This started as a little snippet, but it feels a bit too long for that, so I'm giving it its own little place in the world. It's a one-shot (for now). Hope you like it!

Rated M for adult relations.

JK Rowling is queen.

Beginning at seven o'clock every evening, Hermione walked through each room of her home that was too large for one person. She looked out each window, made sure it was locked, and checked the wards. She did this on both the ground and upper floor, pausing at the fireplace in the library for an extra moment, and the fireplace in the living room, begging the gods for flames.

When she finally made her way to the front door, her last stop each evening, she stepped out onto the porch - the porch she'd insisted they build, so they could enjoy coffee or tea in the mornings and wine in the evenings in the porch swing she'd insisted they buy - and took five deep breaths. There were no other houses around for miles. The driveway was long and winding, the yard filled with trees. They'd meant it to be a sanctuary, away from the rest of the world. Now, without him, it felt like a self-imposed prison. Life in solitary confinement.

Every night for the last five years, Hermione had done this, waiting for her fiancé, who she'd built this house with, to come home. And every night for five years, she'd gone back inside after waiting long minutes, locked the door, and had a large glass or three of wine as her heart broke just a little more.

Five years ago, her fiancé, the surprising and wonderful love of her lifeDraco Malfoy, was supposed to come home from a mission. As an auror, he often left for extended periods of time, but he always came back safe and sound. Until he didn't.

Hermione sat in the lobby of the ministry, anxious for Draco to be home. He'd been gone for a whole month - his longest assignment yet - and she was ready to be in his arms again. In the three years of their relationship, she'd never quite gotten used to the way he made her feel with his words and his hands. It was the very best.

In her hands, she held a paper cup with his favorite latte - raspberry white mocha - from the local café. She always gave him a hard time about them, as they were loaded with sugar and very pink, but when he came home from assignment, she liked to treat him to one, and it always made him smile.

She checked the clock - 2 PM - and sighed. They were late. Again. She was about to get up and go up to the aurors' offices, to see if they'd come back and gotten caught up with paperwork or something, when she caught sight of Harry coming toward her. She smiled and stood, but as he got closer her smile fell.

"Where's Draco?" she asked, gripping the cup in tight fingers as he stopped feet from her, not even trying to hug her. His shoulders were slumped and his face was filthy. They often greeted her together. Never just Harry alone.

"Let's go to my office," he said, and Hermione jerked away as he tried to grab her arm.

"Harry, where is he?" Her voice was shrill and her heart was flittering around painfully.

Harry sighed and met her eyes, his own filled with unshed tears. Her heart broke before he even spoke. "He didn't make it." His voice broke.

For Hermione, time slowed down. The paper cup fell from her fingers and light pink, foamy coffee splattered all over the floor, soaking her white trainers.

She took a breath. Then another. And then she was sitting on the bench, and Harry's arms were around her shoulders, and he was talking, but she couldn't hear him.

"Hermione?" he said, and she looked at him, saw the tears streaking through the dirt, and in that moment, it hit her.

"He's - " a sob choked her throat. "He died?" she whispered, and the words burned her throat like cheap whiskey.

"We think - "

"You think?" she screeched, causing more than a few heads to turn.

"We think he did," Harry said, squeezing her shoulder. "We looked for him for over a week, 'Mione. I looked. I didn't stop looking."

"But you did," she said as hot tears fell from her eyes, heavy weights that soaked her jeans. She'd worn the ones he liked best, the ones with frayed holes in the knees and paint on them, from when she insisted they paint the library by hand instead of doing it the wizarding way. "You're here, so you did stop."

Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping more. "We found his wand," he said, pulling it from his pocket. "They've run all the tests they can. It had his blood - " he stopped and sighed. "He was up against dark wizards without a wand," he said, his own voice choked with tears. "We looked and looked and - "

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, grabbing Harry's hand and holding it fiercely. "I know you wouldn't have left if - " A new sob welled up and she squeezed her eyes shut. "I just can't believe it," she said, her breath barely making any sound at all.

"I'm so sorry, 'Mione. I'm so, so sorry."

Hermione nodded, her tears never ending, and Harry slipped his hand from hers to put Draco's wand into it. Draco had let her use it more than once - trusting her with what was essentially an extension of his magical self - and it felt natural to be holding it now. It felt like, at any moment, he'd walk up and say, "Granger, do you have my wand? Oh, there it is. You do have your own, you know." And then he would smirk and kiss her, and she would smile, and life would be normal again.

But he wouldn't. Because Harry said he was dead.

"I need to go," she said, standing, the raspberry white mocha latte making the floor sticky. "I need to go home."

"Hermione - "

"Please," she said, holding her hand out, gripping Draco's wand tightly. "Please." Her voice broke.

"Alright. I'll check in tomorrow," he said, and she saw the circles under his eyes, saw the weariness in the way he held himself. He'd loved Draco too, in his own way. He was hurting, too.

But she couldn't comfort him. So she nodded, turned, and walked through the spilled coffee, her trainers sticky and stained, and used the Ministry floo to go home.

It wasn't until she was there, alone, safe in her home - their home - that she collapsed, screaming into the void, clutching his wand to her chest. On her knees in the floor, she cried. She pictured his smile, pictured his face when he lost at cards, how he would pout until she offered him chocolate. She pictured his eyes when he made love to her and touched her lips, wishing she could really remember the feel of his lips and knowing any memory would never do the feeling justice. She cried and let the memory of him pour over and through her until she was spent.

She managed, after a time, to discard her clothes and stained white trainers, and crawl into their bed, his want still clutched in her hands. She fell asleep, imagining him there next to her, blonde hair strewn across the pillow, his light snore filling the air.

While she slept, she dreamed. She dreamed she saw him, hair filthy, clothes torn, blood staining his side in a small, dark room. In the dream, he was lying on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling, and he whispered, as if he could see her floating above him, "Please don't give up on me, Granger." She'd reached for him, and before she could reach him, she'd fallen into an abyss.

She woke with a choked gasp, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks, gripping his wand so hard it dug into her palm.

"He's alive," she whispered, feeling it in her heart, in her soul as her heart beat painfully in her chest. He was alive, and she decided then, that she would find him and safe him.

When she'd told Harry later that day that she thought - no, knew - that he was alive, he'd looked at her with pity. She'd tried to convince him for hours, but in the end, he'd left just feeling more sad for her than before. So, she didn't tell anyone else, but she didn't stop looking.

To start, she hired private investigators and sent them to Australia, where Harry, Draco, and their team had been on assignment. She subscribed to every paper, every blog, every digital and paper news source she could from the area they'd been in. And every night, she checked all the windows, and all the doors, hoping to see him, or find him trying to get in.

She quit hiring the PI's when they brought her nothing for two years, but she kept scanning the news. She spent every vacation day she had in Australia, hiking obscure trails, casting seeking charms, and asking questions. But in five years, she never found a lead, never got anywhere closer to finding him.

Wine in hand, she went to the living room and sat on the couch. Above the fireplace, on the mantle, was his wand, suspended in a shadow box with a permanent levitation smell. Beside it was a photo of the two of them that Harry had taken on her birthday one year. Draco's arms were around her middle, and they were both laughing and smiling. Everything had been perfect.

She went to sip her wine again, and found the glass empty. With a sigh, she headed back toward the kitchen to refill her cup. She'd taken to drinking nearly a whole bottle at night. She hadn't had any dreams of him since that first night, and the wine helped her sleep. It was impossible for her to fall asleep, knowing that even there, she wouldn't see him.

Bringing the bottle with her, she returned to the couch and drank until the edges of her vision blurred and she knew she'd be able to fall asleep. She crawled into bed, never on his side, rolled toward where he should be, and fell asleep with her hand flat on the blankets, pretending, as she did most nights, that he was there beneath the quilt.

She woke with a headache, and immediately threw back the hangover potion she kept beside her bed. It wasn't an ideal way to cope. She knew that. But it worked, for now.

The sunlight was too bright and she squinted into it. It was Saturday, which meant no work, and a full day of searching print and social media. She spent Saturdays in her office - the room that housed her computer - surrounded by scrolls and binders of information she'd collected over the last five years. Anything that hinted at dark magic, at the unordinary, she documented. Her next vacation was in a few weeks, and she had a whole list of new leads to follow.

Before research, though, she needed coffee. Drinking so much wine at night, chased with a hangover potion in the mornings, meant she needed the caffeine to function at all properly. With the concentration of brewing a complex potion, she set to work using her espresso machine, which she'd bought after Draco disappeared, to make her weekend drink - a raspberry white mocha latte. Her white trainers were still stained pink from the one she'd dropped, and she'd never cared for the drink before, but the flavor reminded her of him - of kissing him after he took a sip, the light pink foam still on his lips - so she'd learned to make them herself. She vowed to make him one as often as he wanted when he came home, sugar be damned.

Raspberry latte in hand, she went through the house, looking out every window, opening every curtain, until she came back to the front.

With a sigh, she stepped onto the front porch and lowered herself to the steps. She had yet to sit on the swing without him, and she wouldn't until he was home. She sipped the beverage, imagining the edge of the warm mug as his lips. But it wasn't the same. It would never be the same.

She finished the drink slowly, the constant ache in her chest deepening as she readied herself to dive back into her search.

She stood, ready to go in, to lock herself in the office, and work until she had to come out to eat, when she spotted a Muggle car - a taxi - making its way down her drive.

Hermione sat her mug down and walked down the steps, stopping barefoot on the small sidewalk. She kept her wand tucked into the back of her sleep shorts, and reached back to make sure it was there. She'd dug into a lot of strange places over the years, and it wouldn't be the first time someone had come looking for her to find out why. Since Draco's disappearance, reporters had shown up looking for a story - the heartbroken girl, not even a widow - and her wand, and her reputation as the brightest witch of their age, kept them at bay.

The car pulled to a stop, and Hermione tried to see who was in inside, but the windows were tinted. She saw the shadow of a person lean forward, presumably to pay, jut before the door opened.

When Harry told Hermione that Draco was dead, her brain had stopped working for a few moments. No sound. No feeling. Just a hollowness that permeated every part of her. It had been like being suspended in time.

Something similar happened when the taxi door opened and she saw a man step out - a man with prominent cheekbones, with deep, dark circles under his pale grey eyes, and a shock of too-long white blond hair.

He closed the door. The taxi drove slowly away. And he stood there looking at her as if he were unsure of how she would react.

"Draco?" she whispered, her hand falling away from the wand behind her back as her body leaned forward. "Is it - are you - "

"Hey, Granger," he said, his voice scratchier than she remembered.

She took a step forward. She wanted to fling herself at him. To wrap herself around him and never, ever let him go. But something held her back. He was different, somehow. It wasn't his weight loss, or even the haunted, pained expression on his face. But there was something off. Constant vigilance had kept her alive through the war. That wasn't a lesson you ever forgot.

She took a deep breath. "Tell me - " her voice broke. "Tell me about our favorite day. So I know it's really you." She ached to run straight into his arms, but she waited.

He met her eyes - pale grey and pained - and he smiled, sadly. "We ran into each other at the park. I hadn't seen you in over a year." His voice was hoarse, but it was his voice. "You were reading, and I was sulking at the loss of my privilege, and - " she saw him move as if to reach for her, but stopped. "And you invited me to sit with you. We talked - "

"Until night fell. Until late," she finished for him, her eyes filling with tears.

"And when we realized how late it was, you laughed, and looked at me and said, Not just anyone can keep me from a book, Malfoy. That takes talent. I think this makes us friends."

She looked at him for only a fraction of a moment before she was down the short sidewalk and wrapped around him. She clutched his shoulders and buried her nose in his neck - he needed a hair cut. He was too thin. But he was here. He was solid and real, and hew as here.

He hesitated for a moment, but then his arms were around her and he was squeezing her so tight, his face buried in her shoulder, in her hair, his hands like vice grips. They were locked together, the morning sun shining down on them as somewhere nearby, a bird chirped.

"I never gave up," she said, wishing she could get closer to him. Wishing she could feel more of his skin, hear his heartbeat. Tears were streaming from her eyes, though she barely noticed. "I kept looking."

"Hermione," he whispered, and her knees nearly buckled. It was what he'd called her when he told her loved her. What he called her when they made love.

She pulled back, and put her hands on his stubbled face. "Let's go inside, OK?" She rubbed her thumb of his cheek bone. "Let's go inside, and, and I'll make you something to eat. We can - "

"We need to talk," he said, his voice desperately sad, and her stomach clenched. The sound of his voice frightened her.

"Alright," she said, tears still dripping down her cheeks still. "Inside, though. Let's talk inside."

He nodded and let her lead him up the stairs and into their home. The home they'd designed and built together. The home they'd lived in for only a few months before he left.

When the door shut, he looked around as if in pain. "It's the same," he said, and she nodded, pulling him to the living room by his hand, where she practically pushed him onto the couch.

She held her hands in front of her stomach. "I'll make you something - "

"We need to talk, Granger," he said, and her stomach clenched again. His eyes darted to the mantle, where his wand floated, and back to her, wide and afraid. "You waited for me," he said in disbelief.

"Of course I did," she said, sitting on the couch, not touching him, but wanting to. His body language suggested he wanted space, and she would do whatever he needed.

"You shouldn't have," he said, his voice harsh, and she winced.

"Draco - "

"I'm not like I was," he said, staring at her with a look that frightened her with its intensity. His thin face and lanky hair reminded her of Sirius after he escaped from Azkaban. The look in his eyes reminded her of Sirius, too. Haunted. Broken. "When you learn what I am now, you won't - " he sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "I missed you so much. Every bloody day. The memory of you, your smiles, your laughs, that scrunched up face you make when I irritate you, those memories got me through every bloody goddamn day. And now, I see you, and you're the same. You're the same beautiful, brilliant witch that I fell in love with. But I'm not, Granger. I'm not the same." He didn't raise his voice, but the timbre of his voice made the hairs on her arms stand at attention.

"Where were you?" she asked, her fingers tingling with the need to touch him, to make sure, again, that he was real. "What happened, Draco? Tell me."

"In a cell, most of the time. They took me out some," he said, collapsing away from her against the arm of the couch. "Potter and I had gone after a terrorist group of dark wizards. I'm sure he told you that much. We split up after we found them to ambush them, and then - all I remember is one moment I heard a noise, and the next I woke up in a dark room, my wand gone, and - " he sighed and his face screwed up in pain.

"Harry looked for you for a week," she said. "He brought me your wand." She noticed he didn't look at it. "I was so mad he didn't look more. So, when he came back, I started searching. I came to Australia - "

"I know," he said, the first tears leaking from his hollow eyes. "They told me. Each time you came, they knew, and they moved me. They wanted me to know how close you were. It was their most effective form of torture."

Hermione's hands went to her mouth as pain filled her up. She'd been close. Each time she'd gone, she'd been close. And she hadn't known. "I'm so sorry I didn't find you," she said, broken again. "How did you - how did you escape?" Her hands were shaking. "They knew who you were. Surely they had guards on you always."

"They weren't afraid of me," he said, pushing his hair back again. "They let me go into town with them like a dog on a leash. It was another way they tried to break me, slowly. Giving me a taste of freedom when they knew I was helpless to get away. It took a while, but I got to be a pretty good thief when they weren't looking. I nicked some sleeping pills from a Muggle apothecary, crushed them up, and slipped them into their food and drink. I put in the whole bottle. They didn't wake up."

"Good," Hermione practically growled, her hands twitching to touch him again. "If they had, I don't know that I could stay away from them. I would go and make them pay." Her heart hammered. He still wasn't telling her something. He came here in a Muggle taxi. He didn't apparate. Didn't floo. "Did you take their wands when you left?"

"No," he said, his voice breaking. "I walked most of the way, when I could. And I stole money from Muggles to use public transit. It's taken me months to get back here since I left them." He met her eyes. "I almost - " his voice broke again. "I almost didn't come. But I knew - " his hand on his lap twitched as if he wanted to touch her, too. "I knew that you'd never stop looking for me. That you needed to know I was alive, so you could move on." A single tear fell from his eye.

"Move on?" she asked, heart breaking. "You're back. We can start again. We can - "

"I'm broken, Hermione," he said, raw pain in his voice. "I'm broken, and when you find out how broken I am, you won't want me anymore." His thin shoulders slumped forward and all she wanted to do was hold him. But she was also angry - angry that she'd mourned him for five years, and now he was here, and he thought she would, for any reason, not want him.

"Draco Malfoy, there's nothing you could say to me that would make me not want you, that would make me not love you. Nothing." She took his hand and held it tightly. "Nothing."

"They took my magic away, Hermione." His voice was barely audible and sounded so childlike. "They disarmed me, and when I woke up in that dark cell, they'd taken my magic. I'm a squib." His head fell forward in shame and Hermione's heart shattered for the millionth time, only this time, it was for him, and not herself.

"Draco," her voice was soft, but it drew his eyes up to hers. "That day in the park. Do you remember what magic we used?"

His face screwed up. "We didn't use any. It was a Muggle park, and we just talked."

"And when we painted our library, the most precious room in this house, do you remember the spells we used then?" She scooted closer to him on the couch.

He sighed. "We did it the Muggle way. Got paint all over us, too."

"I am sorry they took your magic. I know how horribly that must hurt. But your magic is not what I love about you. I don't love Draco Malfoy the wizard. I love Draco Malfoy the man. The flawed, wonderful, perfect man who sat with me for hours on a park bench and talked about everything from literature to favorite flavors of ice cream. For five years and three days, I have searched for you, because I believed, deep in my soul, that you were alive, and you'd come back to me." She scooted closer again and let her hand cup his hollow cheek, relieved when he leaned into her touch. "And you have," she said as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "Please, don't make me lose you again."

He stared at her, his gray eyes soft, and nodded. "Alright."

Despite how weak he seemed, despite how tired they both were, she crawled over to him, straddled his lap, and wrapped herself around him. His arms went around her, less painfully than the first time, but no less firmly. He was so warm, and she just wanted to sink into him.

"I've missed you more than I'll ever be able to say," she whispered into the side of his hair as she tentatively kissed his temple. He released a groan that might have been a sigh, and she kissed his temple again, the feel of his skin against her lips making her heart race. "I've missed you every second of every day." She kissed his cheek, his stubble scratching her as his breath caught.

"I've missed you, too," he whispered. And then, his lips were on hers, so lightly they barely touched. His breath mixed with hers and a dam broke inside of her.

Careful not to press him too fast, she pillowed his bottom lip with both of hers. He pushed against, his lips dry and warm. She kissed him softly, her hands cupping his face. She felt his hands touch her waist and she fought the urge to moan as his calloused fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt for just a moment. His hands trailed up her back, slipping over her shoulders to get lost in her hair. He gripped her hair lightly to pull her deeper into the kiss and she gasped against his mouth.

As if he'd been waiting for his opening, his tongue slipped into her mouth, lightly as if he were asking permission, and she couldn't hold back anymore. The tip of his tongue touched hers and she melted.

All hints of hesitation fell away as their tongues danced together. His fingers tangled in her hair and her hands slipped down his neck, resting on his shoulders. She could feel his want for her where she sat, wrapped around him, and she moved against him lightly, making him groan. Wizard or not, he was hers and she was his.

With a strength that surprised her, he stood, holding her against his body. She kept kissing him as his hands slipped beneath her bum to keep her in the air.

He half walked, half stumbled out of the living room toward their bedroom. There, he fell with her onto the bed.

She wanted to make this moment last, to drag it out, to spend the whole day making love to him and reacquainting herself with his body, but she was so anxious to touch him and to be touched by him. She sat up, pulling him with her. On their knees, they hurriedly tugged at each other's clothes. She laughed when her shirt got caught on her chin, and when he laughed in return, she felt something old fall into place in her chest.

She wanted to stop and see him, to take in every inch of his pale skin, but as more clothes came off, the more her need for him grew.

He kissed her with a bruising force and she returned the kisses, gripping his shoulders, his back, his hips. His hands trailed over her breasts, over her stomach. She rocked against him and he groaned. His hands lightly touched her everywhere and she squirmed. They couldn't wait another moment. They'd waited five years and three days.

Draco wrapped himself around her and rolled them so she was on her back. With sure hands, she guided his length toward her center. He leaned up long enough to meet her gaze, and the insecurity she saw there broke her heart in a whole new way.

"I need you, Draco," she said, tilting her hips so that he slipped into her. They gasped simultaneously as he pressed inside, both overcome with electric sensation and overwhelming emotion after so long apart. So long alone.

"Hermione," he breathed, his eyes heated when he looked at her again.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you," he echoed. And then he was moving against her, slowly like rolling waves. She moved with him, totally in sync, as if he'd never gone away. They rolled, increasing their pace together, and somehow, despite years without being touched by another person, they kissed and touched and moved together until they both reached their peak together.

Boneless and content for the first time in over five years, Draco rolled away from her, and immediately pulled her into his side so that her body lay alongside his. She draped her leg over his, her arm over his stomach, and let her hand trail down his chest, feeling his skin, feeling his sectumsempra scar, noting how much weight he'd lost and being so grateful he was here.

"You're home," she said, kissing his chest. "You're really home." She closed her eyes, cheek against his skin, and felt for the first time since he was presumed dead like she might be able to rest without drinking herself into a stupor first.

"I'm home," he said, his voice beginning to lose that croaking quality it had had since he stepped out of the cab.

They lay in silence - her softly stroking his chest, him trailing his fingers down her arm and side - until they drifted off in each other's arms.

Hermione woke a few hours later, and as the memories of that morning flooded back, she shot upright, heart racing, afraid it had been some horribly wonderful dream.

She looked toward the right side of the bed, his side, and nearly cried when she saw his pale hair fanned over the pillow, his broad shoulders rising and falling as he slept.

As if he felt her, he woke and turned toward her, his eyes squinted with sleep. Her hair fell in tangled masses over her shoulders and when he met her eyes, the softest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He reached for her and she fell into him, stretching against him as he held her with his warm, strong hands.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, kissing his shoulder.

"I wouldn't say not to some coffee," he said with such longing that she laughed.

"Get dressed," she said, kissing his chest before sitting up. His eyes traveled down her naked body and she smiled as she blushed. She'd missed how beautiful he'd made her feel. "I'll make you a coffee."

She slipped some underwear on and grabbed a soft, tunic dress from the closet as he slipped his clothes - she realized they were muggle jeans and a tee shirt - back on. "Be back in a jiff," she said, leaning over to kiss him again, lingering longer than she'd meant to.

In the kitchen, she set to work. She measured out the espresso and pressed it into the metal cup before carefully steaming the milk. With expert measurements and deft, practiced movements, she poured white chocolate sauce into a mug, followed by a pump of raspberry syrup. She brewed the espresso right into the mug, stirring the flavors together, and when the white chocolate had properly melted and the espresso was mixed, she poured the milk, holding back the foam until the last moment. It wasn't pretty like the ones at the cafe she visited, but she knew it was good. She'd had nearly five years to perfect it. For him.

Mug in hand, she carefully made her way back toward the bedroom, but stopped when she saw him in the living room. He was staring at his wand, still suspended in a shadow box, a look of resignation and pain on his face.

"Here," she said, walking up to him and offering him the mug.

He looked at the pink foam and his abject sadness was instantly replaced with curiosity. He looked at her and she shrugged. Maintaining eye contact, he brought the mug to his lips and took a sip, only to close them in bliss after the first taste. "You know how to make these now?" he asked, taking another, larger drink. He licked the foam off his upper lip and she grinned.

"I learned, so that when you came home, I could make them for you as often as you wanted." She bit her lip and smiled. "I always knew you'd come home. I needed to be prepared."

He sat the mug down and crushed her to him. She didn't care that he'd lost so much weight, or that his hair was too long. She didn't care that he didn't have magic. He was home and he was hers and her heart was finally unbroken.

"You're so stubborn," he laughed into her hair. "To love you, a man has to strive for that same level of stubbornness. It's how I made it back, I'm pretty sure."

She grinned into his shirt, then leaned up to kiss the underside of his jaw. "Finish your coffee. Rest. I'll make breakfast."

Draco smiled as she pressed her lips to his, sighing against his mouth. It was like he'd never left, like the last five years had been nothing but a very long, truly horrific dream.

With a last look at him, she headed back to the kitchen. She didn't have much food - she ate little while he was away - so she toasted a bagel, smothered it in strawberry cream cheese, and made him a second raspberry white mocha latte. He wouldn't be able to finish it all, he was so thin, but she didn't care. She would make him 100 a day if that's what he wanted, now that he was back.

She'd expected him to be sitting on the couch, maybe reading one of the books stacked on a table, when she brought his food back a few short minutes later. Instead, she found him holding his wand. He looked up at her, eyes wide and panicked. She sat the plate and mug on the coffee table and approached him slowly. He looked the same way he'd looked the day she told him she loved him - afraid and elated, all at once.

"I can feel it again," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "When I touched my wand, I - I can feel it."

Hermione nodded, understanding quickly. She looked around the room. Her eyes landed on his empty mug on the end table and she looked back at him, her stubbornness in full swing. "Levitate that to me," she said, pointing to the mug.

He looked at the mug, then back to her, his panic giving way to resolve, borrowed from her ever present faith in him.

He pointed his wand at the mug and took a deep, slow breath. "Wingardium leviosa," he said, his voice quiet, but strong. And without a whisper of hesitation, the mug lifted and floated, guided by his wand - though it shook slightly - into Hermione's waiting hands.

When her fingers closed around it, his wand arm fell, and he stared at her as a smile stretched across his face, lighting him up like a rising sun. "They didn't take it," he said, staring at his wand. "They, they just stopped it up. Hid it, somehow. They lied."

Hermione sat the mug down in her hand and turned to him, and he enveloped her in his arms. She laughed and let the mug fall into a nearby chair as she tried to wrap him in her arms as he'd wrapped her. Even so much thinner, he was just so much taller than her, so much larger. Before, and now, she'd never felt as safe as when he held her.

"So, what do we do now?" she asked, as a new joy, a new calm, settled over them both. "You're home. We're together. Do we just pick up where we left off?" She kissed his chest through his shirt. "Do we start over?"

She felt him grin against her temple as he pulled back to brush her hair off her face, tucking a tangled strand behind her ear. "Now?" he asked, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb before he kissed it, then kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. He tucked his wand into the pocket of his jeans and held her face in both of his warm hands. "Now, Granger, now that we're back together, now that everything is just as it should be, we get to live."

Hermione nodded and pressed her cheek against his chest. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and she smiled with her eyes closed as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart.