Chapter 4
September 19, 1998 : 0
"...today is a special occasion. Now, off you go," Draco commanded.
As soon as she heard the sound of the door clicking shut, Hermione sat up and stretched her arms out to the side as she faked a yawn. "Good morning," her smile was counterfeit. "What's that?"
Draco looked down at the tray in his hands and then back up at her. "Oh, this?" he questioned as he strolled over to her. "Nothing special, just a homemade Cherry Bakewell cake that Bippy spent all night baking."
Even though she couldn't smell it, the sight of the cake alone was enough to make Hermione's mouth water. "Cherry Bakewell? That's my favourite," she exclaimed as she licked her lips.
"Is it? I hadn't a clue," Draco smirked as he removed the metal cover to reveal the cake. "Happy Birthday, Granger."
Gods, if she could feel hunger, she was sure her stomach would be rumbling so loud she wouldn't even be able to hear her thoughts. And then, reality smacked her in the face.
She couldn't feel hunger because she was dead.
She wouldn't be able to enjoy a piece of her favourite cake because she was dead.
And she couldn't kiss Draco as a thank you for remembering her birthday because she was dead.
She had died.
"What's wrong?" Draco asked as he noticed her sudden shift in demeanour.
"Nothing," she lied as she shook her head, got up from the bed, and began pacing the length of the room as she tugged at her hair frustratingly.
This was all wrong. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. She should've known better. She did know better. Hermione knew that there was a possibility that Draco would lean too far into the fantasy, but she still did it. She still played house with him, and now she was paying the price.
"This doesn't seem like nothing," Draco said as he set the tray down. "Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it."
"You can't!" she snapped. "There's nothing you or anyone else can do!"
You could set me free.
"I wish you could, gods do I wish for that..."
I wish you would.
"...but you can't..."
You won't.
"...and I just..." Hermione's eyes frantically shifted around the room, and the panic in her voice increased as she continued to stammer. "I need you to-I don't want to be-"
"Hey, hey," Draco cooed as he cleared the space between them. "Look at me, Granger."
Hermione continued to avert her gaze, unable to meet his eyes, unable to look at the man that was causing her so much distress. Draco took another step forward, his hand extended out to reach for her. Noticing his movement out of the corner of her eye, Hermione took a quick step back and jerked away.
"I don't want to be like this," she choked out, finally meeting his stare.
Please don't keep me like this.
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as she slowly lowered her body to the ground. She dropped her head, her forehead resting on her knees as the sound of her sobs bounced off the walls.
"Do you remember my first night at the burrow?" Draco questioned, his soft voice barely audible over her cries. "I do," he continued. "I was almost certain Snape was fucking with me when I had arrived at the meeting spot."
Draco went on to tell her about how he apparated from the manor, expecting to appear in some underground hideout, only to find himself in the middle of a field. Hermione's gasps for air began to lull as he continued to tell her the story, and tears finally stopped falling when he repeated what she had said to him that night.
"He's vile, just like the rest of them. We have no evidence that he won't turn on us. With that being said, we have nothing to believe the contrary either. But the second he gives us reason to believe the former, I won't hesitate to shoot a hex through his skull."
At least he remembered how much talking about their time together during the Horcrux hunt comforted her. At the same time, it felt like a manipulation tactic. She knew Draco wasn't doing it on purpose, but it frustrated her that something so simple as him talking about a memory was enough to, for a brief moment, distract her from what was going on.
It was like breaking someone's bones and then mending them, only to break them all over again.
"Breakfast is ready, Master Draco," Bippy announced from the hallway.
"I can tell her to put it away," Draco said to Hermione. "We can eat later."
Hermione pushed the curls out of her face and stood. "No, it's fine. I'm fine. We can go downstairs."
"Are you sure? We don't have to."
Hermione didn't want to at all. She never wanted to sit at that bloody dining room table ever again. She didn't want to stare at the freshly cooked meal that she couldn't enjoy, and Hermione never wanted to see the confused look on Bippy's face as she watched Draco converse with thin air. But, at the moment, all of those things sounded far less painful than remaining in a room with Draco and being suffocated by his obliviousness.
"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione said.
***
Narcissa was surprisingly sitting at the table when they finally made their way downstairs. It was rare that she ever entered the dining room in the first place. Not because she had the same feelings as Hermione but because she had her own demons that haunted the specific room.
When Narcissa first arrived and was talking to Draco, Hermione overheard his mother apologise for not doing anything the day he was given the dark mark. As she continued to talk, Hermione pieced together the fact that the branding took place at the manor in the dining room.
"Glad you could join us this morning, Mother," Draco smiled.
"Yes, well, it's a special day today," Narcissa replied. "Happy birthday, Hermione," she smiled warmly.
Happy Birthday.
Hermione wanted to scoff at the statement. It seemed ridiculous to wish her a happy birthday when the reality was, she wasn't ageing.
She died at eighteen.
She would forever be eighteen.
Hermione stared down at the plate of eggs in front of her as she picked at the dead skin around her nail and thought about what today would have been like if she were actually turning nineteen.
She would be having breakfast with Draco, just like today, but her friends would also be here. Hermione also liked to believe that she would've been able to reverse the obliviation on her parents so that they could be in attendance as well.
She wondered how they would've got along with Narcissa.
After breakfast, she and Draco would go with her friends into town. They'd visit her favourite bookshop, she'd pick out a book, and when she approached the counter to check out, the clerk would tell her that Draco had already paid for it. The afternoon would be filled with playful bickering between Draco and Ginny, and at the end of the day, Hermione and Draco would return to their place and have dinner, just the two of them.
It would've been perfect.
But that's not how it was. Her parents were still in Australia, completely unaware that their daughter had died - completely unaware that they even had a daughter. Her friends weren't with her, they wouldn't be visiting a bookstore, and Draco wouldn't be buying her a book.
"Granger?" she heard Draco say, snapping her from her thoughts.
"Hmm?" Hermione hummed as she looked up at him.
"The garden, thoughts? It's your birthday. I don't want to force you to do anything you aren't interested in."
Like using the resurrection stone to keep me here?
"No-I mean-sure. That sounds... nice," she replied quietly with a smile.
"You must visit the dahlias," Narcissa chimed. "They're absolutely delightful this time of the year. Bippy could put together a basket, and the two of you could enjoy a picnic under the family oak tree. The weather is supposed to be perfect today too. Not too sunny with a light breeze. Oh, it'll be so lovely!" she exclaimed as she clapped her hands together.
Hermione uncomfortably shifted in her seat as she bit her tongue. There were countless times when she wanted to scream at Narcissa and ask what in Merlin's name she was doing. Ever since she got here, she had done nothing but feed into Draco's delusion. Hermione understood that she was a mother who was overjoyed to be reunited with her son, but for Godric's sake, when did it end? The pain was like a broken record playing on a constant loop.
Hadn't she given enough?
Hadn't she sacrificed enough?
Hadn't she suffered enough?
Hermione stayed silent for the remainder of breakfast. She didn't know if Narcissa and Draco chose to do the same or if they continued talking. She didn't know because she didn't care to pay attention. Over the last few weeks, Hermione became skilled in the art of tuning out unwanted noise, and as of late, their voices had become such.
"Bippy clear the table now, Master Draco?" The sound of the kind house elf's voice caught Hermione's attention.
"Yes, that would be great, Bippy," Draco smiled as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin before standing and motioning for Hermione to follow.
Hermione let out a disgruntled sigh as they stepped through the french doors and into the backyard.She couldn't help but feel disappointed each time she walked outside and wasn't welcomed by the warmth of the sun.
Draco, on the other hand, was busy basking in the gifts that life offered him. His chest expanded as he breathed in the fresh air and as he released a steady exhale, he glanced over at Hermione with a loving look that she once loved being on the receiving end of.
Approaching the dahlias that Narcissa had mentioned over breakfast, Hermione lowered herself onto the marble bench as she admired the flowers. Narcissa was right, they were delightful. Hermione raised her hand, her fingertips desperate to brush against the velvety petal.
"You can't touch that," the voice inside her head reminded her. "Flowers are alive and you aren't."
Retracting her hand, Hermione cleared her throat and shifted in her seat.
"Did you know that the dahlia was one of Queen Victoria's favourites?" Draco questioned.
Hermione shook her head as she swallowed back her tears.
"Though it's also wise to mention that she was also quite the fan of orange blossoms, lilies, and violets," Draco continued as he mindlessly fiddled with the black stone that was keeping Hermione hostage. "But I'm certain that, at one point, dahlias were at the top of her list."
Surprised by his expertise on such a random topic, Hermione said, "I must say, I'm surprised you, of all people, carry so much knowledge on a topic like this."
Draco's brow arched. "Oh? And why's that?"
"It just seems like a rather useless piece of information if I'm being honest," she admitted.
"Miss Granger, I can assure you that knowing the late Queen Victoria's preference in flowers is extremely useful."
"Is that so?" she teased as a smirk crept its way across her lips.
Draco nodded confidently.
"Go on then, enlighten me."
"Gladly. You see, not only did it help me redirect an exasperating conversation about my theoretical future wife with one of my mother's friends during Sunday tea three years ago," he explained as he slowly stepped toward her. "But it also managed to provide me with my favourite view."
"Which is?" she prompted.
He raised his hand and pointed at her.
"Me?"
"Yes, you," Draco replied. "More specifically, that smile of yours. It's been far too long since I've seen it. But on the rare occasions that I do, it still causes me to go weak in the knees. You make me weak in the knees, Granger."
It was moments like these that offered Hermione an escape.
An escape from the torment.
From the betrayal.
From the pain.
This was them. This was what she had mourned in the afterlife. These soft, delicate, and love-filled moments with Draco. She could fight it and remind herself that he is the one imprisoning her in this endless cycle of torture, or she could be kind to herself and enjoy a playful moment with the man she loves.
"You know," her shoulders relaxed as she released her anger, "it's almost comical thinking back on my impression of you at Hogwarts."
Claiming the seat beside her, Draco leaned back until his shoulders made contact with the tree behind them. "I'm listening," he smirked as he motioned for her to continue.
"Where to even begin?" Hermione teased as she let out a small giggle. "For starters, you were England's most pompous child."
"I prefer the term confident, but please, do continue."
"There are so many words that come to mind when I think back on the Draco Malfoy everyone knew and loathed so dearly," her words dripping with sarcasm. "A few of my favourites would have to be judgemental, arrogant, selfish, vain, aggravating, dramatic-"
"Dramatic?! I am not dramatic!" he argued as he shot up to his feet and threw his hands into the air.
"Right," Hermione chuckled. "Not dramatic at all, my apologies."
"Apology accepted," he nodded as he readjusted his shirt before returning to his spot on the bench.
"Now that that's settled," she began. "The point I was trying to make was that if someone told me back then that Draco Malfoy knew random facts about flowers and enjoyed filling his free time whispering sweet nothings, I would've laughed in their face. You're a far more complex person than I gave you credit for."
"You forgot to mention how devilishly handsome I am," he winked.
"I seem to have forgotten humble as well."
"That you did. But no worries, love, I forgive you," Draco replied with a cheeky smile. "I have a surprise for you."
"What is it?"
"If I told you, that would defeat the purpose of a surprise, now wouldn't it?"
"You know surprises irritate me, Draco," Hermione groaned.
"And you know that I love to irritate you," he smirked. "Now come, it's not far of a walk."
As they made their way through the garden, Hermione listened to the crunching of the leaves beneath Draco's feet and the melodic sound of the birds chirping intertwined with the low whistle of the wind blowing through the trees.
Things were feeling almost normal again.
The shared laughs, the banter, and Draco's shameless flirting. It's how things used to be.
It's how they used to be.
The walk, however, was gruelling. Even though Hermione was enjoying the echoes of nature around her, she just wanted to know what surprise Draco had up his sleeve already.
"Are we there yet?" she groaned.
"Still the impatient sort," Draco teased. "But yes, we're here."
Hermione found herself lost as she scanned the space around them. The look on Draco's face was signalling that the weeds and seemingly endless land of grass before them were something to be excited about, but Hermione had no clue why.
Not wanting to ruin the mood, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Oh, wow, this is a very nice-er-field," she nodded. "I love it."
Draco let out a soft chuckle as he rolled his eyes. "And still a terrible liar as well," he stated.
Removing his wand, he muttered an enchantment causing the concealment charm to drop and a greenhouse to appear. Pushing open the door, he gestured for Hermione to enter. She could feel his eyes tracking her every movement as she stepped through the opening. He was observing her reaction, and for once, Hermione didn't have to fake anything.
The greenhouse was magnificent, magical even. Her eyes doubled in size as she clasped her hands and held them close to her chest. As she explored each aisle, she took note of every plant and flower that painted the room.
Dittany, snargaluffs, petunias, orch-
Hermione's breath hitched as she came to an immediate halt.
"Are those..." she trailed off, her eyes still locked on the delicate and ghostly petals.
"Orchids, yes," Draco answered. "I remembered that day at the Ministry when you were polyjuiced as Mafalda and how I had you focus on a happy memory." Hermione could hear his footsteps growing closer. "You said that you were in a greenhouse looking at-"
"Looking at the orchids." Hermione's eyes met his.
Draco nodded. "I thought that perhaps if the memory alone could bring you comfort back then, that maybe bringing it to life would be able to help bring you some now," he explained tentatively. "Do you hate it?"
Hermione's lip quivered, and her eyes misted over as she thought back on the memory. It was one that she hadn't allowed herself to revisit in a long time. It hurt too much. But this, the greenhouse... it hurt even more.
It hurt because Draco had noticed that she had been unhappy and remembered what would bring Hermione comfort, but he was clueless to the fact that he was the reason she needed comfort in the first place.
The man who was shattering her heart into pieces daily, was also the man trying to put it back together.
"Shit, you hate it," Draco cursed. "I'm sorry, I should never have-"
Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Hermione dropped to her knees as a heap of grief poured out in a flood of uncontrollable tears. Her face fell into her hands, and she mumbled incoherent things as she choked on her sobs.
"Granger, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," Draco apologised as he rushed to her side. "I can have it dismantled."
"No," she cried out as she shook her head.
"No?"
"No," she repeated. "I don't want you to get rid of it."
"But you're crying?"
"Not because of this," Hermione said as she motioned to the space around them. "This is wonderful."
"Then what is it? What's wrong? Talk to me, please," he pleaded.
He had no clue.
He had no fucking clue.
She could tell him. Hermione could tell him everything. How she had died during the war to save him. How he drowned his sorrows in liquor and calming draught, and how he eventually went and found the resurrection stone to bring her back.
She could tell him that he was the reason she yearned for death.
But she couldn't. There was a look in his eyes that Hermione had only seen twice before. The first time was when she was paralysed by fear on the drawing room floor, blood trickling down her arm as she stared up at him. And the second time was during the war, right before the killing curse slammed into her chest.
It was a look of love, desperation, confusion, and pain.
Hermione wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand before flitting her bloodshot eyes up to meet Draco's. She hated herself for how she had treated him over the last few months. It was warranted, and she knew that, but she wished that she could take back the fights and the words she spoke solely to hurt him.
All Draco wanted was his Granger back.
All Draco wanted was to be happy.
Draco had achieved both. He got his girl back, and he was happy, and as a bonus, he got his mother back as well. He could see that Hermione was miserable, but he was too blinded by joy to see why she was.
She knew Draco wanted to help her, to fix what he didn't know he had broken, and she loved him for it. But he didn't understand, and how could he? In Draco's mind, nothing bad had happened.
For him, they had not only won the war, but they had also survived it.
Hermione gripped the base of her hair as her mind turned into a warzone. Her empathy for Draco was fighting valiantly, but her anger at him for forcing her into this situation had her by the neck.
She hated that whenever a good moment would arise. She would ruin it. She hated that Draco was so selfish that he rewrote their story so that he could be happy. And she hated the confused look on his face every time she'd lash out at him whenever he tried to comfort her.
Hermione hated that she was incapable of hating him, even though she should.
All she wanted was to join Draco in his happiness. She wanted to laugh with him until her cheeks hurt. She wanted to fill their mornings with banter and their evenings with silence as she rested her head on his chest and listened to the steady rhythm of his heart beating. She could try to lean into this fantasy with him, just like Narcissa had, and pretend that everything was fine, but she knew it wouldn't last.
Hermione was no longer the girl that Draco had fallen in love with.
She was merely a ghost of who she used to be.
Hermione would give anything to have a life with Draco, to live out the happily ever after that they were deserving of, but she had nothing left to give.
There was, however, one thing she could still offer Draco.
"I never told you why I chose that memory," Hermione said quietly.
"You don't have to, Granger."
"I know I don't have to, but I want to."
"Okay," he nodded understandingly. "I'm all ears then."
Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "The memory was one with my parents. My dad used to have a greenhouse like this in our backyard; granted, it wasn't nearly as extravagant. It was his pride and joy aside from Mum and I. He would spend hours in there. One summer, he came rushing into the house and insisted that Mum and I follow him. He had grown his first tomato which was a very big deal," she giggled. "We spent all evening walking up and down the aisles as he told us about each plant and the specific care required. My dad had a thing for turning everything into a lesson, so of course, he seamlessly related the various vegetables and flowers to life. But the one that stuck with me was the orchids."
She wondered if he could see through her smile and hear the pain in her voice.
"He told me that you needed to be careful not to overwater them and that once the blooming is over, let the flowers wilt and fall off naturally," she continued. "He then went on to tell me that I should use the same approach to life. Everything was best in moderation, and I needed to relinquish my need for control and let things happen organically."
Lowering her head, Hermione swallowed back the tears that threatened to escape again.
"It's one of my favourite memories with them, one that I hope I never lose because I won't have a chance to make any new ones."
Draco's head tilted to the side, "What do you mean? Are they..."
"No, but sometimes I wish they were, which is a terrible thing to say, but it would certainly make things hurt less."
At least then we could be together.
At least then, they could remember me.
"I never told you this because, frankly, I never saw any reason to do so," she drew in a shaky breath. "Before Harry, Ron, and I left for the Horcrux hunt, I obliviated my parents."
"Granger..."
She shook her head. "It's fine. It was for the best. It was to protect them," she replied. "I knew Voldemort would do anything to get to Harry, which meant he'd do anything to get to me. Wiping their memories was the best way to ensure their safety. It's what was best for them."
"Where are they now?" Draco asked, his voice gentle.
"Australia, at least, that's where I had sent them. They could've moved for all I know. I just wish I could see them again, even if only for a moment. I never got to say goodbye, to tell them that I love them."
I never said goodbye because I thought I would see them again.
I never said goodbye because I didn't think I would die during the war.
"Then let's go to them," Draco suggested.
"I can't, not like this," she replied.
They wouldn't be able to see me.
"Besides, they wouldn't even remember me."
"Surely there's a way to reverse the effects," Draco stated. "Somewhere, someone has done a study on it. We just need to figure out who and speak with them. We can do this, Granger," he said, hope consuming his words. "Let me help you with this. Let me bring your family back to you."
This was why she loved him.
Hermione always had to be the strong one. She always had to be the one with all of the answers and the one who was there to support and help others. But with Draco, he never needed that from her. Instead, he wanted to be the one to support and help her. Time and time again, he had put his own life at risk for the sake of hers and, sometimes, even for her friends.
He loved her without the expectation of anything in return.
Hermione's eyes softened as she raised her hand, her palm hovering just above his cheek.
"Master Draco, Bippy brings news," Bippy announced, her sudden appearance startling Draco and Hermione.
"Not now, Bippy." Draco waved the house elf off.
"But Master Draco, it has to do with the guests for this evening," she urged.
He let out a sigh of defeat and rubbed his eyes before signalling for Bippy to continue speaking.
"Mister Ronald Weasley sends his regards but says he will not be in attendance."
Ron?
"And what of the others?" Draco asked.
Others?
Bippy shook her head, "No response from anyone else yet, Master Draco."
Draco's voice became nothing more than a mumbled mess in Hermione's ears as the room around her began to spin. Draco had invited Ron over, which meant he more than likely invited Harry and Ginny as well.
He had invited them over for her birthday.
The perfect birthday that Hermione had imagined earlier, the one where she'd spend the afternoon with Draco and her friends, he was trying to give that to her, and it broke Hermione's heart. The playful flirting, the greenhouse, and the attempt to gather her friends, it was all too much. It was too much because it reminded her just how much he loved her.
Hermione had spent so much time focusing on the fact that he was taunting her with a life she could never have, that she never took the time to realise she was, in some way, doing the same. She had stopped fighting back and forcing him to come to terms with what had happened.
Her silence only fueled his delusion.
Hermione was done being silent and letting him waste his life on one that could never be real.
She needed to set him free.
"Maybe it's time," Hermione said quietly.
Draco's head cocked. "Time for what?"
"For you to move on," she replied as she rose to her feet. "Everyone else has."
The words burned as they escaped the back of her throat. The idea of him moving on, of loving a new person the way that he loved her, felt like a dagger to the heart, but she needed to do this for him.
"Don't ever say that to me again," Draco chastised as he stood and brushed the dirt from his pants.
"But Draco-"
"No Granger!" His jaw tensed, and brows furrowed. "Just because Weasley is a piece of shit doesn't mean that I am too! I'm sorry that your friends are too self-involved to be here for you, but don't insult me by lumping me in with them."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." Instinctively, Hermione stepped forward and went to comfort him, but she quickly retracted her hand and lowered her head. "I'm sorry," she said once more, her voice quiet and frail.
Exhaustion filled his eyes, a look that Hermione hadn't seen since before he had brought her back.
"I just need some time alone," Draco stated.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to upset you."
I was trying to help you.
"Stop apologising. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm fine. I just need to go for a walk."
"Okay," Hermione sheepishly replied as her eyes brimmed with tears.
***
Hermione had considered following Draco inside, to be with him and make sure that he was alright, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the exhaustion from her rollercoaster of emotions over the last few weeks, or maybe it was because she was still spiteful toward him. Whatever the reasoning was, it didn't matter, because she didn't follow him. Instead, she stayed outside and wandered the grounds of Malfoy manor.
During the war, whenever Hermione would daydream about her future with Draco, she always assumed that they would distance themselves from this place as much as humanly possible. After everything that had happened within the walls of the manor to both Draco and Hermione, she thought it was safe to believe that they would never step foot in it again. Of course, Hermione didn't have much say in revisiting the place where she had been pinned to the ground and tortured. But despite that, she had eventually grown rather fond of the estate.
There was something comfortable and reassuring about the predictability of the manor. Each morning, at precisely seven-thirty am, Bippy would greet Draco and inform him that breakfast was ready. Hermione always knew that she could count on the grandfather clock just outside of the drawing room to chime every hour, and as if charmed to do so, the birds would chirp just outside the library window every day at two pm.
For Hermione, the consistency in those few details meant everything. She never knew what Draco would say or do each morning, and her own emotions had become too unpredictable for her to prepare for. One moment she would be drowning in a pool of her tears, and the next, she would be joking and laughing with Draco like everything was perfectly normal.
It was draining.
Hermione was tired in more ways than one.
She was tired because she had never experienced actual exhaustion, which meant no matter how long a day was, fatigue would never consume her and force her to fall asleep. Hermione was tired of the ache in her chest, the tears in her eyes, and being angry with Draco.
Her entire life, her parents had always told her to stand up and fight for what she believed in. Hermione never had any issues doing that, until now. Because right now, she didn't know what she believed in.
She believed in Draco and wanted to fight for him and his happiness, but if she did that, then she would only be subjecting herself to even more pain. Hermione also believed in herself, but if she fought bac,k then she would only be hurting Draco.
There was no right or wrong answer and no good or bad choice, and it was driving her mad. All Hermione wanted was for someone to tell her what to do. For someone to lead her in the right direction.
"Miss Granger," a familiar monotone voice said from behind.
Looking over her shoulder, Hermione's eyes widened as her gaze landed on the source of the sound.
"Mr Mal-" Hermione cleared her throat, "Lucius," she corrected. "What are you-how are you-"
"Join me for a walk," he said casually. "There are some things I wish to check on."
Hermione didn't know why, but without a second thought, she stood and began walking alongside him.
"Did you know that this manor has been within the Malfoy family for over a century?" Lucius asked, his hands neatly clasped behind his back as they weaved through the garden.
When Hermione didn't respond, Lucius continued speaking.
"I inherited this home from my father when I got engaged to my wife," he stated. "Narcissa immediately began redecorating, which I am forever grateful for. It was absolutely heinous in there before."
For each statue that they passed and every step they took, Lucius shared another piece of the Malfoy family history. For a moment, Hermione was certain that she was just imagining him because he was far too personable. But then, he commented on how Narcissa would always try to convince him to garden with her.
"I told her that was what house elves were for and that I would not be crawling around in the dirt like a lower-class citizen," he scoffed.
That statement alone was enough to validate that the man she was walking with was, in fact, Lucius Malfoy. Why or how he was, was what Hermione was struggling to figure out.
"And that piece over there we got in Italy when I-"
"I don't mean to be rude," Hermione interrupted, "but how are you here?"
Lucius stared at her for a brief moment before motioning over to a window. Reluctantly, Hermione followed. Once they approached the glass opening, he instructed her to look inside. Taking another step forward, Hermione peeked through the pane and saw Draco.
He was destroying his father's study.
Glass shards covered the carpet, and books and pieces of parchment were scattered throughout the room. To his left was Narcissa, who was watching him with sympathetic eyes.
"That is how I am here," Lucius said as Hermione backed away from the window. "The first time my son summons me, and it is all because a part of him wanted me to watch as he destroyed my belongings." Hermione couldn't quite decipher the tone in Lucius's words.
"Don't you want to see him?" she asked.
Lucius shook his head. "I don't want my last memory with my son to be one where he curses me out," a flash of pain flickered in his eyes, "I am quite happy with the one I have now, it was the first time he had ever looked at me with gratitude."
Hermione nodded understandingly as she joined Lucius under the oak tree and observed the peacocks as they elegantly moved through the garden.
"They were brown when we first got them, but as they matured, their feathers gradually became whiter," he explained. "Did you know that the white peacock symbolises nirvana in Buddhism?"
"No, I can't say that I did," Hermione replied.
"My wife is to credit for everything on this estate, except for those," Lucius looked pointedly at the peacocks. "Those were my contribution. I thought that perhaps they could help cleanse these grounds of the darkness that plagued it and grant my family something we had not known for a long time."
"Which is?"
Lucius met Hermione's gaze, his eyes soft. "Peace, Miss Granger."
Hermione had always thought that Lucius and Draco couldn't be more opposite, but now she was starting to see their similarities. At first glance, they were both extremely detestable individuals, but once you listened and looked past the hardened exterior, they were just two people who wanted to take care of the ones they loved.
She would never agree with the way Lucius chose to raise Draco or the morals he had instilled in him. And no matter how much he explained, she would never be able to justify the suffering he caused his son. What she could do, however, was acknowledge that he had tried. She could also acknowledge the fact that not everyone was born with the parental gene.
There was also a part of her that felt bad for letting him down. Hermione had told him that she would save Draco from this dark path, but all she had done was make it worse.
"I'm afraid I couldn't do what you asked of me, Lucius," Hermione said quietly, her eyes still fixed on the peacocks.
"You did your best," he replied.
"Did I?" she asked. "Because it feels like all I did was make things worse. I mean, surely you've been watching Draco."
"That I have."
"Then that means you see how lost he's become. He's convinced himself that Narcissa and I are still alive."
"Yes."
"Which is the opposite of what I was meant to do!" Hermione exclaimed, frustration lacing her words.
Lucius let out a steady exhale. "I have been watching Draco, and I have seen how deep into this fantasy he has fallen, but I have also been watching you," he stated. "You tried to fight it and talk some sense into him, but you are just one person, Miss Granger."
"But you asked me to do this because I was the only one who could fix it," her eyes misted with tears. "You said that. You said I could fix it."
"I said you were the only one capable of getting through to him. I did not say you would be able to fix it."
Hermione shook her head angrily. "Then why am I here?"
"You are here because my son was not ready to say goodbye," Lucius replied. "And much like myself and my wife, you were also not ready to say goodbye."
Silence fell between them as Hermione thought over his words.
Had she still been holding on?
Was there a part of her that wasn't ready to say goodbye?
Had she been putting all of the blame on Draco this entire time when, in reality, she was also contributing to the problem?
"You needn't worry," Lucius said. "It will all be over soon."
"What do you mean?"
Lucius took one last glance at the flowers, trees, and birds that surrounded them. "There is a certain beauty in letting go, Miss Granger."
Hermione's brows furrowed together in confusion. "I don't understand, letting go?"
"Decide what you want to do with your remaining time here. Whether you wish to spend it with Draco or by yourself, I do not care. That is entirely up to you. My son has been in control for long enough. It is your turn to make decisions."
"But I don't-" she began, but Lucius cut her off.
"Say hello to my wife for me, let her know that I miss her dearly and will be waiting for her on the other side," is all he said before walking away.
Hermione was about to chase after him and demand that he tell her what to do to help his son, but as soon as Lucius disappeared, she spotted Draco.
"Hi," she smiled, doing her best to appear calm.
"Hi," he replied.
Hermione could see through his weak smile.
"Want to join me?" she asked, motioning to the space beside her.
Draco happily accepted the offer and lowered himself onto the grass.
"Did you know that-"
"I wanted to talk to you about-"
They said simultaneously, causing them both to chuckle.
"You first," Draco prompted.
Her first decision.
She could tell Draco that she had just spoken with his father, one of the few people he had chosen to remember being dead, or she could choose to keep it to herself and do what she did best - ramble.
Hermione went with the latter.
She went on to share all of the facts that she had recently learned from Lucius about white peacocks. Hermione was certain that Draco already knew everything, but she thought that maybe it might be nice for him to hear about something other than the war.
"... and they turn white as they mature," Hermione finished as she looked over at Draco. "Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Apologise," he explained. "There's nothing to be apologising for."
"Okay," she nodded. "Sorry."
"Granger," Draco sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to-sorry-shit-sor-okay, I'm just going to stop talking now," Hermione giggled. "What about you? What were you going to say?"
"Right," he exhaled, his mood instantly shifting. "I just wanted to talk to you about earlier, about why I had to walk away for a moment."
"Oh, okay." Hermione uncomfortably shifted in place and anxiously brushed her hands against her pants.
"It's nothing bad," he assured her. "I just wanted to be honest with you."
"Okay, I'm listening."
"I've been having a hard time, with a lot of things, but specifically regarding us," Draco admitted. "The distance between us has been tough and not just the physical distance but the emotional one too. You used to talk to me, and other than today, we've barely spoken. I know that it's not my fault, but most days, it feels like it is, like there's something that I'm doing wrong. I'm by no means trying to make you feel guilty for such. I just wanted to tell you how I felt."
"How long have you been holding this in?"
"A while. I thought that by keeping it all bottled in I was helping, that I was saving you from more pain, but I realised that wasn't true. If anything, I feel like pretending to be okay and having it all together only made you feel even more isolated from your feelings. Of course, I could be wrong and you could tell me to go fuck myself by all means."
"I would never tell you to go fuck yourself, Draco," she said with a small playful smile.
"Oh, thank Merlin, I really didn't feel like figuring out how to do that," he joked which caused her to laugh.
Hermione wished that Draco had told her this sooner, that she would have known that he wasn't as content as he had appeared to be. Maybe she would have been more understanding. Maybe she wouldn't have been so hard on him.
"Thank you for being honest with me," Hermione said. "I know you told me not to but I am sorry if I've ever made you feel like any of this was your fault. We both know that it's not."
Hermione revisited what Lucius had said to her earlier.
"And much like myself and my wife, you were also not ready to say goodbye."
It was true, she hated that it was, but she couldn't deny it.
During the war, when Hermione had disarmed Draco, everything happened so quickly that she didn't have time to process it. The moment she saw Voldemort point his wand at Draco, the only thing that popped into her mind was to save him, no matter what the cost.
Then, when she appeared in the afterlife and watched as people reunited with their friends and family, Hermione realised that she wasn't ready like they were. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to her friends that she had left behind, to her life, or to Draco. And she wasn't ready to accept the fact that one day, Draco would love someone else the way he used to love her.
Hermione considered that maybe her anger never had anything to do with Draco or him using the resurrection stone. Countless times in the afterlife, she had wished that there was a way for her to be with him again. Hermione herself used to slip into a dream-like state and allow herself to believe that the war had ended differently, that they had both survived and were still together.
Perhaps Draco wasn't the only one who was blinded by emotions.
Hermione thought back on their first night after agreeing to stay in his room. Draco was asleep. His hand was resting on the mattress only inches away from hers. She could vividly remember the desperation that sunk in her chest as she stared longingly at the space between them. Every part of her wanted to grab onto him and feel his arms wrapped around her.
After that moment, Hermione began exploring the endless what-ifs.
What if she surrendered?
What if she decided to enjoy this life with Draco?
What if she was incapable of being the person that he had fallen in love with?
What if one day, Draco woke up and decided that this fake reality was no longer enough, that she was no longer enough?
The questions had consumed her that entire night, her mind refusing to rest.
"What else is on your mind, Granger?" he asked.
Hermione had closed herself off for so long, internalising her anger, worries, and frustration instead of vocalising them, but she was done.
She wanted to free herself from the isolation.
Hermione let out a shaky breath. "I'm just afraid of being like this forever," she admitted. "I know that I should be grateful to be here with you in the first place, but I'm scared that one day you'll wake up and grow tired of the fact that I'll never fully be the same girl you had fallen in love with. I know I suggested that you move on, but the truth is, I think I'll selfishly never want you to."
Draco's eyes softened with compassion. "Can I take you somewhere? I promise it won't be an empty field."
Hermione nodded before standing and following Draco inside. As they walked down different corridors, Hermione realised that she had never seen this area of the manor before. She primarily stayed within the left wing where Draco's room was.
"I had wanted to take you here a long time ago, but it took some time to gather everything," Draco said as they approached the black wooden french doors.
"What is it?"
"Why don't you see for yourself," he smirked as he turned the handle and held the door open for her.
Stepping in, Hermione's eyes grew twice their normal size as she took in the hundreds of books that surrounded her. Each area was sorted by genre and within each shelf, the books were organised alphabetically by the author's last name - just how she liked it.
"From Jane Austen to Bathilda Bagshot, it's all in here," Draco stated. "A majority of them are first editions, but there were a few that I couldn't find. I'll keep looking though."
He had built Hermione her own personal library.
It was an overwhelming feeling, the emotions that Hermione was experiencing. There weren't enough words within the English language to properly explain how much she loved it and him. She wanted to cry but she swallowed them back, deciding that she had cried enough for one day.
"There's one in particular that I wanted to show you," Draco told her as he walked over to the left wall and retrieved a small green book.
"You still have it?"
"Of course I do. It's the most valuable book in this entire room," he replied. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, Granger. There will never be a time in which I grow tired of you. No matter how long it takes, or even if you never do find your way back to who you believe is the girl that I had fallen in love with, I'm not going anywhere. Though, I'd like to argue that the girl I had fallen for hasn't gone anywhere. You're still her, Hermione."
As she stared down at the children's book that he had retrieved for her during the Horcrux hunt, she felt a switch flip. She had two options at this moment; she could either continue to wallow in self-pity and rob herself of any sort of happiness or she could be grateful for the second chance, for the time she could spend with Draco - even if it wasn't how she pictured their future together.
Hermione knew that if her dad were with her, he would sit her down and pull out the very book that Draco was clutching onto, and he'd tell her that the hard days don't have to last forever if she didn't want them to.
"There is a certain beauty in letting go, Miss Granger," Lucius's words echoed in her mind.
Hermione was tired of the suffering, the anger, and the frustration. So, she released it all. She accepted all of the decisions that led up to this moment and reminded herself of why she made them in the first place. They were for him. They were for Draco. They were for the boy that helped ease her panic attacks, who delivered a home-cooked meal on Christmas, and the boy who, without even being asked, brought her a piece of home to help cheer her up.
Hermione was ready to let go.