IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a separate, happier ending to For Time to Still. I wrote it first and hated it. Something about happy endings just never seems real to me. But for you, my loyals, I give you the ending you're always begging from me. It takes place just after they sleep together. It seemed a shame to write all this and not post it. Neither endings are concurrent with my original novel. You got to read an adapted chapter, which is actually the most anyone's ever read of it. Again, happy birthday to you all, especially GypsyCarmen who's followed my work since I first started. I'm glad I could inspire you.

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When Draco woke up, he found a note by his hand and read it to himself.

Draco,

I'm sorry I couldn't stay. It wouldn't be right. Not yet, but maybe next time we'll at least make it to the couch.

Your Hermione.

He wasn't sure how long he was underwater but he'd spent the entire morning in the bathtub, reminiscing the night before and trying to remember what he did right. He thought he'd fallen asleep beneath the bath water. That's when a knock came at the door. He snapped out of it. It was like the water had preserved her touch on him and he didn't want to leave. The door creaked in the distance and he heard Mrs. Jones calling out for him.

"I'm upstairs, ma'am!" he shouted back, not bothering to get out of the water. The old woman walked up the stairs, humming. "I'm in the bathroom."

She walked in as if nothing before noticing he was in the bathtub. "Oh Jesus Christ! I'm so sorry!" she yelled, covering her eyes and turning away so quickly that he wasn't sure which way her head spun.

He laughed lightly, not quite in the shy mood. He grabbed his towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist. "It's okay."

"What the bloody hell are you doing in your bathtub?!" she kept yelling, not realizing that it was obviously his bathtub and he was free to use it to bathe at any moment. She stopped for a moment to compose herself. She should not be yelling to her employer, she told herself, but her mind was elsewhere as well.

He could see it in her face, like she had something to tell him but her conscience wouldn't let her. "Jones, what is it?" he asked.

She sighed and handed him another white towel to dry himself off. It felt strange in his pruny hands. She noticed the scratch marks across his chest and immediately thought of Hermione. She hated now more than ever to tell him.

Just as he ruffled his hair with the towel, she whispered, "You've been summoned by the Ministry."

"What?" he stopped in his step. He knew what this meant, what they wanted of him. He would not return for some time. And what's worse, he would not see Hermione.

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Hermione went to work the next day with a grand smile. They all noticed it and kept their distance, should they shatter it. Her mind wandered but she never spilled a drop of coffee, humming Frank Sinatra all the while. The people still scowled behind her back but for once and for a long time, she didn't even remember to notice.

At noon, Draco showed outside the doors. He watched her move and smile as he liked to do but he didn't come in, just gestured for her come out. He didn't look as cheerful as her. He tried to fake a smile but inside, his heart was collapsing onto itself. And she could tell.

"Draco, what is it?" she asked when he didn't kiss her.

He took one of his hands out of his black trench coat to hold hers. She realized then that he was dressed for travel.

When he didn't answer, just looked at her apologetically, she whispered, "You're scaring me."

"Hermione, I have to make a trip."

"What?" She cut him off quickly. She could tell from his face that it was serious, that he didn't want to tell her because it would hurt her.

"The Ministry's called me to trial."

"Trial? What did you do?"

He shook his head. "It's been in the process since the war ended. They've slowly been taking my family's money, claiming it was gained in "unspeakable means" until in a few years, all that will be left is this house here. They can't take it away, no matter what… I'd like you to have it."

Her heart started beating madly, not with the lust of last night but with dripping dread that seemed to poison her blood and spread to every extremity.

"Draco… you're scaring me," she said through gritted teeth.

He took a step closer to her and looked in her in the eyes. He suddenly looked tired, like he'd given up. "I'm scared too, 'Mione. They're taking me to trial for what… what I did in the war."

"Well you can still win the trial!" she yelled. "Don't be so negative. Harry got sent to a tribunal for underage magic and most of them thought he was mad. He still won. You can win. You just have to fight."

He gulped. "Hermione, I'm guilty."

She couldn't look him in the eye and began to cry. "You can lie," she insisted.

"No I can't," he replied sincerely. "I'm guilty. I've been waiting for them to summon me. I have to confess."

She couldn't stop the tears, the loss bubbling to the surface and breaking her down to pieces. "You're a good man, Draco. Don't punish yourself anymore."

"You don't deserve this. I'm sorry. I thought we had more time…" She pulled her hand away. "Tell me you forgive me."

"Forgive you?" she shouted, a bit outraged. "I knew the kind of man you were the moment you stepped into this café, Draco. I've always known and I loved you not just despite it but for it!"

She jabbed him in the chest with her finger and finally looked up at him. And she saw it, his pain. He was going and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Hermione, I'm sorry." That was all he said. He didn't say he loved her, that he'd miss her. He turned around and walked away. She saw him leave and turn the corner, with the petrifying feeling that she would never see him again.

When he arrived at the Ministry, he wrote to her. She didn't get it for two weeks because the Ministry had to approve it and check for any hidden spells or messages. By the time she got it, he had already been found guilty and was never able to send another letter, nor did he ever receive any from her.

She still continued to write. For four years, she wrote and not a single reply. The fifth year, she stopped writing. She had other things to take care of, other worries and greater duties than to herself.

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In early May of the seventh year since his incarceration, Draco took his first free step into the café with the red roof. The people looked the same. The world had gone on without him. The waitresses seemed the same as well. He instantly recognized Natty behind the counter and walked up to a stool. She didn't recognize him. His hair was longer and messy. His nails were filthy. He was darker from working in the sun. But his eyes, they could never take that away.

Natty ignored his physique and asked dreamily in a thick Welsh accent, "What'll you have, sir?"

"Hermione. Where is she?"

Natty looked up and met his eyes. She gulped, swallowing her gum. For a moment, she just stared at him.

"Nat, you there?" he asked, but she had frozen with her mouth open. "Where's Hermione?"

She gulped again and looked up at the house on the hill. He smiled and nodded a thank you. Even after he left, Natty didn't move.

He ran all the way to his own front doors and found it was even better than he had left it. The doors had been replaced with light-colored wood with a frosted glass window. He couldn't see inside but he heard laughter. For a moment, he thought she had moved on. She could have married by now, had children, and forgotten him.

Hermione came to the door. She didn't recognize him at first either. He stared at her the way Natty had stared at him. Her hair was tied back and she had on a white and yellow sundress.

"Yes?" she asked with a smile. He didn't respond, just stared with glorious awe. "Can I help you?"

He nodded then shook his head as if no. "You've already given me everything I could ever want. What more could I ask?"

At his voice and his eyes, she froze as well and a tear fell slowly down her face. She couldn't help it. She was caught between elation and fear. She reached out to touch his cheek, to see if he was real.

She didn't respond.

"Just… are you happy?" he asked, trying to find closure. He had never given her any because something in him didn't want it to end. It wasn't over. He realized how selfish he had been but he could see it in her eyes. She still loved him.

"I am," she said. She forgave his harsh words because she knew what it meant for him the thought that she had moved on. "There's something you need to see."

She took his hand, his cold and aged hand, and led him inside. The house had been completely finished. The moment he stepped inside, he smelled the gardenias and smiled. Toys were thrown around. She'd had children. A little broom was leaning against the staircase. His heart was starting to stall. He couldn't take it. It was as if his soul was being scooped out bit by bit.

She took him upstairs. The room by the balcony had been turned into a nursery. She leaned against the open doorway and looked inside with a smile. A little boy with dark hair was playing with some flying blocks in the middle of the room. The walls had been painted a sage green and the library of children's books took up the entire right wall.

"His name's Aidan. He's six years old," she said.

"He's beautiful."

She walked in and picked up the little boy. She smiled at Draco for him to come closer. The moment he saw the boy's eyes, he knew.

They were gray, like his. His smile was his. His gentle face was his.

The boy didn't speak, even when Hermione handed him over for Draco to carry. Aidan smiled at him and played with his face like dough. He recognized him, like looking into the mirror of tomorrow.

"You never—I never got a single letter."

"I wrote hundreds."

"You never came."

"They wouldn't let me."

"You never married?"

"I never married," she whispered with certain finality.

He set down Aidan and went to hug her and kiss her desperately, lifting her off the ground and spinning her just to hear her laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said and begged. "I should never have left you. I should have run but nothing could change what I did."

"I forgave you. I never cared."

He laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" he whispered into her hair. "I'll never leave again. Do you hear me? I'll never leave."

He'd spend the rest of his life making it up for her. He'd watch their son grow up and play Quidditch as a Slytherin. He'd watch his grandchildren run around in their front yard. He watched Hermione drift off to sleep every night and watched the sun wake her with a smile the next day. He never found out how to work the zipper on her skirts but he managed his way around them. He never regained his fortune but he never needed it.

And when it came to it, he sent his grandchildren off to Hogwarts with the knowledge that he had lived a fruitful life, a long life filled with love and gardenias.

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THE END (again)