DUET 5: darkcivet and hiddenhibernian
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Title: In Memoriam
Author: darkcivet
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,782
Summary: Power. Wealth. Family. He had a plan. She had a plan. Life, however, had its own agenda.
Warnings: Secondary character death.
Author's Note(s): Reads a little like a vignette. Thanks to Ningloreth, and my fic beta, Jade. Most patient person I’ve ever known. Recipient: Hope you like it. Enjoy.
‘Power. Wealth. Family. These were the things my father taught me are the most important if you want to succeed in this world. He taught me to use power to control my enemies, that wealth would keep allies from turning on us, and that family mattered more than both of these; all of which he failed spectacularly at protecting when it mattered the most. And going to Azkaban was the least he deserved.’
Groaning, Draco scratched that last line out, before remembering he was a wizard, and Vanishing it from the parchment instead. No matter how he worded it, it sounded so fake. It sounded like the man wasn’t even human.
“Fuck.”
He rubbed his left arm roughly, refusing to look at the Dark Mark that had faded to an almost imperceptible blemish since the fall of Tom Riddle. The rest of the speech was fake. It spoke of loyalty and honour - neither of which were a Malfoy staple.
“Draco?”
Startled by the familiar voice, Draco stood up sharply and spun around, sighing in relief when he spotted his wife standing in the doorway. In his musings, he’d almost forgot where he was; his study was his refuge. It was the room he retreated to when he had nowhere else to go. Or when his wife decided he’d had more than enough alone time.
Hermione Granger-Malfoy wore an expression of concern as she approached him.
“It’s time,” she said.
Draco stared down into his son’s eyes as Hermione bounced him softly in her arms. Baby Scorpius fussed noisily as she attempted to calm him, finally putting him over her shoulder in an attempt to appease him.
“Are you nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous?”
“Draco?”
“I’m not nervous.”
Hermione Granger frowned at her husband, disbelievingly, as he gently relieved her of their three-month-old son and cooed at him. Draco looked nervous and she knew him better than anyone.
If anyone had asked her five years ago who she wanted to marry, there’s no way it would have been him. She hadn’t planned to marry anyway - not for a good long while, at least, since there were so many things that she wanted to do first. She had the first few years after the war organised according to her career plans; despite what she’d said to Rufus Scrimgeour shortly before she went on the run with her boys, Hermione eventually decided the best place to make real change in the backwards Wizarding World, was at the Ministry of Magic itself.
First, she was going to secure a position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and campaign for equal rights for all the creatures hard done by Wizarding kind. Secondly, she was going to transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and change the stupid laws that benefited pure-bloods everywhere. Lastly, her final move would be to the Wizengamot or even the Auror Office, where she would continue her fight for a reform on all the legislations that had led to Voldemort’s rise during the Second Wizarding War.
Her eyes were firmly set on that top prize that few women (let alone Muggle-borns) had ever achieved: position of Minister for Magic. She would be the youngest person to ever hold the position, and ultimately, the longest running one by the time she retired. Once she took that title, only then would she settle down and start a family. She’d had it all planned out.
Until him. Helping him had helped her, but ultimately, falling for him had side-tracked her more than she could’ve imagined.
Hermione tugged on Draco’s tie gently as he held their son tightly. “It’s okay to be nervous, Draco.”
Draco stilled her hand in his, swaying softly as Scorpius finally closed his eyes and went quiet. “I’m not nervous.”
They stared into each other’s eyes and she shook her head. “But...”
“I’m a Malfoy, we don’t get nervous.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and reclaimed their sleeping son, pulling him to her breast protectively as his father gave her a cheeky grin. “You think yourself so debonair, sir, but you don’t fool me.”
“What’s there to be nervous about?”
Hermione studied him as she thought about that. Never in her short life would she have imagined joining the Malfoy family, let alone adding to their line; that pompous air about them always threw her off. The men were arrogant beyond belief and the women were simpering loyalists, no matter now strongly they appeared in moments of dire need - Narcissa had proven to be more concerned about tradition and appearances than standing up for herself. No matter how much she respected the woman, though, Hermione had no intention of turning into her.
But her concerns could wait until this day was over. Draco deserved as much.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re going to be late.”
She slid her arm around her husband’s waist, pulling him to her as she concentrated and Apparated them out of their home. Scorpius didn’t even flinch, as her Healer assured her he wouldn’t, and Hermione released her death grip on Draco the moment they landed. As expected, the Wizarding Paparazzi was waiting for them, and he cringed as the flash of their cameras momentarily blinded him.
Hermione couldn’t wait to be Minister for Magic and make it illegal for reporters to intrude on private matters
Draco gripped her hand tightly as she pulled him away from the gawking crowd. “I thought you weren’t nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” Draco said, taking a deep breath. “I’m bloody terrified.”
It was like his whole life was on display as he walked down the short path to where his mother, their friends, and a small group of officials waited, and he couldn’t help but think back on the speech he almost wrote about his father’s life lessons. There were times, since meeting Hermione, that he’d tried to use them, only to fall flat on his face. Seeing the end result of those failures in someone else, forced him to relive it.
Power. Wealth. Family.
.:.
Power.
Draco’s attempts to restore the Malfoy name after his father drove it into the ground were met with outcries from the public - from the very people who had relied on the power of the Malfoy line to further their own agendas to the hypocrites who had never had to live with someone as terrifying as the Dark Lord. They thwarted him at every opportunity and poked fun at him in public; the magazines of Wizarding Britain joined in, despite his numerous donations and reformations of his father’s company.
Fate was a fickle bitch.
But all that changed when a certain, bushy-haired know-it-all approached him with an offer.
“I have a proposition I want to put to your pure-blood sensitivities,” she’d said, obnoxiously. “And you,” she waved a copy of The Prophet in front of him to remind him how much people disliked him now, “need all the help I can give you.”
“I'm a Malfoy, I don’t need help.”
“Of course, you do.”
He stared at her then, really stared; that was when he noticed the bushy hair had been tamed, the virgin friendly clothes had been replaced with a smart, yet flattering outfit that made his mouth go dry. And suddenly, there was something he wanted more than repairing the Malfoy name, in that moment.
“On one condition.”
Her eyebrows rose and he almost missed the smirk that briefly appeared in the corner of her mouth. “Oh?”
“Go out with me.”
She didn’t look as surprised as he’d hoped. Just what was she playing at?
Hermione dragged the moment out, pretending to weigh her options. She tapped her fingers against his office desk as he watched her closely, anticipation written all over his face. Finally, she nodded, and made to leave the room.
“Send me a bouquet of Lilies and a Jane Austen book to make it look like you are actually trying to woo me, and you have yourself a deal.”
Draco gave a long-winded sigh at the idea of being romantic, before agreeing.
.:.
Wealth.
All throughout his early life, Draco created and maintained friendships by throwing his weight around, bribing with various assortments of confectionery, or charming the pants off of anyone who didn’t fall for the former two schemes. It was safe to say that he got used to being able to get whatever he wanted by buying people.
This type of thinking made Hermione Granger’s friends easy targets; a little bit of gold here, some shopping there, and brown-nosing to save face quickly won them over and he didn’t need to resort to some sappy, heart-felt speech.
Unfortunately, none of this worked on his girlfriend and soon to be fiancée, whenever he wanted something from her. Sex only got him so far - who knew the bookworm was such a wildcat in bed? He was charming and pouty when he wanted more than she was willing to give. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.
Why couldn’t she melt in his arms when he bought her diamonds? Why wouldn’t she agree with him when he gave her multiple orgasms, seemingly wanting nothing in return? Why did she encourage her friends to treat him like some sort of Santa Claus just because he bought the gangly Weasley and Scarhead their very own HD television? That was supposed to make them take his side, not hers.
Take the issue of Hermione inviting her two best friends over just to remind Draco that no amount of bribery will make them choose him over her; a weekend spent in front of his television, watching the newly broadcasted World Quidditch Cup, and they were still putty in her hands, the ungrateful turds.
Draco glared at Hermione as she smiled innocently. “Your friends don’t control me, Granger.”
She waved at him dismissively. “Harry, tell him.”
Harry waved in Draco’s general direction without looking away from the match. “Do what you’re told, Malfoy.”
“I bought you both a telly, for fuck sake!”
From somewhere around Potter’s feet on the floor, the gangly ginger piped up. “You bought them to get us to stop badgering you because you corrupted Hermione over to the dark side, not because you plan to impregnate her with your demon spawn.”
Draco shuddered. That was a disgusting way of putting it. He really needed to buy them both a dictionary.
Harry laughed. “Cheer up, mate. At least she still wants to marry you.”
“Yeah, at least you still got mountains of gold,” Ron said, agreeing with the sentiment, even if not the point.
Hermione took pity on him and snuggled into his shoulder affectionately. “Don’t worry, Draco, they love you.”
“I'm a Malfoy, everyone loves me.”
Hermione chuckled as Harry and Ron burst into laughter. The sound reverberated off the walls, echoed out into the hallway of the Malfoy-Granger home, and lingered long after they’d finally calmed down.
“Arseholes.”
Harry lost his smile. “Just remember: hurt her and I’ll kill you, Malfoy.”
Draco sneered, flipping the bird at the Chosen One. “Kill me and I’ll come back and haunt you, Potter.”
.:.
Family.
Despite his timely switch to the Light side, he was still the boy with the Death Eater brand in the eyes of the media and the Potter lovers of the Wizarding World. He was still the boy who let a horde of Death Eaters into Hogwarts that got Albus Dumbledore killed. He was still the idiot.
It wasn’t until Potter publicly accepted him that the blood thirsty journalists finally backed off. At least from wanting his head on a spike. His relationship with Hermione Granger only served to remind people that he would do anything to get what he wanted. If only he regretted marrying her, which he didn’t.
That realisation came with a host of emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with - his pregnant wife, his overenthusiastic, former enemies treating him like a charity case even though he was the one buying them things… it would have driven him completely mental if he didn’t have those exact people in his life to temper the madness.
And to top it all off, reuniting with his parents after his father’s release from Azkaban and his mother’s return to England (her deal for avoiding prison) didn’t go exactly as he’d planned, either. That wasn’t to say there was blood, sweat, and tears involved. His wife was heavily pregnant and the journalists were all over them as they met in a Muggle park - the attempt to go unnoticed by the nosey, Wizarding paparazzi failed miserably.
“You look good, son.” Lucius’s eyes shifted to his daughter-in-law, momentarily resting on her stomach before darting back to Draco. “So, the rumours I’d heard are true?”
Draco nodded.
“Do you have a name picked out, yet?” Narcissa asked Hermione, not unkindly.
Hermione smiled. “Scorpius Draconis.”
Her mother-in-law beamed and crossed the distance to embrace Hermione, surprising everyone. The normally aloof, Muggle-born hater held tight to the future mother of her grandchild and for the first time in Draco’s life, she started to cry. Narcissa didn’t sob or sniff; silent tears trickled elegantly down her face but when she finally pulled away, she made no move to wipe them away.
“Thank-you.”
Lucius remained stiff and wary, but Hermione had hope that he would loosen up around her. She wasn’t his biggest fan - she disliked him, thoroughly - but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life walking on eggshells around the man.
“Who will be the godparents?” Narcissa asked, gently rubbing Hermione’s bump, perhaps hoping to feel her grandson move. She smiled a moment later, stilling her hand as he kicked against her fingers.
“Harry and Pansy.”
Draco chuckled. Those two fought like cats and dogs to earn the titles. It wouldn’t have been right to deny them. Harry was Hermione’s best friend, while Pansy was the only female Slytherin still loyal to Draco - the choices were perfect.
Narcissa wiped at her tears. “It sounds perfect.”
Draco grinned. “I’m a Malfoy, we deserve perfect.”
While Lucius smiled uncharacteristically at his son, Hermione and Narcissa just shook their heads.
“Men.”
.:.
Power. Wealth. Family. It really was a tragedy of epic proportions that these were things Lucius Malfoy had failed so miserably at maintaining in his life. Without wisdom, power became a disease. Without restraint, wealth faded into nothing. Without love, family meant nothing but a hole in the ground once they were gone.
Draco stood to the side of the grave and ignored the solemn faces of those gathered. He’d heard that ridiculous Muggle saying about picturing the audience naked when nervous about giving speeches, but never found it to be helpful. He hated talking to crowd, but his mother had insisted. It was what his father would have wanted, she said. It was the least he could do.
Draco fought the urge to scoff. ‘Right.’
Behind him, his wife and son remained silent but he could feel the warmth radiating from them, like they were hugging him and he smiled. Despite his power, wealth, and new family, the ultimate rise of the name Malfoy had nothing to do with his overall happiness. Hermione had come to him with a proposition, with a promise of rising back up, and a killer body to go with those sweet, whispered promises; she was everything he hadn’t realised he wanted or needed.
Draco had her figured out, finally. What she really wanted. It hadn’t been him - not by a long shot - until she got him. He overheard her admit as much to the bumbling duo that masqueraded as Aurors; Potter and Weasley supported her choices, even if they didn’t understand them. She was in love with him.
Draco took a deep breath and glanced back at his wife. She’d been in love with him from the moment they both said, “I do”, and he couldn’t help but return the sentiment. No matter how they started, this was a far better path than the one they’d both wanted, separately. And he knew, without a doubt, that one day she would reach her goal of becoming Minister for Magic - it was the least he could do, to get her there.
He cleared his throat, now staring at the grave where the moody looking undertaker was lowering his father’s body, before speaking. He would never be able to put everything he was feeling into words, but he hoped Lucius Malfoy would be proud of the man he’d become. He’d lived long enough to see the Malfoy name rise again, not to mention the birth of his grandson, before illness struck him.
Draco touched the headstone. “Good-bye, father.”
In Memoriam.
.:.
Title: In Memoriam
Author: darkcivet
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,782
Summary: Power. Wealth. Family. He had a plan. She had a plan. Life, however, had its own agenda.
Warnings: Secondary character death.
Author's Note(s): Reads a little like a vignette. Thanks to Ningloreth, and my fic beta, Jade. Most patient person I’ve ever known. Recipient: Hope you like it. Enjoy.
‘Power. Wealth. Family. These were the things my father taught me are the most important if you want to succeed in this world. He taught me to use power to control my enemies, that wealth would keep allies from turning on us, and that family mattered more than both of these; all of which he failed spectacularly at protecting when it mattered the most. And going to Azkaban was the least he deserved.’
Groaning, Draco scratched that last line out, before remembering he was a wizard, and Vanishing it from the parchment instead. No matter how he worded it, it sounded so fake. It sounded like the man wasn’t even human.
“Fuck.”
He rubbed his left arm roughly, refusing to look at the Dark Mark that had faded to an almost imperceptible blemish since the fall of Tom Riddle. The rest of the speech was fake. It spoke of loyalty and honour - neither of which were a Malfoy staple.
“Draco?”
Startled by the familiar voice, Draco stood up sharply and spun around, sighing in relief when he spotted his wife standing in the doorway. In his musings, he’d almost forgot where he was; his study was his refuge. It was the room he retreated to when he had nowhere else to go. Or when his wife decided he’d had more than enough alone time.
Hermione Granger-Malfoy wore an expression of concern as she approached him.
“It’s time,” she said.
Draco stared down into his son’s eyes as Hermione bounced him softly in her arms. Baby Scorpius fussed noisily as she attempted to calm him, finally putting him over her shoulder in an attempt to appease him.
“Are you nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous?”
“Draco?”
“I’m not nervous.”
Hermione Granger frowned at her husband, disbelievingly, as he gently relieved her of their three-month-old son and cooed at him. Draco looked nervous and she knew him better than anyone.
If anyone had asked her five years ago who she wanted to marry, there’s no way it would have been him. She hadn’t planned to marry anyway - not for a good long while, at least, since there were so many things that she wanted to do first. She had the first few years after the war organised according to her career plans; despite what she’d said to Rufus Scrimgeour shortly before she went on the run with her boys, Hermione eventually decided the best place to make real change in the backwards Wizarding World, was at the Ministry of Magic itself.
First, she was going to secure a position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and campaign for equal rights for all the creatures hard done by Wizarding kind. Secondly, she was going to transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and change the stupid laws that benefited pure-bloods everywhere. Lastly, her final move would be to the Wizengamot or even the Auror Office, where she would continue her fight for a reform on all the legislations that had led to Voldemort’s rise during the Second Wizarding War.
Her eyes were firmly set on that top prize that few women (let alone Muggle-borns) had ever achieved: position of Minister for Magic. She would be the youngest person to ever hold the position, and ultimately, the longest running one by the time she retired. Once she took that title, only then would she settle down and start a family. She’d had it all planned out.
Until him. Helping him had helped her, but ultimately, falling for him had side-tracked her more than she could’ve imagined.
Hermione tugged on Draco’s tie gently as he held their son tightly. “It’s okay to be nervous, Draco.”
Draco stilled her hand in his, swaying softly as Scorpius finally closed his eyes and went quiet. “I’m not nervous.”
They stared into each other’s eyes and she shook her head. “But...”
“I’m a Malfoy, we don’t get nervous.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and reclaimed their sleeping son, pulling him to her breast protectively as his father gave her a cheeky grin. “You think yourself so debonair, sir, but you don’t fool me.”
“What’s there to be nervous about?”
Hermione studied him as she thought about that. Never in her short life would she have imagined joining the Malfoy family, let alone adding to their line; that pompous air about them always threw her off. The men were arrogant beyond belief and the women were simpering loyalists, no matter now strongly they appeared in moments of dire need - Narcissa had proven to be more concerned about tradition and appearances than standing up for herself. No matter how much she respected the woman, though, Hermione had no intention of turning into her.
But her concerns could wait until this day was over. Draco deserved as much.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re going to be late.”
She slid her arm around her husband’s waist, pulling him to her as she concentrated and Apparated them out of their home. Scorpius didn’t even flinch, as her Healer assured her he wouldn’t, and Hermione released her death grip on Draco the moment they landed. As expected, the Wizarding Paparazzi was waiting for them, and he cringed as the flash of their cameras momentarily blinded him.
Hermione couldn’t wait to be Minister for Magic and make it illegal for reporters to intrude on private matters
Draco gripped her hand tightly as she pulled him away from the gawking crowd. “I thought you weren’t nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” Draco said, taking a deep breath. “I’m bloody terrified.”
It was like his whole life was on display as he walked down the short path to where his mother, their friends, and a small group of officials waited, and he couldn’t help but think back on the speech he almost wrote about his father’s life lessons. There were times, since meeting Hermione, that he’d tried to use them, only to fall flat on his face. Seeing the end result of those failures in someone else, forced him to relive it.
Power. Wealth. Family.
.:.
Power.
Draco’s attempts to restore the Malfoy name after his father drove it into the ground were met with outcries from the public - from the very people who had relied on the power of the Malfoy line to further their own agendas to the hypocrites who had never had to live with someone as terrifying as the Dark Lord. They thwarted him at every opportunity and poked fun at him in public; the magazines of Wizarding Britain joined in, despite his numerous donations and reformations of his father’s company.
Fate was a fickle bitch.
But all that changed when a certain, bushy-haired know-it-all approached him with an offer.
“I have a proposition I want to put to your pure-blood sensitivities,” she’d said, obnoxiously. “And you,” she waved a copy of The Prophet in front of him to remind him how much people disliked him now, “need all the help I can give you.”
“I'm a Malfoy, I don’t need help.”
“Of course, you do.”
He stared at her then, really stared; that was when he noticed the bushy hair had been tamed, the virgin friendly clothes had been replaced with a smart, yet flattering outfit that made his mouth go dry. And suddenly, there was something he wanted more than repairing the Malfoy name, in that moment.
“On one condition.”
Her eyebrows rose and he almost missed the smirk that briefly appeared in the corner of her mouth. “Oh?”
“Go out with me.”
She didn’t look as surprised as he’d hoped. Just what was she playing at?
Hermione dragged the moment out, pretending to weigh her options. She tapped her fingers against his office desk as he watched her closely, anticipation written all over his face. Finally, she nodded, and made to leave the room.
“Send me a bouquet of Lilies and a Jane Austen book to make it look like you are actually trying to woo me, and you have yourself a deal.”
Draco gave a long-winded sigh at the idea of being romantic, before agreeing.
.:.
Wealth.
All throughout his early life, Draco created and maintained friendships by throwing his weight around, bribing with various assortments of confectionery, or charming the pants off of anyone who didn’t fall for the former two schemes. It was safe to say that he got used to being able to get whatever he wanted by buying people.
This type of thinking made Hermione Granger’s friends easy targets; a little bit of gold here, some shopping there, and brown-nosing to save face quickly won them over and he didn’t need to resort to some sappy, heart-felt speech.
Unfortunately, none of this worked on his girlfriend and soon to be fiancée, whenever he wanted something from her. Sex only got him so far - who knew the bookworm was such a wildcat in bed? He was charming and pouty when he wanted more than she was willing to give. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.
Why couldn’t she melt in his arms when he bought her diamonds? Why wouldn’t she agree with him when he gave her multiple orgasms, seemingly wanting nothing in return? Why did she encourage her friends to treat him like some sort of Santa Claus just because he bought the gangly Weasley and Scarhead their very own HD television? That was supposed to make them take his side, not hers.
Take the issue of Hermione inviting her two best friends over just to remind Draco that no amount of bribery will make them choose him over her; a weekend spent in front of his television, watching the newly broadcasted World Quidditch Cup, and they were still putty in her hands, the ungrateful turds.
Draco glared at Hermione as she smiled innocently. “Your friends don’t control me, Granger.”
She waved at him dismissively. “Harry, tell him.”
Harry waved in Draco’s general direction without looking away from the match. “Do what you’re told, Malfoy.”
“I bought you both a telly, for fuck sake!”
From somewhere around Potter’s feet on the floor, the gangly ginger piped up. “You bought them to get us to stop badgering you because you corrupted Hermione over to the dark side, not because you plan to impregnate her with your demon spawn.”
Draco shuddered. That was a disgusting way of putting it. He really needed to buy them both a dictionary.
Harry laughed. “Cheer up, mate. At least she still wants to marry you.”
“Yeah, at least you still got mountains of gold,” Ron said, agreeing with the sentiment, even if not the point.
Hermione took pity on him and snuggled into his shoulder affectionately. “Don’t worry, Draco, they love you.”
“I'm a Malfoy, everyone loves me.”
Hermione chuckled as Harry and Ron burst into laughter. The sound reverberated off the walls, echoed out into the hallway of the Malfoy-Granger home, and lingered long after they’d finally calmed down.
“Arseholes.”
Harry lost his smile. “Just remember: hurt her and I’ll kill you, Malfoy.”
Draco sneered, flipping the bird at the Chosen One. “Kill me and I’ll come back and haunt you, Potter.”
.:.
Family.
Despite his timely switch to the Light side, he was still the boy with the Death Eater brand in the eyes of the media and the Potter lovers of the Wizarding World. He was still the boy who let a horde of Death Eaters into Hogwarts that got Albus Dumbledore killed. He was still the idiot.
It wasn’t until Potter publicly accepted him that the blood thirsty journalists finally backed off. At least from wanting his head on a spike. His relationship with Hermione Granger only served to remind people that he would do anything to get what he wanted. If only he regretted marrying her, which he didn’t.
That realisation came with a host of emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with - his pregnant wife, his overenthusiastic, former enemies treating him like a charity case even though he was the one buying them things… it would have driven him completely mental if he didn’t have those exact people in his life to temper the madness.
And to top it all off, reuniting with his parents after his father’s release from Azkaban and his mother’s return to England (her deal for avoiding prison) didn’t go exactly as he’d planned, either. That wasn’t to say there was blood, sweat, and tears involved. His wife was heavily pregnant and the journalists were all over them as they met in a Muggle park - the attempt to go unnoticed by the nosey, Wizarding paparazzi failed miserably.
“You look good, son.” Lucius’s eyes shifted to his daughter-in-law, momentarily resting on her stomach before darting back to Draco. “So, the rumours I’d heard are true?”
Draco nodded.
“Do you have a name picked out, yet?” Narcissa asked Hermione, not unkindly.
Hermione smiled. “Scorpius Draconis.”
Her mother-in-law beamed and crossed the distance to embrace Hermione, surprising everyone. The normally aloof, Muggle-born hater held tight to the future mother of her grandchild and for the first time in Draco’s life, she started to cry. Narcissa didn’t sob or sniff; silent tears trickled elegantly down her face but when she finally pulled away, she made no move to wipe them away.
“Thank-you.”
Lucius remained stiff and wary, but Hermione had hope that he would loosen up around her. She wasn’t his biggest fan - she disliked him, thoroughly - but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life walking on eggshells around the man.
“Who will be the godparents?” Narcissa asked, gently rubbing Hermione’s bump, perhaps hoping to feel her grandson move. She smiled a moment later, stilling her hand as he kicked against her fingers.
“Harry and Pansy.”
Draco chuckled. Those two fought like cats and dogs to earn the titles. It wouldn’t have been right to deny them. Harry was Hermione’s best friend, while Pansy was the only female Slytherin still loyal to Draco - the choices were perfect.
Narcissa wiped at her tears. “It sounds perfect.”
Draco grinned. “I’m a Malfoy, we deserve perfect.”
While Lucius smiled uncharacteristically at his son, Hermione and Narcissa just shook their heads.
“Men.”
.:.
Power. Wealth. Family. It really was a tragedy of epic proportions that these were things Lucius Malfoy had failed so miserably at maintaining in his life. Without wisdom, power became a disease. Without restraint, wealth faded into nothing. Without love, family meant nothing but a hole in the ground once they were gone.
Draco stood to the side of the grave and ignored the solemn faces of those gathered. He’d heard that ridiculous Muggle saying about picturing the audience naked when nervous about giving speeches, but never found it to be helpful. He hated talking to crowd, but his mother had insisted. It was what his father would have wanted, she said. It was the least he could do.
Draco fought the urge to scoff. ‘Right.’
Behind him, his wife and son remained silent but he could feel the warmth radiating from them, like they were hugging him and he smiled. Despite his power, wealth, and new family, the ultimate rise of the name Malfoy had nothing to do with his overall happiness. Hermione had come to him with a proposition, with a promise of rising back up, and a killer body to go with those sweet, whispered promises; she was everything he hadn’t realised he wanted or needed.
Draco had her figured out, finally. What she really wanted. It hadn’t been him - not by a long shot - until she got him. He overheard her admit as much to the bumbling duo that masqueraded as Aurors; Potter and Weasley supported her choices, even if they didn’t understand them. She was in love with him.
Draco took a deep breath and glanced back at his wife. She’d been in love with him from the moment they both said, “I do”, and he couldn’t help but return the sentiment. No matter how they started, this was a far better path than the one they’d both wanted, separately. And he knew, without a doubt, that one day she would reach her goal of becoming Minister for Magic - it was the least he could do, to get her there.
He cleared his throat, now staring at the grave where the moody looking undertaker was lowering his father’s body, before speaking. He would never be able to put everything he was feeling into words, but he hoped Lucius Malfoy would be proud of the man he’d become. He’d lived long enough to see the Malfoy name rise again, not to mention the birth of his grandson, before illness struck him.
Draco touched the headstone. “Good-bye, father.”
In Memoriam.
.:.