The Ultimate Sacrifice // Eulogy
Title: The Ultimate Sacrifice
Summary: The Final Battle is approaching, and Harry must ask Draco to make the ultimate sacrifice. AU, 7th year fic. HBP does not exist, except for the Horcruxes.
Chapter Summary: Draco and Hermione remember the people who were lost in the Final Battle, with a short visit from a surprise guest.
Rating: M+
Genre(s): Angst/Tragedy, Romance, Alternate Universe
Warnings: Violence, Adult Language, Character Death, Under 18
Characters: Hermione, Luna, Neville, Other, Ron, Voldemort, Narcissa, Lucius, Bellatrix, Blaise Zabini, Dean, Seamus, Harry/Draco, Millicent, Pansy
Disclaimer: Not mine, except the plot. (And, I suppose, the random, unnamed fourth year Slytherin boy.)
A/N: Well, there you have it. (I'm sorry, yes, Harry is still dead.) Part 3/3. Reviews are love! Tissue warning, if that's the kind of person you are/mood you're in.
Draco and Hermione stood, waiting, on the platform that had been erected before the staff table, at the end of the Great Hall. It was the end of June, and the Leaving Feast - in the two months since Voldemort had been defeated along with the last of his Death Eaters, life in the wizarding world had returned to normal remarkable quickly. Of course, it helped that Fudge had been able to produce Voldemort’s body for the sceptical witches and wizards, and that he had loudly proclaimed the Boy-Who-Lived’s success. Draco tangled his hands in his robes before anyone could notice his clenched fists; it wouldn’t do to get angry right now. A Malfoy - however little the name meant to him now - did not reveal their innermost emotions before a crowd, much less before a crowd of people Draco wasn’t entirely sure he could trust.
“Hey, Dray, you okay?” Hermione asked, out of the corner of her mouth.
So - he hadn’t been as successful as he’d thought in hiding his automatic reaction to his train of thought. “Yeah, fine. Why?”
“You’re trying to crush your robes into a ball, that’s why,” she smirked. “Sure you’re not hiding something?”
He arched an eyebrow delicately. “Of course I am, Granger, everybody has their secrets.” Shaking his head, he admitted, “I was just thinking of how fast everything got back to, well, normal around here.”
“And…” she prompted.
“And how Fudge told the world that the bloody Boy-Who-Lived had done his job - with the full support of the Ministry,” he said with a grimace.
“What else would he say?” she commented, rolling her eyes. “Same old Fudge, after all. I mean-”
Dumbledore had moved to stand between then, holding up his hands as he waited for the Hall to fall silent. It was proof of how lucky they’d been that the Hall was nearly full - after Voldemort’s fall all the students had returned immediately, minus some notable exceptions in the upper years.
“In past years I have used this time to tell you all to be wary of Voldemort and his followers… But the time for that has, thankfully, passed. To tell you how this came about, you will hear from Mr Draco Malfoy and Miss Hermione Granger, who would have been our Head Boy and Girl, respectively, had this-” his voice caught- “been a normal school year.” Waving his hand towards the two of them, Dumbledore resumed his seat, trembling.
Throwing a glance at Draco, Hermione began speaking. “We are standing here today to recognize a very special group of people, without whom we wouldn’t be here right now. I know that many of you have lost friends and family in this war, and you- you have the right to know how and why that- that happened.”
Draco stepped in quickly. “Many of your parents, among other relatives, were members of a group organized to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters,” he said, pointedly ignoring the Slytherin table as he glanced around the hall. “This group was known as the Order of the Phoenix, and many of its members were killed in service, either in this war or in the first. But that is not the group we are here to remember.”
“The people we want to recognize today are- were students at Hogwarts. They were part of a group founded by- Harry Potter,” she said rapidly, “known as Dumbledore’s Army. It was given this name by Ginny Weasley,” she continued, as Draco gave Dumbledore a slight bow, “a sixth year Gryffindor student who was murdered by Voldemort.”
She turned away to wipe her eyes. Draco, facing the Hall, saw many of the other sixth years doing the same, although several of the boys were doing so furtively.
“It is the members of this group that we are honouring today,” he said steadily. “Our fellow classmates, who gave their lives in the Final Battle, so that we could be free once more.”
He closed his eyes, holding out his hand. Hermione slipped her smaller hand into his, warm fingers seeking the same reassurance as she began. “Terry Boot. Michael Corner. Anthony Goldstein. Luna Lovegood. Padma Patil.”
The Ravenclaws were holding one another’s hands, allowing their tears to flow freely as their housemates were named.
Draco continued, “Hannah Abbott. Susan Bones. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Ernie Macmillan.”
The Hufflepuffs were positively wailing as their fellows were named, with several of them having crawled under the table to have their cry in a more private place.
“Lavender Brown-”
“Here!” called a mean-looking fourth year Draco didn’t know. “You ever going to talk about what we’ve lost? Or are the Slytherins just not good enough for you anymore!” he challenged.
“You want me to tell you about the Slytherins?” Draco snapped angrily. “Alright then! I will! Vincent Crabbe. Gregory Goyle. Theodore Nott. Pansy Parkinson. All four of them died in the Final Battle. You want to know why? Because they were all bloody Death Eaters, that’s why! You know what else? They’re damned lucky that our side killed them, because if we hadn’t, Voldemort would have!” he snarled. “Happy now?”
The kid sunk down in his seat, pale and trembling, all the fight gone out of him on receiving this cheery bit of information.
“Dray, leave it…” Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand lightly. He nodded sharply, still glaring. She continued calmly, “Lavender Brown. Dennis Creevey. Dean Thomas. Ron… oh gods, Dray, help me,” she whispered brokenly, tears streaming down her face unchecked.
“Ron Weasley. And the last to fall that day, but certainly not the least,” he said, clutching his robes desperately with his free hand to still his trembling fingers, “Harry Potter.”
The Hall was filled with shaking, sobbing students, from every House. Draco pulled Hermione into a desperate hug, folding her into his arms as though she was the only friend he had left in the world. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around his waist, sobbing into his chest as her tears soaked through his shirt. They stood like that for some time, grieving along with the rest of the school, yet separate in their shared pain that only they two could fully appreciate.
Gradually the Hall quietened, and Draco looked up, blinking tears out of his eyes, sensing that Dumbledore had come forward.
“We will now observe some moments of silence to remember our schoolmates,” he said weakly, that twinkle quite gone from his ancient eyes.
Draco closed his eyes, resting his chin once more on Hermione’s head as she continued hiccoughing slightly, the sound muffled by being pressed against his body.
He heard a rustling noise suddenly, but assumed it was only someone moving about in their seat. The noise was repeated, but now seemed more fluttering, as with the quality of pages turning in a breeze. The sounds continued, and Draco raised his head, glaring round at the Hall.
“No, Dray,” Hermione said softly, turning his head. “Up there.”
“Hedwig!” he gasped. “But- It’s- I don’t- It can’t- He’s-”
“Shh,” she said gently. “Just open the letter.”
He reached out disbelievingly, removing the thick scroll from her leg. She nuzzled against his hand, hooting mournfully. “Hedwig…” She turned and flew away; Draco watched her go, until she was no more than a black speck silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky.
He looked down at the scroll, his vision steadily becoming obscured by a mist of tears. There it was, in bold letters: Draco Malfoy-Potter, written in Harry’s untidy black scrawl. “How…” he whispered.
The Hall was silent, the students watching the scene with interest. “Go, read the letter,” Hermione urged quietly, well aware of her schoolmates hanging on every word. “Get out of here - outside, upstairs, wherever. Just go.”
He pulled her close briefly, muttering, “I’ll be by the lake.” He stepped away, his expression unreadable, and said, “Excuse me, I have to leave; very pressing matter to attend to… Aw, hell. What use is it? ‘Mione, take over.” Walking rapidly he left the Hall, knowing that every eye was on him.
* * * * *
Without thinking Draco headed for “their” spot - that place on the lakeshore where they had had their final discussion before the Battle. Unsteadily he sat on the soft grass, turning the heavy scroll in trembling fingers.
Draco Malfoy-Potter, the letter was addressed to. But how…? There had been no time for writing after he had accepted Harry’s proposal, none at all. But surely that meant- He half-turned, almost expecting to see Harry standing behind him, smiling. Of course, there was no one.
He shook himself, knowing in his heart that it was impossible. It must have been- Harry must just have known how much Draco loved him. Yes, that was it - it was much better to quash his hopes now, before they could be allowed to blossom.
He traced the seal, watching as the waxy redness dissolved to reveal the Slytherin crest. He smiled fondly, recognizing what it meant: Harry had told him how the Sorting Hat had tried to put him in Slytherin, and it had become their private joke. He slid a manicured nail under the seal and set it aside carefully. The scroll retained its shape for a few moments before unrolling, indicating that it had been written some time ago.
Draco smoothed the pages gently, realizing with a pang how that parchment - inexplicably or not - smelled so much like Harry. He pushed the thought away and bent his head over the many sheets in his lap. Ignoring the curtain of blond hair that fell forward into his face, he settled down and began to read.
Dearest Draco, it is nearly the end of February as I write these words to you. The 21st, to be exact. Do you remember tonight? I am sitting comfortably before the fire in Gryffindor Tower, and you - you are curled up on the floor with your head in my lap, sound asleep. You’re so beautiful when you’re asleep, and even more so in the firelight. I’m almost afraid to be writing this next to you - afraid that the scratching of my quill might wake you from your dreams. But it needs to be done, because if you are reading this then I know that the final confrontation between Voldemort and myself has taken place. I am sorry I had to ask you what I did - it’s funny to write that, as I haven’t done it yet - but you know that it was the only way. I fully expect Voldemort to make his move before the end of the year; he can’t let me go home for the summer without trying to kill me first, after all.
Did that make you smile? I hope it did - you will never know how much I love to see you smiling and happy. I love you so much, Dray, I don’t ever want to leave you. But I don’t have any choice: it has to happen, sooner or later.
I have so much faith in you - you’ll be alright in the end, whatever else might happen. I don’t know if I’ll make it to the end of this year, I don’t know if I’ll get to graduate from Hogwarts, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to marry you or if we’ll ever have kids together… but no matter what, I will always love you, and nothing can ever change that. I will always be yours, Draco Malfoy, whether we’re on this side of the Veil or not.
There are so many things I want to say to you, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to tell you in person. To see your face, to look into your eyes - I’ve always loved your eyes; did I ever tell you that? Because they’re beautiful and sparkling, just like you. You’re on your second chance at life, you know, just like I am. But I’ve never seen you let that make you sad, or bitter, or anything like that - you’ve never let the past get you down that way I have. You were always stronger than I am, Dray. It’s just one of the things I’ve always loved you for…
It is a bittersweet thing to read a letter after its writer had passed away. The words are a sweet reminder of what you meant to each other, of how you were connected. But there is also the pain of knowing that you will never hear those words spoken, and will never see the writer again…
Draco felt all these things as he read the letter, even if he did not put it into quite those words. The letter went on and on over a dozen sides of parchment, bittersweet memories singing out to him from every line. Over and over it went, inky black words whispering to Draco until the final salutation, written in emerald green ink: Yours for better or worse, Love forever and always, Harry James Malfoy (né Potter)
Wiping away tears he hadn’t known were falling, he carefully rolled up the pages, securing the seal with a tap of his wand. He placed it gently in an inside pocket of his robes, making sure it couldn’t fall out. Hugging his knees to his chest, he put his head down upon them, tears running freely as the clear June sunshine blazed all around him.
* * * * *
It was fully two hours since Draco’s abrupt exit from the Hall when Hermione came to find him. She walked across the lawn slowly, soft footfalls announcing her presence. He turned to greet her, face tearstained but calm.
“’Mione.”
“Dray. How are you?” she asked hesitantly.
He smiled crookedly. “Alright. Better than can be expected, I suppose,” he added thoughtfully. “You?”
She dropped beside him, curling up gracefully as she began to pick at the blades of grass restlessly. “Alright, I suppose. I mean… there’s just so many things-” She stopped abruptly, and changed the subject. “Dumbledore made his speech after you left. All the- remaining seventh years are now officially graduates, but he says that if we wish, we, er… we will be welcome to ‘return to Hogwarts in the fall and continue our interrupted studies’ should we wish to so do.”
“I’m never coming back to Hogwarts,” Draco said flatly.
She sat very still, watching him carefully. “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. There’s nothing I’d want at the Manor, at any rate. I thought maybe… Gringotts, get some money out, change it to Muggle cash if I like, and then visit Godric’s Hollow.”
“He won’t be there, you know,” she said softly. “It won’t- It can’t- Nothing can bring him back.”
He shook his head. “He’ll be there. That’s where he was born, and that’s where I’ve buried him. Besides, I’ve got nowhere else to go,” he said dully.
“Oh, Dray…” Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Did he tell you how he sent the letter?” she asked suddenly.
“No… I don’t understand it at all. It isn’t possible…” he said, half to himself.
“I helped him with it,” she admitted. “It’s a modified sort of Tempus charm. He had it all written out, but he didn’t want to send it if he didn’t have to. So he set the charm so Hedwig could deliver it today, our last day of school…”
“But how could he have known-”
“He didn’t know, but he had a pretty good idea. Besides, setting it for today he figured- well, he figured he’d have plenty of time to counter the charm, unless-”
“Unless he couldn’t.”
She nodded. “I miss him,” she said simply. “I miss both of them.”
“Have you thought about where you’re going?” he asked. “You could come back if you wanted, you were always brilliant.”
“Thanks, but I’m not coming back either. I can’t.”
“Can’t?” he echoed.
She turned to him and knelt, taking his hand. Her eyes sparkling, she said nervously, “You’re the first person I’ve told.” She waved her wand at herself, and placed his hand on her abdomen.
Surprised, Draco felt two pulsing heartbeats beneath his hand. Gazing wide-eyed at her amused face, he managed to say, “’Mione! You’re- you’re- Since when?”
“Three months or so,” she said slowly, considering. “About that.”
“D’you know- d’you know, er, what they’ll be?”
“Babies, dear,” she laughed. “Seriously - both boys. Can you guess what I’ve decided to name them, d’you think?”
“Harry and Ron,” he said softly. “Hermione Granger, you are amazing,” he said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.
“I was, er- I was hoping - if you didn’t have anywhere to go, I mean - well, you don’t, but- I was hoping, er, maybe you could come with me to my parents’?” she asked haltingly. “I’m, er- I’m not quite sure how they’ll, er- how they’ll take the news.”
He nodded. “Of course. Then what?”
“I thought I might go to the Burrow - see how Charlie and Bill are holding up, maybe live there,” she said lightly. “And you’ll be off to try and find Harry, I suppose.”
“Not find,” he said seriously. “After Godric’s Hollow, I’ll probably move to Muggle London.”
“You?” she asked, surprised. “Are you sure you can get along?”
“I can probably find some bookkeeping work. I’m pretty good with numbers. I don’t think the wizarding world has anything left to offer me,” he added.
“You’re always welcome to visit me, wherever I end up,” she offered. “Me and the twins.”
He smiled. “I know. And I will, don’t worry. That’s my main reason for choosing London - it’s so close to our world.”
“And the other reasons?”
“It’s familiar,” he shrugged. “Mother used to sneak me out for shopping trips to Muggle London when she thought Father wasn’t looking.” He checked his watch. “The carriages are going to leave soon, we’d better get up to the castle.”
Arms around each other they walked back to the school, sharing a comfortable silence. They had a carriage to themselves on the way to the train; the other students realized that there should’ve been two more students in that carriage. The silence lasted until they boarded the train.
“I’m going to miss this place,” Hermione said softly.
“Yeah,” agreed Draco. “I’m going to miss it too.”
As the train pulled out of the Hogsmeade station they stood in the corridor, holding hands as they stared out the window at the lighted turrets of Hogwarts until it could no longer be seen - their final tribute and farewell to the life they’d known, and to the friends and lovers that they knew they would never forget.
Promises Sacrifice Eulogy
Summary: The Final Battle is approaching, and Harry must ask Draco to make the ultimate sacrifice. AU, 7th year fic. HBP does not exist, except for the Horcruxes.
Chapter Summary: Draco and Hermione remember the people who were lost in the Final Battle, with a short visit from a surprise guest.
Rating: M+
Genre(s): Angst/Tragedy, Romance, Alternate Universe
Warnings: Violence, Adult Language, Character Death, Under 18
Characters: Hermione, Luna, Neville, Other, Ron, Voldemort, Narcissa, Lucius, Bellatrix, Blaise Zabini, Dean, Seamus, Harry/Draco, Millicent, Pansy
Disclaimer: Not mine, except the plot. (And, I suppose, the random, unnamed fourth year Slytherin boy.)
A/N: Well, there you have it. (I'm sorry, yes, Harry is still dead.) Part 3/3. Reviews are love! Tissue warning, if that's the kind of person you are/mood you're in.
Draco and Hermione stood, waiting, on the platform that had been erected before the staff table, at the end of the Great Hall. It was the end of June, and the Leaving Feast - in the two months since Voldemort had been defeated along with the last of his Death Eaters, life in the wizarding world had returned to normal remarkable quickly. Of course, it helped that Fudge had been able to produce Voldemort’s body for the sceptical witches and wizards, and that he had loudly proclaimed the Boy-Who-Lived’s success. Draco tangled his hands in his robes before anyone could notice his clenched fists; it wouldn’t do to get angry right now. A Malfoy - however little the name meant to him now - did not reveal their innermost emotions before a crowd, much less before a crowd of people Draco wasn’t entirely sure he could trust.
“Hey, Dray, you okay?” Hermione asked, out of the corner of her mouth.
So - he hadn’t been as successful as he’d thought in hiding his automatic reaction to his train of thought. “Yeah, fine. Why?”
“You’re trying to crush your robes into a ball, that’s why,” she smirked. “Sure you’re not hiding something?”
He arched an eyebrow delicately. “Of course I am, Granger, everybody has their secrets.” Shaking his head, he admitted, “I was just thinking of how fast everything got back to, well, normal around here.”
“And…” she prompted.
“And how Fudge told the world that the bloody Boy-Who-Lived had done his job - with the full support of the Ministry,” he said with a grimace.
“What else would he say?” she commented, rolling her eyes. “Same old Fudge, after all. I mean-”
Dumbledore had moved to stand between then, holding up his hands as he waited for the Hall to fall silent. It was proof of how lucky they’d been that the Hall was nearly full - after Voldemort’s fall all the students had returned immediately, minus some notable exceptions in the upper years.
“In past years I have used this time to tell you all to be wary of Voldemort and his followers… But the time for that has, thankfully, passed. To tell you how this came about, you will hear from Mr Draco Malfoy and Miss Hermione Granger, who would have been our Head Boy and Girl, respectively, had this-” his voice caught- “been a normal school year.” Waving his hand towards the two of them, Dumbledore resumed his seat, trembling.
Throwing a glance at Draco, Hermione began speaking. “We are standing here today to recognize a very special group of people, without whom we wouldn’t be here right now. I know that many of you have lost friends and family in this war, and you- you have the right to know how and why that- that happened.”
Draco stepped in quickly. “Many of your parents, among other relatives, were members of a group organized to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters,” he said, pointedly ignoring the Slytherin table as he glanced around the hall. “This group was known as the Order of the Phoenix, and many of its members were killed in service, either in this war or in the first. But that is not the group we are here to remember.”
“The people we want to recognize today are- were students at Hogwarts. They were part of a group founded by- Harry Potter,” she said rapidly, “known as Dumbledore’s Army. It was given this name by Ginny Weasley,” she continued, as Draco gave Dumbledore a slight bow, “a sixth year Gryffindor student who was murdered by Voldemort.”
She turned away to wipe her eyes. Draco, facing the Hall, saw many of the other sixth years doing the same, although several of the boys were doing so furtively.
“It is the members of this group that we are honouring today,” he said steadily. “Our fellow classmates, who gave their lives in the Final Battle, so that we could be free once more.”
He closed his eyes, holding out his hand. Hermione slipped her smaller hand into his, warm fingers seeking the same reassurance as she began. “Terry Boot. Michael Corner. Anthony Goldstein. Luna Lovegood. Padma Patil.”
The Ravenclaws were holding one another’s hands, allowing their tears to flow freely as their housemates were named.
Draco continued, “Hannah Abbott. Susan Bones. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Ernie Macmillan.”
The Hufflepuffs were positively wailing as their fellows were named, with several of them having crawled under the table to have their cry in a more private place.
“Lavender Brown-”
“Here!” called a mean-looking fourth year Draco didn’t know. “You ever going to talk about what we’ve lost? Or are the Slytherins just not good enough for you anymore!” he challenged.
“You want me to tell you about the Slytherins?” Draco snapped angrily. “Alright then! I will! Vincent Crabbe. Gregory Goyle. Theodore Nott. Pansy Parkinson. All four of them died in the Final Battle. You want to know why? Because they were all bloody Death Eaters, that’s why! You know what else? They’re damned lucky that our side killed them, because if we hadn’t, Voldemort would have!” he snarled. “Happy now?”
The kid sunk down in his seat, pale and trembling, all the fight gone out of him on receiving this cheery bit of information.
“Dray, leave it…” Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand lightly. He nodded sharply, still glaring. She continued calmly, “Lavender Brown. Dennis Creevey. Dean Thomas. Ron… oh gods, Dray, help me,” she whispered brokenly, tears streaming down her face unchecked.
“Ron Weasley. And the last to fall that day, but certainly not the least,” he said, clutching his robes desperately with his free hand to still his trembling fingers, “Harry Potter.”
The Hall was filled with shaking, sobbing students, from every House. Draco pulled Hermione into a desperate hug, folding her into his arms as though she was the only friend he had left in the world. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around his waist, sobbing into his chest as her tears soaked through his shirt. They stood like that for some time, grieving along with the rest of the school, yet separate in their shared pain that only they two could fully appreciate.
Gradually the Hall quietened, and Draco looked up, blinking tears out of his eyes, sensing that Dumbledore had come forward.
“We will now observe some moments of silence to remember our schoolmates,” he said weakly, that twinkle quite gone from his ancient eyes.
Draco closed his eyes, resting his chin once more on Hermione’s head as she continued hiccoughing slightly, the sound muffled by being pressed against his body.
He heard a rustling noise suddenly, but assumed it was only someone moving about in their seat. The noise was repeated, but now seemed more fluttering, as with the quality of pages turning in a breeze. The sounds continued, and Draco raised his head, glaring round at the Hall.
“No, Dray,” Hermione said softly, turning his head. “Up there.”
“Hedwig!” he gasped. “But- It’s- I don’t- It can’t- He’s-”
“Shh,” she said gently. “Just open the letter.”
He reached out disbelievingly, removing the thick scroll from her leg. She nuzzled against his hand, hooting mournfully. “Hedwig…” She turned and flew away; Draco watched her go, until she was no more than a black speck silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky.
He looked down at the scroll, his vision steadily becoming obscured by a mist of tears. There it was, in bold letters: Draco Malfoy-Potter, written in Harry’s untidy black scrawl. “How…” he whispered.
The Hall was silent, the students watching the scene with interest. “Go, read the letter,” Hermione urged quietly, well aware of her schoolmates hanging on every word. “Get out of here - outside, upstairs, wherever. Just go.”
He pulled her close briefly, muttering, “I’ll be by the lake.” He stepped away, his expression unreadable, and said, “Excuse me, I have to leave; very pressing matter to attend to… Aw, hell. What use is it? ‘Mione, take over.” Walking rapidly he left the Hall, knowing that every eye was on him.
* * * * *
Without thinking Draco headed for “their” spot - that place on the lakeshore where they had had their final discussion before the Battle. Unsteadily he sat on the soft grass, turning the heavy scroll in trembling fingers.
Draco Malfoy-Potter, the letter was addressed to. But how…? There had been no time for writing after he had accepted Harry’s proposal, none at all. But surely that meant- He half-turned, almost expecting to see Harry standing behind him, smiling. Of course, there was no one.
He shook himself, knowing in his heart that it was impossible. It must have been- Harry must just have known how much Draco loved him. Yes, that was it - it was much better to quash his hopes now, before they could be allowed to blossom.
He traced the seal, watching as the waxy redness dissolved to reveal the Slytherin crest. He smiled fondly, recognizing what it meant: Harry had told him how the Sorting Hat had tried to put him in Slytherin, and it had become their private joke. He slid a manicured nail under the seal and set it aside carefully. The scroll retained its shape for a few moments before unrolling, indicating that it had been written some time ago.
Draco smoothed the pages gently, realizing with a pang how that parchment - inexplicably or not - smelled so much like Harry. He pushed the thought away and bent his head over the many sheets in his lap. Ignoring the curtain of blond hair that fell forward into his face, he settled down and began to read.
Dearest Draco, it is nearly the end of February as I write these words to you. The 21st, to be exact. Do you remember tonight? I am sitting comfortably before the fire in Gryffindor Tower, and you - you are curled up on the floor with your head in my lap, sound asleep. You’re so beautiful when you’re asleep, and even more so in the firelight. I’m almost afraid to be writing this next to you - afraid that the scratching of my quill might wake you from your dreams. But it needs to be done, because if you are reading this then I know that the final confrontation between Voldemort and myself has taken place. I am sorry I had to ask you what I did - it’s funny to write that, as I haven’t done it yet - but you know that it was the only way. I fully expect Voldemort to make his move before the end of the year; he can’t let me go home for the summer without trying to kill me first, after all.
Did that make you smile? I hope it did - you will never know how much I love to see you smiling and happy. I love you so much, Dray, I don’t ever want to leave you. But I don’t have any choice: it has to happen, sooner or later.
I have so much faith in you - you’ll be alright in the end, whatever else might happen. I don’t know if I’ll make it to the end of this year, I don’t know if I’ll get to graduate from Hogwarts, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to marry you or if we’ll ever have kids together… but no matter what, I will always love you, and nothing can ever change that. I will always be yours, Draco Malfoy, whether we’re on this side of the Veil or not.
There are so many things I want to say to you, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to tell you in person. To see your face, to look into your eyes - I’ve always loved your eyes; did I ever tell you that? Because they’re beautiful and sparkling, just like you. You’re on your second chance at life, you know, just like I am. But I’ve never seen you let that make you sad, or bitter, or anything like that - you’ve never let the past get you down that way I have. You were always stronger than I am, Dray. It’s just one of the things I’ve always loved you for…
It is a bittersweet thing to read a letter after its writer had passed away. The words are a sweet reminder of what you meant to each other, of how you were connected. But there is also the pain of knowing that you will never hear those words spoken, and will never see the writer again…
Draco felt all these things as he read the letter, even if he did not put it into quite those words. The letter went on and on over a dozen sides of parchment, bittersweet memories singing out to him from every line. Over and over it went, inky black words whispering to Draco until the final salutation, written in emerald green ink: Yours for better or worse, Love forever and always, Harry James Malfoy (né Potter)
Wiping away tears he hadn’t known were falling, he carefully rolled up the pages, securing the seal with a tap of his wand. He placed it gently in an inside pocket of his robes, making sure it couldn’t fall out. Hugging his knees to his chest, he put his head down upon them, tears running freely as the clear June sunshine blazed all around him.
* * * * *
It was fully two hours since Draco’s abrupt exit from the Hall when Hermione came to find him. She walked across the lawn slowly, soft footfalls announcing her presence. He turned to greet her, face tearstained but calm.
“’Mione.”
“Dray. How are you?” she asked hesitantly.
He smiled crookedly. “Alright. Better than can be expected, I suppose,” he added thoughtfully. “You?”
She dropped beside him, curling up gracefully as she began to pick at the blades of grass restlessly. “Alright, I suppose. I mean… there’s just so many things-” She stopped abruptly, and changed the subject. “Dumbledore made his speech after you left. All the- remaining seventh years are now officially graduates, but he says that if we wish, we, er… we will be welcome to ‘return to Hogwarts in the fall and continue our interrupted studies’ should we wish to so do.”
“I’m never coming back to Hogwarts,” Draco said flatly.
She sat very still, watching him carefully. “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. There’s nothing I’d want at the Manor, at any rate. I thought maybe… Gringotts, get some money out, change it to Muggle cash if I like, and then visit Godric’s Hollow.”
“He won’t be there, you know,” she said softly. “It won’t- It can’t- Nothing can bring him back.”
He shook his head. “He’ll be there. That’s where he was born, and that’s where I’ve buried him. Besides, I’ve got nowhere else to go,” he said dully.
“Oh, Dray…” Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Did he tell you how he sent the letter?” she asked suddenly.
“No… I don’t understand it at all. It isn’t possible…” he said, half to himself.
“I helped him with it,” she admitted. “It’s a modified sort of Tempus charm. He had it all written out, but he didn’t want to send it if he didn’t have to. So he set the charm so Hedwig could deliver it today, our last day of school…”
“But how could he have known-”
“He didn’t know, but he had a pretty good idea. Besides, setting it for today he figured- well, he figured he’d have plenty of time to counter the charm, unless-”
“Unless he couldn’t.”
She nodded. “I miss him,” she said simply. “I miss both of them.”
“Have you thought about where you’re going?” he asked. “You could come back if you wanted, you were always brilliant.”
“Thanks, but I’m not coming back either. I can’t.”
“Can’t?” he echoed.
She turned to him and knelt, taking his hand. Her eyes sparkling, she said nervously, “You’re the first person I’ve told.” She waved her wand at herself, and placed his hand on her abdomen.
Surprised, Draco felt two pulsing heartbeats beneath his hand. Gazing wide-eyed at her amused face, he managed to say, “’Mione! You’re- you’re- Since when?”
“Three months or so,” she said slowly, considering. “About that.”
“D’you know- d’you know, er, what they’ll be?”
“Babies, dear,” she laughed. “Seriously - both boys. Can you guess what I’ve decided to name them, d’you think?”
“Harry and Ron,” he said softly. “Hermione Granger, you are amazing,” he said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.
“I was, er- I was hoping - if you didn’t have anywhere to go, I mean - well, you don’t, but- I was hoping, er, maybe you could come with me to my parents’?” she asked haltingly. “I’m, er- I’m not quite sure how they’ll, er- how they’ll take the news.”
He nodded. “Of course. Then what?”
“I thought I might go to the Burrow - see how Charlie and Bill are holding up, maybe live there,” she said lightly. “And you’ll be off to try and find Harry, I suppose.”
“Not find,” he said seriously. “After Godric’s Hollow, I’ll probably move to Muggle London.”
“You?” she asked, surprised. “Are you sure you can get along?”
“I can probably find some bookkeeping work. I’m pretty good with numbers. I don’t think the wizarding world has anything left to offer me,” he added.
“You’re always welcome to visit me, wherever I end up,” she offered. “Me and the twins.”
He smiled. “I know. And I will, don’t worry. That’s my main reason for choosing London - it’s so close to our world.”
“And the other reasons?”
“It’s familiar,” he shrugged. “Mother used to sneak me out for shopping trips to Muggle London when she thought Father wasn’t looking.” He checked his watch. “The carriages are going to leave soon, we’d better get up to the castle.”
Arms around each other they walked back to the school, sharing a comfortable silence. They had a carriage to themselves on the way to the train; the other students realized that there should’ve been two more students in that carriage. The silence lasted until they boarded the train.
“I’m going to miss this place,” Hermione said softly.
“Yeah,” agreed Draco. “I’m going to miss it too.”
As the train pulled out of the Hogsmeade station they stood in the corridor, holding hands as they stared out the window at the lighted turrets of Hogwarts until it could no longer be seen - their final tribute and farewell to the life they’d known, and to the friends and lovers that they knew they would never forget.
Promises Sacrifice Eulogy