Reconciliation
WARNING: mentions of death, grief, sad feels, buckle up class we're going on a feels trip.
The mausoleum on the grounds of the Manor had remained as always, a grand marble monolith, untouched by nature, enchanted just like the house, to stand the test of time.
To raise the next generation.
To ensure the pureblood line.
He'd been here before as a small child, using it as a hiding place from his family, claiming the lands around it as his own kingdom. Then his grandfather had passed, and when all the pieces fell into place that someone whom he once knew was lying entombed within the walls, he'd never come back, avoiding the portion of the grounds entirely.
The gate didn't even squeak when he opened it. Magical wards shimmered over every inch of swirling marble. His shoes rang much too loudly with every step. Without looking at the other names, he moved to where he needed to be.
In front of their names. Inseparable as they were in life now in death. Grief choked him with its sudden force, breaking loose from the cage he'd built for it in his mind.
The war had taken a toll on both of them, mentally and physically. Decades of dealing in secrets, blackmail, and dark artifacts had drained them of the magic that should have kept them safe.
He traced the letters with his fingers on hers first.
N-A-R
The last time he'd spoken to her, he'd called her by this name, instead of Mother. He'd been so furious with their unwillingness to change anything, even things that would improve all their lives for the better. Her dark blue eyes were rimmed with red as he left the house through the Floo.
He should have apologized even if by owl, he should have told her he loved her despite her deep flaws despite the fact that he didn't speak anymore. But that was just another regret to join the long list with all the others.
Moving over, he hesitated to touch this name. He was barely over the " L" before he started shaking. Their relationship was a far more complicated one, more fraught with tension, burning slowly over a longer time. Like a candle burning down to the end of a wick, there was no more beginning or end.
They hadn't spoken either, but there was nothing to say. Draco had made his choice at hardly over 17 years old; he let his emotions get the better of him instead of bringing the family glory untold. He hadn't torn his soul in the name of the master he didn't want to serve, and from then on, Lucius had counted him amongst the failures.
It burned the sour whiskey at the back of this throat. Drowning but just, choking for air above the water.
A small hand rested on the middle of his back, warm and comforting. Her very presence was soothing the burn. The reason why there was never a chance for reunion was standing next to him, running her fingers through his hair, trying to tempt him in closer. Her belly swelled with the evidence of their sacrilegious acts here where his ancestors were indeed looking down with discontent on their faces. This was reconciliation with the past and present, old and new.
He let himself melt into her, burying his face in her curls, feeling her surrounded him entirely. Hermione was home now, wherever she was , he needed to be beside her. There was never a moment of doubt he'd chosen his side well.