wear no forced air
of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we shared together.
Let my name ever be
the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all
that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just around the corner.
All is well.
A/N: The poem is an excerpt from a longer poem by Henry Scott Holland.
Sorry this update took a little longer than I hoped...Still, 2 months between updates is still much faster than the 2 years I had between the update before that, so at least it's an improvement! ;)
This chapter basically concludes the first of two parts of this story. Obviously, this first part was focusing on Draco and Hermione's school years, and the second part will take place years in the future. I intend for the second part of this story to be a fair amount shorter than the first, and yes, I have a plan for how most of it will go, and YES, Draco and Hermione's reunion will be a part of that. :)
Thanks to Dina and Amethyst18 for your beta help, as always. And thanks to you readers, especially those of you who have continued reading this story, despite your doubts. All I ask is that you please hang in there just a little longer, as we start moving towards that seemingly-elusive happy ending...
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