A Full Life

You may not get to live a long life, but I hope that I can at least give you a full one.

Hermione was a sore loser, at times. Especially considering how well Draco had savaged her at wizarding chess. Onto their fourth game already, Hermione wasn’t sure if she could stand to be defeated so terribly again. To make matters worse, her growing frustration was clear, and very apparent to Draco, who had found it quite amusing.

“I think I may have finally found something I’m better at than you, Granger.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure it will take another 25 years to find anything else.” Draco had been again, eternally grateful when she had shown up in the new year with the hand crafted set from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. She told him it was a late Christmas gift, and he had told her that he was very grateful, but didn’t think that they were exchanging gifts. 

She had woken the next morning to reciprocation on her bedside table. The largest bunch of the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen, that she instantly recognised from the fae path on the island. It was the only place that any vegetation seemed to still bloom, with its pristine colours, the kaleidoscope of the heavens left out just for her. The book placed delicately beside the vase was old, priceless, and had left Hermione feeling choked up, trying not to shed tears. Malfoy had left a little note with them, telling her that he had gone to town, and not to worry if he wasn’t there when she woke. She couldn’t help but feel it was very purposeful on his part, as if he couldn’t have stood to see her reaction to his thoughtful gift. She had spent time that morning tracing his looping letters with her finger. Hermione .

They ended up that evening again reading side by side; Hermione decided to give the book he had left out for her a try, and was thoroughly engrossed. She was pulled keenly back to awareness. Draco was trembling beside her. 

“Draco…?” Just as she had managed to get his name out, he had cried out. 

She was at his side immediately again, feeling hopeless as she applied her muscle relaxant charms. She was leaned over him, stroking his forehead, whispering sweet nothings to let him know that she was here, that he would be okay. She wasn’t sure how far that was true. Despite her nerves, her touch was calm, compassionate, as she attempted to guide him like a lighthouse through the tumultuous waves. She hoped that she was a beacon for him, guiding him back and reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Slowly, slowly, the light began to return to his eyes. Hermione .

They remained that way for a long stretching moment, her still leaning over him as his breathing returned to normal. 

“You’re…” was the first thing out of his mouth. As he had said it, he had reached up tentatively to touch one of her curls that had fallen astray. Her eyes were tender, full of warmth for the wizard beneath her. As quickly as he had reached out for the curl, he had removed his hand, fast like fire was under his fingertips. “I’m not sure why I did that. Sorry.”

She shook her head to tell him no, but before the words could come out she found that her head was dipping, and his was raising at the same time. Their mouths met, unsure at first, but it burnt like bonafide fire. He reached up to her now, one hand cradling her jaw, the other wrapped up in her shirt, pulling her close, as if he were afraid to fall. She had fallen already. She was pressed against him, all heat everywhere they touched. In that unguarded moment, so raw and filling, she was sure that realisation had swept over them both. Every shared laugh, every careful glance, every interaction slowly weaving the tapestry between them. He anchored her, and she him. 

She could feel him everywhere then, and he her, as if they were one in the same. It was like kissing god.

Time seemed to dissolve as they swayed with one another, fading into a blur of sensation. With their clothes off, Hermione had found something beautiful in the vulnerability that she felt between them. It was more than simply lust, or loneliness.

He touched her everywhere - curved, with soft places that were obviously meant for his hands. When he entered her, Hermione was not sure how she would ever feel full again without him inside of her. It felt like two halves of the same, finally joining, coming together like a symbiosis that had been written in the stars centuries past. It put the sky to shame. 

When he came, her name was on his lips like a benediction. Hermione .

February 2007 

When the letter arrived, shock gave way to anger. 

Draco Malfoy has declined further treatment . 

Hermione felt as if he had punched a hole through her chest. The sense of betrayal had felt so palpable that her head had swam, dizzying her with overwhelming emotion. She had silently cried in the bathroom for what had felt like an hour.

A cauldron of terrifying feelings bubbled within her, irrational thoughts, thoughts of the war and the manor and mudblood making their way to the surface. It was as if that damned letter had opened a floodgate, and Hermione felt she hated herself for opening her legs. 

She couldn’t make heads or tails of it. She knew that she needed to wait for a few days, before seeing him. Didn’t have a choice, as she had to pull strings to allow her access to international portkey outside of her normal window. 

She left early that day, and allowed herself time to scream into her pillow, to wallow and cry and shout at him from afar. Draco Malfoy, if you wanted a quick fuck, there are easier ways to go about it.

It took her a long time that day to still herself, to calm. 

She had to call in a favour with Harry to allow her access to the portkey. His conversation with her had helped her to think about it rationally, to think about it like a tricky arithmancy problem to be solved, as opposed to strangely weaved feelings and emotions. She had thought she would feel embarrassed to tell her best friend that yes, she had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy. It shouldn’t have shocked her then, when Harry said he already knew.

Draco may have been many things, but she was certain that what he had felt was real. He did not use her, he was simply pulling away. He was afraid. 

Her anger had time to ferment, to mull over. She may have been thinking more rationally about it then, but she was still allowed to feel indignant. She couldn’t believe that a man so intelligent, would be so emotionally illiterate. 

Hermione had cursed his wards, knowing that she wouldn’t have the element of surprise. He would be expecting her, but he should have known to expect her the moment he had decided to decline her help any longer. When she reached the top of the hill, she was met with his long garden path, and he was already stood at the door waiting for her.

When she finally reached him, he could barely meet her eyes. He cleared his throat, but said nothing. 

“You do that when you’re nervous. You clear your throat.” Hermione felt her lip tremble. He walked away, back into his house and into the room they had claimed as theirs. The tea was already steaming, waiting for them. He took his seat at the sofa, and she sat opposite him, mirroring their first meeting all those months ago. 

They sat for a long time in silence, and Draco prepared her tea just how she liked it. He held it out for her, and she pinned him with a long look and shook her head slowly, until he relented and finally set the cup back on the table.

“Why?” Was all she finally managed, tears threatening still to spill. His jaw tightened, and she waited for him to say something, say anything. 

“You’re afraid you like me.” He finally met her eyes and she finally let out the punishing conclusion that she had been afraid of for half a year. “You’re afraid to like a mudblood.”

His tea cup shattered as it hit the floor. “You are so wrong, you are so far fucking wrong.” All she could manage was to shake her head as her throat tightened unbearably.  “Sometimes, Granger, you do not know everything.” He seemed in that moment to be turning himself over. Would he bite his tongue there? Or let the ocean current rage over the both of them? 

“There was a reason that I spied for the Order during the war.” She was shocked to hear those words from him. “There’s a reason I left despite it all. A reason I can never be a hero.”

He continued, his anger pushing him on. “I no longer hold those twisted views I did as a child - that’s right. A child. I was misguided and led to believe the wrong things. It doesn’t excuse the way that I behaved but it does hopefully begin to explain it.

“I feel sick, feel sick , about some of the ways that I acted back then. I do not believe that your blood is dirty, Granger. I believe, I know, that you are a better witch than I will ever be wizard.”

Almost afraid to ask, she was pure timid: mouse. “Is that why - is that why you left?”

“No.” 

“I left because of you.” Her eyes and heart welled at his words. She couldn’t stop herself now as her vision blurred.

“My mother… the last thing, the last thing that I could never forgive myself for from the war. It was you. I thought about it every day, every day. I replayed your screams like punishment. That first day we met, I tried to tell you I had never requested a healer. You thought I was going to say that word. I would never, never speak to you that way again, Granger.” It was too much, too much for her to hear. She was on her feet, and suddenly, he was also. “My mother didn’t request the best. She requested you, and you happened to be the best. A long owed favor from Kingsley later, and you showed up seven years on. I think that was the best thing… the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve haven’t gotten to live a happy life, Granger.” They found each other through their tears. There was only one thing missing for her. One last piece of the puzzle she was yet to understand.

“So then why? Why push me away?” Her face was in his hands, and she saw his own face streaked with tears through her own.

“Because I am! I am fucking dying ! I can’t bear to sit by whilst you watch me die!”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me, Draco.” She was shaking, trembling with a confusing mixture of rage and tenderness.

“Tell me, tell me what you want.” He shook his head, and seeing his face scrunched in pure agony was more than she could take. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make the right choice.”

“I want you, Draco. I choose you.”

April 2008

Draco Malfoy died in the spring.

He had lasted longer than anyone could have hoped for him. Than even Hermione had expected once she decided to take her indefinite sabbatical. He had another chance at living. He went swimming, and read, and played chess with her until she was blue in the face. 

Hermione had asked him during that year if he would consider having his portrait commissioned. He had smiled and told her no. She wanted to yell at him then until the waves swallowed her whole, until the breeze swept her away. In the end she realised that it was his choice to make and he shouldn’t have been living to ease her inevitable grief.

Hermione had kissed him, again and again. She made up for a lifetime of kisses for him. 

In late March, Draco had taken a turn for the worse. His attacks came more and more frequently, and he had lost a considerable amount of weight before Hermione had decided that he should be on bed rest only. 

Hermione was curled around him one night in early April when she told him she loved him and he told her he was ready to die.

In those last days she did not leave his side. On the last night they had, Hermione had felt their hearts beat in tandem as she held him.

You may not get to live a long life, but I hope that I can at least give you a full one. Hermione never believed in divination, but her saying this, when she would look back upon that moment for years to come, was holy prophecy. Hermione hoped that she had made Draco feel full and loved in those final months. A full life was all she could manage to give him.