10. The Epilogue (Six Years Later)

I blow on my chilled hands as I step from the smoldering grate into the warm bustle of the busy pub. My head is still spinning from the rather lengthy journey by Floo Network. Shaking my shoulders slightly to dislodge the snow from my furry coat, I shoulder my way through the mirthful crowd to the bar, searching for a helpful face. A young woman with short blonde hair and a low-cut dress scurries to my side, leaning forward and grinning roguishly. She looks almost familiar—but no, I could never place her.

"Can I 'elp yeh with anythin', darlin'?" She turns into the light just enough for the metal name-tag pinned to her lacy bosom to catch my eye. It reads "Hannah Abbott".

I clear my throat, rubbing my slightly chapped lips together as I try to put my query into words. "Uh… yeah. I'm looking for a certain Hermione Granger. Have you heard of her?"

The blonde girl narrows her blue eyes, nodding slowly. "Yeah. I've more than 'eard of 'er. Went to 'ool with 'er, I did. She's a right successful young lady now, she is. Yeh'll find 'er right down the lane out back. She's got a room in the flats right to the side o' Gringots. Don' know the name of 'em myself, but yeh'll find 'er there. Number eighteen, by my reckonin'." I nod briefly in thanks and prepare to leave the cheery dimness of the Leaky Cauldron for the bleak night of Diagon Alley when the barmaid brushes my arm gently. "Hey, yeh look rather familiar, yeh do. Do I know yeh?"

"No. I figure you don't." I turn from her and push from the crowded pub, breathing in the chilly evening air with a sigh of relief. I haven't been back in England for six years, as I always spent my holidays and summers at Durmstrang. The professors made provisions for me when I told them that I was an orphan. I am now, anyway. I heard from a companion that my father died during the uprising of the Dark Lord two years ago, and I can hardly say that I was grieved. I think I'll go back to my mother's maiden name: Black. The very thought of the family Malfoy sickens me.

I tap the brick wall out back of the Leaky Cauldron with my wand, stepping away slightly as it parts to allow me entrance into the Alley beyond. Next to the frigid climate surrounding Durmstrang, this British Christmas breeze seems almost mild, but I can't suppress a slight shiver as I walk through the brightly lit lane towards the girl I love. So much has changed, but the one thing that hasn't is my little photo of Hermione Granger in my coat pocket. My stiff fingers find it instinctively, caressing its well-worn creases with growing desperation.

By my guess, Hermione must be twenty-one years old by now. Father's specific instructions were to block all letters between any Hogwarts student and I, and my professors were very adept at carrying out his orders, so we haven't had contact. I wonder if she's waited, or if I'll knock on the door of Number 18 to find her wrapped in the arms of some more faithful man than I. Weasley perhaps, or maybe Potter. The news of Potter's stunning victory over the Dark Lord reached even my uninterested ears at Durmstrang, but I couldn't concern myself with such matters. I graduated with honors, Head Boy and much praised for my advanced healing charms and alchemic works. I suppose that I would have made my father proud.

Mother, I'm sure, is proud. Perhaps I'll find a place to set a headstone in her honor—perhaps I'll visit now and then to plant a flower in her memory. Someday I might even try to go back to my old address in that London suburb. I'd like to see the park and the Soda Fountain one last time. I'm even mildly curious about the fate of Frank—though only God knows why.

I take a deep breath, smiling almost grimly at the misty fog drifting from my parted lips under the golden glow from a lighted shop window. Ahead of me loom the once-familiar towers of Gringots Bank, just as imposing now as it was when I was fourteen. Besides the building, and somewhat in its shadow, crouches a multi-storied arrangement of flats. They must be new, as I don't remember seeing them before.

With a slight cough, I brush the traces of snow from the collar of my heavy coat and mount the steep outdoor steps to the second floor, searching for the number eighteen in the faint light from the tiny door lamps. There it is; a brown door against grey stone with a shining silver one and eight embossed above it. I raise my hand, then lower it. It's half amusing that I would find myself confronted with the same crises that I faced over six years ago, also on Hermione Granger's doorstep. I found the courage that sunny summer morning, and I can do so again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Each slow knock of my fist against the cold wood makes my heart skip a beat. My free hand once again finds its way to my pocket, and I wrap my fingers around the photo of her fourteen year old self as if it was my last saving grace. Light footsteps are coming nearer, and I can hear laughter and music coming in faint strains through the thin door. The sound is switched suddenly off, and a youthful female voice cries out.

"I'll be there in a moment! Let me get decent first." A second passes before the door is flung open. A young woman with long brown curls and wide eyes stands in a dark silhouette against the golden light of her apartment room. Her tanned hand tightens quickly against the wooly white fabric of her robe, and she draws it closer to cover her lacy white slip and shorts. "I- I…"

I smile, drawing closer and pulling the hood of my black coat down to reveal my face. "Merry Christmas, Hermione Granger."

Before I know what's happening, her strong arms are around me and she's hanging from my shoulders as we kiss. Six years hasn't managed to change the sweet taste of her lips or the soft whisper of her breath against my cheek. I run my hands over her waist as she pulls away, her eyes shining with tears and her face split into that well-loved, toothy grin. I could count every single freckle on her cheeks as she tugs me into the quiet warmth of her room.

"Merry Christmas to you too." She whispers raptly, encircling me again in her tearful grasp. "I've waited for you, Draco Malfoy."

Finis