***
Draco stood shivering in the snowy field, waiting more than a little impatiently for her. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t know how he got roped into coming, and wasn’t the least bit amused.
Since when did you go visit someone you hated. Who, among many other vile and evil deeds, destroyed your family, but more importantly, your inheritance? Not to mention coming with someone whom you’re supposed to hate?
Centuries of Malfoys must be spinning in their graves.
Draco sighed, pulled his cloak tighter and made for Hermione. The girl was going to be an icicle soon, and he had no desire to hull a frozen corpse on the last day of the year.
---
Hermione knelt on the ground, her knees numb with coldness. She heard footsteps behind her.
Malfoy.
He had become a familiar presence in her life. He should have been in Azkaban, mindless and soulless. But since he did contribute greatly to the war… a bargain was struck, a spell cast, and Hermione became both his jailer and his keeper; keeping him safe from those Death Eaters bent on revenge, while also keeping him a safe distance from society”in case he changed his loyalties again.
On this day, Harry’s anniversary, Hermione wanted Draco nowhere near his grave. Unfortunately, hers was a twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week job, and Draco needs his ears checked, because she clearly told him to stay where he was. But she knew now that she was much too optimistic.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” he said quietly, squatting down beside her.
Hermione swallowed a lump. It was worse when others pitied her, made it all the more real, made her feel like a child for clinging onto false dreams. Here was someone who enjoyed her weakness, Hermione knew. Even he pitied her.
Hermione sniffed. She had no tears left, but the ache in her heart never abated. Harry’s last expression was etched in her mind, and”
“For Merlin’s sake, how long do you plan on playing the my-best-friend-is-dead-boohoo card?” Draco said impatiently.
Hermione gritted her teeth and snapped, “Go away, I’m thinking.”
“Nothing dirty I hope,” Draco said flippantly, “unless you’re thinking about how dirty the ground is, in which case I agree completely.” He pointedly looked at two patches of muddy wetness on her robe.
“Leave me alone.” Hermione bit out the words. Her head throbbed, her eyes were puffed, and she had half a mind to turn Draco into something small and furry. When he didn’t mind her, she stood up abruptly. He shouldn’t be here. Not when Harry’s lying underneath six feet of dirt and he’s…
Hermione shook the spiteful thought from her head. It wasn’t his fault Harry was dead. It was hers alone. She sniffed a last time and walked away with long and furious strides.
Draco struggled to keep up with her. He glanced in her direction every once in a while. Hermione didn’t acknowledge him, too lost in her grief. Draco frowned and knew he had to do something. He stepped in front and blocked her path.
“What do you want?” Hermione said tightly.
“You!” Hermione’s mouth dropped open in surprise; Draco sneered at her. “Well, no, not actually you.” Hermione waited with hands on hips and a cocked head. “I never thought I’d say this, but…” he looked as incredulous as she felt as the words tumbled out, “I actually miss the old you.”
“What’s wrong with me now?” She asked.
“You mean besides everything?” Draco said a little too quickly.
“Get out of my way,” Hermione said and tried to brush him aside, but Draco didn’t budge.
“So you can sulk some more?” Draco asked. “Tell me now for I shall surely perish.” Then, just to provoke her, he added, “You don’t want another death on your hands, do you?”
Hermione gritted her teeth and punched him, hard.
Draco bent over and clutched his nose in pain.
Despite herself, a faint smile appeared on Hermione’s face. She watched in amusement as Draco went through his range of pained expressions. “Can I do it again?”
Draco stepped away from her cautiously.
“It’ll make me feel better,” Hermione prompted.
“Yes, well, I’d rather I feel better.”
She snorted.
Then she froze as guilt rose within. How could she be enjoying herself at a time like this?
“Malfoy, just leave me alone,” Hermione said, brushing past him and trudging towards the village.
Draco let her go. He watched her retreating back and opened his mouth, but the right words weren’t there. He knew he should say something, anything, to jolt her out of this…nothingness.
He was doing this only because he had to live with her, Draco told himself.
“The boy had a death wish. You think you could have stopped him?” Draco called out after her. That stopped Hermione in her tracks, and Draco took the opportunity to catch up to her.
Hermione glared at Draco with a mixture of fury and sorrow.
The moment lasted. Finally, Draco cleared his throat.
“I’ve done much worse than you, in case you’ve forgotten.” Draco looked away, not wanting Hermione to see how much this would affect him.
Hermione didn’t take her eyes off him, but sadness now overwhelmed anger. Truth be told, she had forgotten about his past, the deaths he caused, so wrapped up was she in her own misery. She had thought he was merely pitying her before, but perhaps….
“How do you…how did you forget?”
“Would you be terribly disappointed if I told you I never did?” Draco’s voice was acid. “You don’t need Dementors around to feel despair,” he continued, “and you don’t need to stay in Azkaban to feel locked up.”
Hermione toed the snow, making a neat little bulge on the ground. It was uncomfortable discussing this with him, of all people. They had gotten along much better after the war. They had both grown, experienced reality, fought for the same cause, but the doubts were always there, who truly knew where his loyalties lay? It was true he never tried to escape, or kill her, or, come to think of it, done much of anything. They didn’t hate each other anymore, but that didn’t mean they were bosom buddies.
“I wonder though…if you feel this way because Harry died,” Draco paused, possibly for dramatic effect, “or because you lived.”
“What difference does it make?”
“Because you’re not responsible for Potter’s death.”
“I could have saved him,” she said simply.
“And damned the world to hell?” Draco snorted, “Don’t kid yourself.”
“Harry’s dead.” Hermione said without emotion, “I couldn’t care less if the world spontaneously combusts this second.”
“You don’t care whether the world lives or dies? You, the person who formed the club for those creatures? What’s it called, PUKE or… something?” Draco’s brows knitted for a moment, “Oh yes, SPEW.”
“S.P.E.W.” Hermione said almost reflexively.
“Yes, yes… Just… don’t throw your life away on memories.” He grimaced and quickly added, “And that’s all the sickly sweet inspirational crap you’re going to get out of me. You really shouldn’t come to me for these matters.”
“You followed me.” Hermione murmured. But her thoughts and emotions were already starting to overwhelm her. She wasn’t throwing her life away, surely. She didn’t become a hermit and she contributed to society”here Hermione peeked at Draco”was it too much to ask for a period of grievance?
“It’s been a year,” Draco said, guessing correctly when Hermione’s eyes glazed over.
Hermione started to say something, but her throat didn’t seem capable of producing a sound. It had been a year, she realised, shocked to discover that such a period of time could pass by without her noticing.
She stared at Draco, then dropped her gaze to her feet, then she looked back to Draco again. She frowned.
Quidditch being the exception, what had he ever done that she couldn’t do better? Here he was, being a pain just like always. If he could bounce back, what excuse did she have for not being able to?
“Personally, I’d prefer it if it didn’t destroy you,” Draco said, breaking into her thoughts. He said it seriously enough, but there was a hint in his voice that suggested otherwise.
Hermione perked up her ear in surprise.
“You’re no fun like this, Granger.”
She narrowed her eyes, trying to decide where he was going with this. Undoubtedly nowhere good. “I don’t think I’ve ever been described as ‘fun’ before,” she said slowly.
“So you see my problem?” Draco quipped.
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a prat?”
“Who hasn’t?” Draco said wryly.
She let herself laugh this time and shook her head in disbelief. Draco and her… who would have thought?
She raised her eyes towards the horizon, where the clouds were painted passionate hues of purple and red. Today would end, and a new one would start. Perhaps it was time she let Harry go… perhaps.
---
“To new beginnings,” Draco proposed.
It was near midnight and the two of them had gotten a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine. They were on the outskirts of the field, looking towards the graveyard.
“To new beginnings,” Hermione repeated.
The clink of their glasses was drowned out as a nearby bell started tolling elaborately.
It was a perfectly clear night. Stars studded the darkness, with nary a cloud in sight. Hermione breathed in a deep lungful of the frigidly cold air and thought… She was sitting quite contently with an ex-enemy, looking towards the gravesite of one of her best friends, and the wind was threatening to frostbite her extremities. Yet… this bubbling excitement refused to burst. For the first time in an age, she was looking forward to Tomorrow, The Great Unknown.
It was the heady, intoxicating feeling of hope.
Draco gave her that.
A smile tugged at her lips as she wondered around what time the four horsemen were expected to drop by.
At Draco’s insistence, she helped him pack up their things, thinking she was lucky to have such a friend at this time of her life.
Her hand froze as it reached for the wine bottle. She stared at Draco scrunched miserably with his cloak pulled tight and hurrying her to Disapparate them. Friend? She thought, a little alarmed.
Friend… Hermione chocked on her laughter. But perhaps…
***