It wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be real.
Everything had slowed down, and why was it so silent?
There was something clawing at her insides, gripping onto her heart and her lungs with an iron-clad hold, and she stumbled, falling to her knees beside Draco’s body.
“GET HER OUT OF HERE!” somebody – was it Harry? – bellowed, and in a moment two pairs of strong arms had wrapped around her, restraining her from fighting their grip and she was sucked into the dark oblivion of apparition.
“No! Let me go!” she shrieked in desperation as the fresh sea air engulfed them, and Hermione fell to the ground, sobbing and shaking violently.
“Bill, get some blankets. I’ll carry her inside,” said a familiar voice, and she felt herself be lifted off the ground. Her head lolled onto the man’s shoulder as she continued to shake. She was placed on a soft couch in a warm room and through her blurred eyes she could make out the vague features of Bill and George and the décor of Shell Cottage. Bill threw a blanket at George who caught it and quickly wrapped it around Hermione who was still shivering. “Get her some tea or something, man,” George added, and Bill left the room quickly as his brother sat down beside Hermione, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her fragile body against his.
“Angelina has the kids, doesn’t she?” Bill asked once he had returned with a tray laden with a large teapot and three teacups. He placed the tray on the coffee table and turned to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of firewhisky and adding a generous amount to the pot.
“Yeah, Fleur dropped Victoire off at our house just before I left, and Hermione had already dropped Charlotte off,” George confirmed, handing a cup of tea to Hermione who drank deeply, her shakes subsiding. The firewhisky seemed to go straight to her head. Her eyelids drooped slowly, her head falling onto George’s shoulder, and then sleep claimed her.
***
“It’s done. Nott, Rose and Goyle are dead. The rest are awaiting trial, but they’ll all go to Azkaban.”
“Where’s the-?”
“At St. Mungo’s. I didn’t think Fleur and Bill would appreciate having a body lying around whilst Victoire was about.”
“Oh.”
“Where’s Hermione?”
“Asleep, first door to the left.”
“Thanks.”
The conversation drifted through the cracks in the door, stirring Hermione from her slumber. The door cracked open slightly, then Harry stepped in looking exhausted.
“You’re awake,” he noted out and she nodded as he sat in the chair beside her bed.
“You promised me he wouldn’t be hurt,” she choked out, feeling another wave of tears creep up on her as she watched him.
“I am so sorry. I don’t know how you’re feeling, and I’m not going to pretend I do. This was never meant to happen. I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice cracking on the last word as his green eyes sparkled with tears. He lifted a hand to brush them away and coughed loudly.
“How am I meant to go on without him, Harry? He was everything,” she sobbed, gripping the pillow tightly.
He was silent for a moment, eyes closed as he tried to stop the tears. “You have Charlotte. She needs you, Hermione,” he finally said quietly. “I have to go and see Ginny.”
With that he was gone, allowing Hermione the peace and silence that she was dreading. She sobbed loudly, not caring who heard her, until she slept.
***
She dressed slowly, carefully. First the black stockings. Then the black dress, followed by a dark Slytherin green jacket. Next she clipped a pair of silver earrings adorned with emeralds and rubies on. She put the wedding ring on, a slender platinum band of rubies and emeralds, and did the clasp of the necklace he had given her on their first Christmas together. She slipped her feet into a pair of black heels and examined herself in the mirror quickly.
Finally she put on a small black hat, one with a delicate veil of netting that obscured the upper part of her face and left the silent bedroom, her heels clipping on the hardwood floors noisily as she bent to pick up Charlotte as the house elf waited silently by the door. Charlotte was dressed in all black, just like her mother. The dress was crisp satin, and she had dark tights on beneath it.
“Is Miss ready to depart?” the elf squeaked, and Hermione nodded once, her face expressionless and unreadable.
“We will be back some time this afternoon. Please keep a fire going for when we come home. I don’t want Charlotte getting sick,” Hermione said sternly, picking up a dark green clutch that was the same colour as her jacket before stepping from the house. “Hold on tight, Charlotte.”
She sucked them both into apparition, appearing with a loud pop and a crying baby at the same cemetery where Narcissa Malfoy had been buried. Hermione shushed Charlotte quietly, not wishing to draw attention to herself as the funeral goers gathered. Finally Charlotte lapsed into silence, and Hermione began to walk up the slope to where the funeral would be held.
As she arrived, heads turned, but she did not return any of their gazes. Murmurs broke out in ripples through the already seated guests, but she remained stony-faced. A few people reached out and patted her arm or her back, but she would not acknowledge them. She continued down the path until she reached the front row of seats, the seats that would filled with his closest friends and family. She took her seat, the one right at the front, and put Charlotte on her lap. The baby knew not to make a fuss. She just sat there, staring around absently.
“Hermione,” someone murmured, and she inclined her head slightly to see Harry taking the seat beside her, dressed in a full black suit. He took her hand and squeezed it softly, sadly. She made no move to respond, but blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Harry did not release her hand, but he let out a sigh at her lack of response to him.
The seats around them slowly filled. George and Angelina sat across the aisle, George closest to Hermione. He reached across the gap and squeezed her hand, like Harry did, but did not speak. He leaned back into his seat as a man dressed in deep purple robes stepped up to the small podium at the front. He shuffled his notes, and began to speak about why they were gathered.
“Draco Malfoy was a kind, loving man.” No he wasn’t, Hermione thought. He was a bastard. “His life was full of achievements and good.” He was a Death Eater, he wasn’t good. “Draco made friends wherever he went, and people often talk about his open, friendly nature.” Friends? He hardly knew the meaning of the word. “For a man with such an untainted past as his, it is a crime for him to have died so young.” Untainted my ass. He had more marks against his name than anyone. “And now, Draco’s friend Harry Potter would like to say a few words.”
At the mention of Harry, a few mutters rippled through the crowds. Hermione sat up straight, knowing that Harry’s words would be that of truth, not what some stranger thought his friends would want to hear. He got up to the front, replacing the man with the plum robes, and pulled a sheet of folded up paper from his breast pocket, placing it down in front of him.
“Thirteen years ago, two people who could not be more different from each other, started their schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Harry began. “One of those people automatically became my sworn enemy, the other my best friend. Soon enough, my sworn enemy became enemies with my best friend, and the rivalry continued throughout almost our entire duration at school. Of course, I am talking of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.
“The two warred with words, and on one particularly memorable occasion, Hermione’s fist. They could not pass each other in the halls without a snide remark from one of the two, and they were constantly trying to outdo each other in classes, the victor always being Hermione. Their hostility towards each other never waned, no matter what the circumstance. After a few years, the horror of the Second Wizarding War began, and people’s true colours were revealed.
“In the final battle of the war, I was with Hermione and our friend Ron when we were leaving a room at Hogwarts. The room was ablaze, and Draco was still inside. Hermione screamed at me to go back and get him, go back and save his life, and so I did. That was the first, but not the last time, we saved his life that night. His mother, Narcissa Malfoy, then went on to save my life that night.
“The next year we all returned to Hogwarts, eager to resume where our schooling had left off, or not so eager in some cases. It was this year that everything seemed to have changed. No longer were the petty rivalries between houses held by most. The walls were down. Old grudges were forgotten, prejudices discarded. That was also the year that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell in love.
“To say their relationship unexpected would be a rather large understatement. These were two people who loathed each other, and yet they found happiness within one another. They lay their pasts and their history with each other behind them in favour of pursuing love. As time progressed, their feelings for each other never faded, no matter how much scrutiny their relationship went through. They were the perfect couple. But, as with anything perfect, something tore them apart.
“War. Draco was a spy for us, our eye into the workings of an underground group of Dark wizards, hell-bent on destroying the peace that we had made and the lives that we lead. He put himself in a position that no person with a wife and child should have to put himself in, but he had become selfless over the years, and he knew that he must work for the greater good.
“A few months ago, I promised Hermione that he would not be hurt. She had come to me, terrified at the prospect that Draco could be lost, and I told her that he would not be hurt. I truly believed that he would not come to any harm, but I was wrong. War is such a terrible thing. It tears us apart, breaks up families, and destroys any semblance of hope.
“But without war, there would be no peace. And that was what Draco Malfoy was fighting for. He was putting his life on the line so we could have ours, and for that reason I’m proud to have called him my friend. Goodbye Draco, friend, husband, father.”
Harry stepped from the podium, tears now flowing freely down his face and resumed his seat. Hermione could not see anything. Her eyes were blurred from the salty liquid, tear tracks evident all over her face as her makeup ran. Her eyes were focused on the white coffin before her, a photo of Draco atop it with a single rose lain in front. She let out the first sound she had made the entire ceremony, a heart wrenching sob, as the Draco in the photograph turned towards her, looking concerned at her state.
The man in the plum robes announced that people could say their final goodbyes to Draco, and no one moved until George stood, picking up Charlotte from Hermione and helping the woman to the coffin. She lay her hand down softly on the wood, letting her tears splash down onto the surface of it. The photograph faced her, smiling sadly up at her, but she could not see anything other than a blur of colours.
“I miss you,” she managed to choke out before the pain got too much to bear and she stumbled into someone’s arms. The person, a man she assumed by the strong arms, held her tightly, not speaking, but just rubbing his hand on her back in a smooth circle as she wept endlessly.
***
She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to block out the cold air as she watched the waves crash dramatically against the rugged cliffs. The creak of the door opening met her ears, and she knew who it was without looking.
“Does it ever stop hurting?” she asked quietly as George sat beside her, the pain evident in her voice.
“Did you know that it’s been six years years, seven months and fifteen days since Fred died?” he said, and she shook her head. “All that time has passed, and yet I still miss him every minute of every day. People will tell you to let go and to move on. Don’t let go of him, Hermione. Don’t forget and don’t let go until you’re ready. Don’t lose him.”
“I don’t ever want to let go,” she replied, and he shrugged.
“Do whatever you want, and don’t let anyone tell you different. That’s my motto, anyway. That and being serious is overrated.”
***
“Congratulations, you two!” Hermione cried happily, embracing Angelina and kissing George’s cheek after the announcement of Angelina’s pregnancy. “That’s fantastic news!”
They both beamed at her and she smiled back broadly, truly happy for the couple. The small room was cramped, so she slipped out the back door to give other people a chance to congratulate the happy couple and for a breath of fresh air. She had grown to hate being cramped and being in crowded rooms.
She breathed in the fresh air, smiling as she looked up at the stars. Her heart still ached for Draco, but she could go a week without crying now, no matter how much she missed him each day. She would pass the time with Charlotte, Harry, Ginny or George. Charlotte was toddling around now, and had learned to say a few basic words. She looked so much like him.
“’Mione!” she heard someone, Ron, she guessed by the use of the nickname she loathed, yelled and heavy footfalls approached. “Hey, ‘Mione! We haven’t talked in ages,” the redhead said, grinning as he hugged her.
“No, we haven’t. How many times have I asked you not to call me that, again?” she asked slyly, and he laughed.
“Only about a hundred. How are you?”
“I’m…better. Coping. It’s still hard, but I’m starting to deal with it,” she smiled. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Broke up with Susan a couple of months back, just after…I was wondering, do you want to go out some time?” he blurted, and she was taken aback.
“What?” she asked, her tone inadvertently harsher than she had wished.
“Well, you’ve been moping after Draco for ages, ‘Mione. It’s time to move on, and I thought we could try again. Try us again.”
“Moping?” she repeated shrilly. “He was my fucking husband, Ronald, so excuse me if I’m mourning!”
“He’s dead, ‘Mione, and he’s not coming back!” Ron snapped.
Before she knew what she was doing, Hermione’s fist had made contact with Ron’s nose. “Don’t you fucking dare, Ronald Weasley! I’m not a goddamn idiot, I know he’s not coming back. But don’t fucking try and tell me to move on. And there will never be an ‘us’, okay?” she yelled, breathing heavily.
Footsteps approached as Ron stumbled backwards from her, one hand on his bleeding nose.
“What’s going on here?” Harry asked, shocked at the scene before him.
“Nothing. Where’s Charlotte? I’m going home. I’ll call you later, Harry,” Hermione said quickly, walking away from the group, embarrassed, but feeling freer and more empowered than she ever had since Draco’s death.
***
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