~*~ Twenty Five ~*~

Hermione was barely coherent by the time Harry's voice penetrated the air. She was swaying, arms wrapped about her torso, the mantra still moving her frozen lips.

"Hermione!" Shocking, cold fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to meet exhausted green. "I can't manage to apparate us without splinching us, just getting back took everything. I need you to do it. We need you to do it."

She trembled at his words, gaze landing on the body draped across his shoulders. Her heart skipped a beat as Draco's face came into focus, skin marred with innumerable gashes, red more prominent than white. But she could feel his pulse as her hand rested against his tattered skin, so faint it had faded from her heart. He was impossibly cold, clinging to life by the barest thread.

She closed her fingers around her wand, the wand she'd bought at Ollivander's so many years ago, not the Elder wand that now drifted beneath those punishing waters. She drew Harry to her, arm winding around him as she closed her eyes. A moment later the crash of waves had vanished and they were standing at the doors of St. Mungo's.

"You don't have to help."

Draco stood at the window to his hospital room, elegant fingers resting gently on the sill as he gazed into the rain-splattered glass, the water morphing the world into a blur of autumn color. Hermione continued to gather what meager belongings he had into a bag. It had been a week since he'd gone under the waves and she'd been sure he was lost to her, the tendril of him fading to deafening silence as she'd knelt on that forsaken isle. They hadn't talked about any of it, not her decision to damn the world to save him, not even the bond that still pulsed between them, his heartbeat a whisper against her own.

Harry had stopped by when Draco had finally woken. What had passed between Harry and Draco could not be ignored. They had both given their lives for a better world, a world without Tom Riddle or Voldemort, a world without such unnecessary suffering and prejudice. The handshake the two had shared was the beginning of something new, a chance to move beyond the painful echoes of the past and begin anew.

And yet Hermione could not forget those echoes, the memories that brought her to her knees, the agony that lingered within her very marrow. Even with every possible facet of Tom Riddle eradicated, she still felt that darkness itching beneath her skin, the web of scars still fresh with the memory of the killing curse. While she had forgiven Draco entirely in those desperate moments when he hung between life and a watery grave, she had found no path to forgiving herself, to letting those scars fade into the patchwork of her soul.

"I can do it myself, Hermione."

His hands closed around the bag, gently tugging it from her hands. There was nothing left to collect anyway. Hermione swallowed, a bitter taste in her mouth. "Can I at least help you settle in at the cottage?"

Impenetrable silver stared down at her. "If you want."

"I do."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but that was the only reaction she received. Undeterred, she did a final sweep of the room before heading to the door. St. Mungo's wasn't the place to be having this conversation, but they would have it. Of that she was certain.

The trip through the halls was swift and soon enough they stood outside in the pouring rain, torrents of water plastering her hair and cloak in an instant. Draco seemed utterly unperturbed by the deluge. Gritting her teeth, Hermione wrapped a hand around his cold wrist and apparated them to the coast.

They stumbled, but neither fell, as they appeared adjacent to the cottage, Narcissa's grave only a few meters away. The weather was calmer here, the sun flickering through broken clouds.

Draco didn't protest as she led him away from the cliffs to the cottage. She draped her sodden cloak across one of the kitchen chairs before turning to survey him. Platinum hair was matted to his face and neck, his cloak as sopping as her own. He gently placed the bag on the table before stripping off his cloak, letting it drop to the floor.

He turned toward the bedroom without a word and she couldn't help the plea that escaped her lips. "Aren't you going to talk to me?"

He paused, broad back still towards her as he murmured, "I have no idea what to say. What you did…"

"Then let me talk." Hermione closed the distance between them, her hands hovering over his broad shoulders before dropping to her sides.

She could see the tension in his corded muscles as he sighed. "Fine."

"I wasn't fair to you before, when I told you I needed space. I mean it was probably good to take some time, to understand what had happened. But then I still couldn't. I was so scared, Draco. Not of you, but of what I was capable of, of the darkness beneath my skin." The line of his shoulders relaxed a fraction as she continued to speak. "And then I found out about Riddle and you offered your life up to me, to save us all. And I knew I loved you more than ever, that you are everything to me. I knew that deep in my bones, all the way to bottom of my soul despite the darkness that ensnared me. So when he held that knife to your neck and threatened to take you from me, I didn't think about the world, I thought about you."

Draco slowly turned, expression still painfully unreadable. "I don't deserve that sort of love, Hermione. Not after all I've done. The world is not worth my life."

"It is to me." Her hand trembled as it pushed the wet locks away from his forehead, his skin unbearably hot beneath her fingers. "I would make the same decision every time. I forgive you for every last thing you did to bring us here."

"You don't know a fraction of my sins." His breath caught, she could feel it deep inside, that preternatural awareness she had of him now. "I thought… I thought I could be worthy of you, but then I saw how you suffered when I killed Harry, even when you understood why, even when he didn't die. I saw how broken you were, even after months, and I started to wonder why I kept trying, why I was pulling you back to me, when I was the cause of it all. Then you decided to throw the world away for me. And I know I don't come close to deserving that and that you deserve so much more than me."

"I deserve you," she pleaded.

He took a step back, her hand dropping into the void between them. "I tortured you, Hermione. I tortured you for no reason except I was cowardly child, unwilling to look beyond the truths I'd been taught. And because of that, I tried to kill you, because I refused to open my eyes. And even when I knew how wrong I'd been, I couldn't save you when my aunt ripped into your flesh and scarred you forever. I forced you into killing Voldemort, made you split your soul even though I knew exactly what that would do to you. I may love you, but I'm no good for you. I am not worth destroying the world for. This has to end here."

The anguish had finally fractured those silver eyes. Hermione's breath was caught in her throat, her limbs numb with a terror rivaled only by those minutes after she'd watched him slip beneath the dark waters.

"You're no good?" The words tumbled from her lips in cascade of dark desperation. "I'm the one who actually killed Voldemort and brought Tom Riddle back in the process. I'm the one with Bellatrix's eyes staring back at her in the mirror, with darkness crawling beneath my skin. If you're to be accountable for all you've done, then so should I. I damned the world to save you, you idiot! I'm the least deserving of us all."

"I…" His lips fell closed, unable to find an answer to her assault.

"But I need you." The words were fierce, her fingers digging into his shirt as she continued. "Draco, I need you. I realize the pain will never fade. I'm always going to know how it felt to have pieces of my soul stolen from me, how it feels to walk beside the darkness within. But none of that pain amounts to losing you. I may have thought I loved you when we were still at Hogwarts, and I'm sure I did in some twisted way, but that love is nothing compared to the way I feel now. You're literally inside of me! I can feel every beat of your heart, every breath you take. You complete me and I will not face life without you. I cannot heal these scars without your help."

He stared at her, lips parted and eyes splintered, raw in a way that tore at her heartstrings. "I'll only hurt you."

"You can't take away my pain," she replied. "No one can. But you can stay. You can stay and help me heal. Let me forgive you, let both of us find what life can be beyond this carnage, this desperation that takes and takes."

Hermione fell to her knees before him, her fingers dragging across the fabric of his trousers. "Draco, please."

She felt the shudder that buckled his knees in her heart as he collapsed against her. His forehead dropped to meet hers, his breath hot on her lips. "I want to give you a chance at the life you deserve."

"Then stay with me, let me love you." Her hands tangled the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck.

"I don't know how to love, not properly." His lips were against her cheek now, dragging sparks across her skin, igniting the heat within.

"Then let us teach each other."

She captured his lips before he could protest further, pulling him against her until every millimeter of sodden skin was molded to her. They collapsed backward, into the hall behind her, his weight pressing into every curve. His lips dipped to the curve of her neck, teeth grazing trails of lightning. Hermione gasped against him, head dropping back as he continued his assault.

Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt before desperation got the better of her and she ripped it away. He tore her jumper and tee over her head a moment later, their flesh coming together as his lips claiming hers once more. The heat pooling at the base of her spine was suddenly unbearable, primal need curling through every pore. Her hands trembled against his belt and then his trousers, unsteady as he drew keening moans with supple lips.

Draco helped her lift her hips as he tugged away the final layer between them. Then he was above her, sinking into her in a way utterly familiar but new in its unbridled intensity. She could feel the staccato of his pulse against her skin, but also inside, his life pulsing within her. With every thrust fireworks exploded within her veins, her entire soul crackling with their ardor.

She was breathless, drowning in silver, surrendering every sense to the beat of his heart within her. Even as he collapsed beside her on the hall rug, the energy continued to course through her, bringing with it a pristine serenity, a certainty that she had found peace at last.

Draco turned to her, lips bruised with passion, silver eyes wide with possibility. "Hermione…"

She put a finger to his trembling lips. "You don't need to say anything at all."

So they lay in silence, her head resting atop his frantic heart, with the world stretched out before them, utterly limitless, begging them to live within it.

It was dark. Darker even than the eternal limbo he'd survived for decades. The air was thick, too thick to be the atmosphere and dank in a way that made his bones ache for sunlight. He could feel the water filling his lungs, could feel the tang of the sea against his tongue, but he wasn't drowning. Perhaps he did not need to breathe at all anymore.

He could feel the craggy bottom of the sea against his shoes, and yet more often than not his feet slipped through the rocks, incorporeal and inelegant. Ever since she'd tied herself to that insolent boy, he'd started losing his grip on this plane. It had been small at first, a finger through the knife at the boy's neck, a toe sinking into the solid dirt below. But now his fingers passed directly through the box beside him, no ability remaining to touch the objects contained within, so essential to his very existence.

But he was patient. He had waited decades already and would wait centuries, even millennium more, if it meant his day in the sun. There was no rush, not even the burn to exact revenge against the clever girl and the boy who loved her. Would he destroy them if given the chance? Most certainly, but revenge was messy and ultimately unnecessary. But he would wait however long it took for another mortal to find the Hallows and then he would rise. Would rise with all the glory his former self had never found, had been too broken to begin to grasp the possibility of. He would become a god among men and there would be no killing him, no stopping him. Tom Riddle would return. He had conquered death; the world would be easy.

And so it ends, or does it? While I have not currently started a sequel, I keep the possibility of one open. As many of you noted, the bottom of the ocean doesn't exactly keep the Hallows away from humanity for all that long. I'll let you all know if I ever write a subsequent piece.

So in this story I wanted to give Draco a chance at the growth and redemption he needed terribly at the end of Walk the Line. Because of the horrors he experienced with Voldemort and the passage of time, I gave him the opportunity to become the person Hermione knew he could be. The mania and claustrophobia that surrounded Walk the Line were also substantially reduced, giving both Hermione and Draco the opportunity to see life in a greater context.

So yeah. I hope you enjoyed. I appreciate each and every one of you that read, regardless of if you give kudos, bookmark or comment. I'm just glad you're reading my words.

Once again, for Cymbal and her infinite love.