Chapter Twenty

It was cold. It went straight through his skin to his bones. The bars the window held were no protection to the wind, and it was set high in the circular stone room. Dementors no longer inhabited the island, but there didn't need to be Dementors for it to be freezing, to face your nightmares, and to remember the sorriest times of your life. It was done automatically. The difference was that Draco could relive the good times, and he did, often.

One night, long ago in Draco's bed, he rolled over to her. It had been sometime since they had fallen asleep given that the room had progressed to a much darker dark. It was fully night, and the blanket spilled about her waist, leaving her back bare. It reminded him of what they had just done, and he kissed her shoulder blade, his palm flat on her upper arm. With one finger he traced down her spine, enjoying watching the shiver that convulsed her skin.

One day, on the couch Hermione was reading. Draco was beside her, drawing up a new design for a broom. He added note after note beside the handle, heard a page turn, looked up, and wasn't able to concentrate anymore on his parchment. Her hair was gathered to the side of her shoulder so he had full view of her lip-biting. Lightly he brushed the feather of his quill across her jawline passing close by the lobe of her ear, and down her neck, traveling over her collarbone.

"Draco, I'm trying to concentrate," she giggled.

He trailed kisses after the feather, chasing it right down to the top of her breasts when he leaned up and captured her lips. Their work had shifted to the floor, out of their mind.

There was a morning in which he took his shower and she came barging in, forgetting an earring or other such babble. He watched her shadow on the other side of the curtain, bending to look on the floor under the basin. When she drew closer he flung the curtains aside and grabbed her, pulling her under the sprinkle of water. She squealed becoming soaked, her clothes molding to her true shape. She cursed him, his name, his habits and everything that was ever Draco, and he kissed her heatedly, full on her mouth, pressing her flush against the wall, pinning her hands above her head. She responded with such enthusiasm that they both spent the rest of the day enjoying each other.

He had liked to think that no one else knew that side of Hermione. Then again, there were four weeks unaccounted for. There was Harry.

For all he knew, he didn't know Hermione at all. And that bothered him almost as much as the sight of her betrayal.

That was where he didn't understand himself. After what he saw, he should have hated her. He felt like he did for the rest of that night when he caught her. He thought phrases that he would never tell her, but he was confident she would recognize every one of them, for he had thought them ages past, when he had truly, deep down, hated her.

However, when day came he was loving her once more, when he had calmed and spotted her toothbrush in his bathroom. He was angry and worst of all he was hurt, but there was not a way he could stop loving Hermione.

He stared out the window to ignore the cold stones surrounding him. He thought of his family and how thwarted they would feel. They took alleviation in being set free of their crimes - especially his father who had served an interrupted sentence before.

It was a first. Draco did not feel one bit like a Malfoy. Falling in love with a muggle-born and turning himself into Azkaban deserved to have his noble blood drained. His family would do it, free of charge.

It rained, bits of it hitting his face as the fierce wind kicked up, whistling through the cracks of the wall. It reminded him he had no bed and he was alone on a stone floor; almost more sore, more miserable than his heart. It was the perfect way to forgive himself; if only Hermione forgave him first.

It was evidently a quick note. Ginny's message was written and scrawled sideways, and there were blots of ink dotted randomly around it.

Hermione,

Neville and I are back on! Handle yourself with them without me.

Ginny

It would have been easy without Ginny as she could postpone another couple of days without her badgering, but that was not fair. It was a phrase the red-head liked to use. "You're not being fair." She had never thought of herself as an unfair person but in Ginny's company she felt unjust and less like the lawyer she was.

Two days were more than enough time. It was past due. She had been looking forward to scrubbing her whole house down, but as it had it Draco was truthful and Bandy did clean it for her. There was not a spot to be found. For that Hermione left a moderate sum on the side of the fireplace with the house-elf's name attached on a ripped parchment. It was something to show her appreciation but she would have to talk to Draco about giving her her weekends back - even if he was paying her. That poor elf ran herself ragged.

She held the Floo Powder in her hand, trickles of it slipping out of the cracks of her fingers. Like sand. Her time had run out. When had the crimes against her became a punishment for her to clean up? Love, it ruined everything.

Throwing the powder in and like seeds green flames sprouted and licked her shoes. She ducked in calling out Harry's address and tightly shut her eyes, bright lights exploding in her lids as she swirled, dirt, grime, and soot around her carefully held breath. It was done many times and her foot was out automatically knowing its own way to Harry's house, at which precise grate to get off.

Dusting off her shoulders she looked around the empty room. "Harry?"

He came from the hall, and stopped, his eyes set on her. He was drinking her in, as if she would disappear. Hermione acknowledged then how badly she must have hurt him, particularly seeing the great difference in that he was shaven, his clothes ironed and his hair was cut to its usual muss and out of his eyes. Harry had lost many people in his life and he didn't deserve to have anyone abandon him. He learned his lesson thrice fold, and more than that, she missed him insanely, and she could no longer bear to be mad at him.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Brilliant," he said, amending quickly in his own awkward way, "because I feel the same way."

She ran at him, her arms around his neck embracing him tightly. Without pause he wrapped his around her waist and held on. Strands of his hair tickled her nose, and she buried it in his neck, inhaling the scent of him, a scent that was of coffee but of something else she could never place, but it was lovely, it was like home.

"Hermione," he pulled back only enough to look in her face. "Draco's in Azkaban. He asked me to arrest him."

Her limbs fell over Harry's, as if she lost the bones in them. She felt nothing and everything, the controlled calm and turmoil in her body at the thought of Draco in those tower-like cells and why - why he would ever ask for it.

"Why," she asked. "I wasn't going to place charges, Harry, I - I should, but..." I love him, too, she thought silently.

"I reckon you should talk to him." Harry backed out of her arms and she wanted nothing more than to hold on. She didn't understand the defeat, how he was letting her go. It wasn't time, there was more to say.

"Harry, I don't understand. I thought you..."

"I'm lonely," he explained simply. "I felt alone. Everyone paired up and I'm getting older with no one. I'm sorry. All of this is my fault."

"It's mine, too What we did, it was a mistake. It was not us." She touched the back of his hand. "Can I hug you?"

He nodded, and she fell into his arms. She did not really want to go. It was not the fear of going to Azkaban or the dread of speaking with Draco. It was leaving him. While Harry had most certainly been the most dangerous friend to have in school, he was her best friend. She could not bear to be without him. Maybe she loved him in that way, the way a tree loved what its roots held. After countless near-death-experiences, they couldn't do without each other, and as easily as they could fall madly in love, it was simply too late and they ruined it beyond measure.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. For everything."

"The fault was mostly Draco's," he said, his mouth close to her ear, making her laugh until they were both laughing, shaking against each other.

Hermione pressed her lips to his cheek and released herself from him and spinning to the fireplace quickly. "I'll go and talk with him."

"I don't think he'll want that," Harry said uncertainly. "Not in Azkaban."

She found herself smiling, "he poisoned me. I don't care what he wants."

Harry smiled too. "Go easy on him, Hermione. Honestly, I would've killed him myself for what he did... But I'm an Auror, and a profiler, and he does love you, and he does do stupid things when he loves. If anyone could sort him out, it's you."

"You like him, don't you?

"Only cause you do."

She knew that was a lie, but for his kindness, she didn't point it out. She instead, rooted herself inside the hearth, reeling in the fire as she called out for the Azkaban prison.

On Harry's shoulder, against the white fabric of his T-shirt was a smudge of soot. There were specks of it all over his front. He wouldn't change it.

In the kitchen he took the last bit of Firewhiskey that Draco surprisingly left and settled his hip against the counter where he tipped it into his mouth. It would be his last time. He would never drink again, but he owed it to himself, because although he didn't lie to Hermione, he didn't tell her the truth either. That night was what she'd think as a product of his loneliness and while she would be right - as Hermione tended to always be, it was also because he loved her. He never imagined for a moment in his life that he could love someone as much as he did her. That was why he would never tell her.

Harry saw it in her eyes, the spark of worry when he told her that Draco was in Azkaban. She loved him, and there was no control for that. He knew, he tried.

There was a not a shred of evidence that supported there was such a thing as destiny, and he knew Draco after having forcefully living with him for over a month; he knew that if Draco needed anyone in his life it was her. Harry could assuage his loneliness and he could heal as he had always done, but Draco would never heal. Hermione would be Harry's friend and it was enough, but Draco would fall apart at what he had done to drive her away.

Harry drunk the last drops and pitched it into the rubbish bin, where the trash already in softened its blow.

The taste of bitterness stayed on his tongue and outside the window white flakes flitted past.

Winter was threatening an early arrival and there was nothing else to warm him.

Chapter Twenty-One

The clouds were silver gray, the same color as Draco's eyes. They were Azkaban's overcast. On the tiny island where sea wind blew like a creature of its own, there was no sunshine. Somehow, she could easily see how the gloom could be Draco's home.

With her hair pinned in a low bun, the hood of her billowing cloak low over her head, she walked off the boat and onto the island of Azkaban. The sea was geared by the wind and the sea rocked the boat and she felt sick, her cheeks tinged with green. Even the steady land felt as though it was moving. The large pebbles underfoot that set her balance more off kilter didn't help

"Ms. Granger?" A stocky man with a cut lip approached her. He wore a heavy-duty black cloak with the stitching of his station. He was the head guard of the prison. "I'm Mr. Spence. I was told that you'd be here by Mr. Potter," he explained.

"Yes, I'm here to see Mr. Draco Malfoy."

He walked ahead, past the clusters towers that shielded them from the harsh sea winds. He took her to the only rectangle building there was. It set low and dull and somehow more forbidding than the towers that held the prisoners. One of those prisoners that held Draco.

Mr. Spence held the door open for her and she stepped into the oddly stifling room that looked much smaller than it appeared on the outside. Half of the room was divided by bars with no door. On the other side there were a line of guards, their wands at their side. Mr. Spence motioned with a nod to the bars as he stayed by the door, his short wand out as well, arms cross, tapping it against his elbow in boredom.

She pulled her hood down, waiting away from the bars. None of the guards wore an expression and none of them would meet her eye. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and she wondered if she had done the right thing. Harry said that Draco may not have wanted to see her.

When she had changed her mind, her body positioned toward the door was when the other behind the bars opened. In came Draco in a black suit, a band on his wrist to prevent his use of magic but that wasn't where her eyes stayed, it was his face, lit like a thousand suns at the sight of her.

All was forgotten. She ran to him, her arms through the bars, barely fitting, but he was there too, his arms clutching hers. Their noses grazed, and a tear fell from her eye.

"Why, Draco?"

"You're worth paying the price, Hermione."

It was important, more important than ever that he knew. "I wouldn't have charged you -"

"I know."

She inhaled shakily. Her whole body trembled. "I'll put in a favor -"

"No." He met her eyes, his stormy grays and her melting brown. "I have to do this. I can't hurt you and the world for what I want." His grown nails pinched her. "I poisoned you. You could've died. I'm selfish and reckless - always have been." He breathed slowly, "he loves you. I know you love him, too. And I know it looked like he was taking care of me, but... I was taking care of him. He's waited years for you and didn't even know it."

"I forgive you," she said.

"I know."

He pulled her to the bars, and lightly touched her lips with his. They were hardly met, the bars in their way, pressing into her hips and her shoulders. There would be no way she could be closer to Draco, and the bars were only partially to be blamed for that.

Pained, he took her face between his hands, her hands over his. "Don't wait for me, Hermione. Harry's a decent bloke."

A lump in her throat, she choked out, "I erased my parents memories. I didn't tell them, I walked downstairs and... Then I walked out." She looked hard into his eyes. "I did it to protect them. Sometimes, we do things, to prevent a tragedy or to erase one. I am not saying what you did was right, but neither was I. We made mistakes, Draco."

"Watch the Manor for me."

"What?"

"That night, I was going to ask you to move in with me. There's a key to all the rooms inside I was planning on giving to you that night."

Silently, she gaped. She didn't know what to say, except, "Draco, it's cold and carries such horrific memories for me. It's too big."

"As big as Hogwarts was I thought it felt cozy."

She chuckled, shaking her head fondly at him. "You can move in with me."

"I don't move into a house with more than one bathroom."

She rolled her eyes upward, "Draco, there is no reason to have more than one bathroom, honestly, I think you have a complex about this -"

"Sell your house," he interrupted. "I'll sell the Manor and we'll get a house together. You can throw out my cauldrons while you're at it."

"That, I may have to do." She smiled, warmed in the cold atmosphere by the thought of shopping with Draco, picking out furniture and arguing over decorations. "You're being sincere?"

"There's nothing more that I would want in this world than to move in with you, but if you're not there when I come out, then that's for the best. Take care of Harry for me." He didn't smirk, there was no trace of humor in his tone or in the dry lines of his lips.

"Two minutes," one of the guards called out to the walls.

Even with hot tears pouring, Hermione was gorgeous. All the same, it sent a sharp knife through his heart to see it. Hermione should have never known the saltiness of tears. He wiped them with balls of his thumbs and clinched her small hands in his, pulling them through against his chest. They were clamming and they slipped. He hated the island.

The bars were cursed to keep her apart. He wanted to feel her fully against him, he wanted all of her, at least one more time. There was no way he could be with her, her last encounter with Harry, his last act almost murdering her.

Suddenly he couldn't look into her watery eyes, to see the damage he stored there to slowly kill the only person he could love so completely. There was not enough good in him to replace the hurt. He was destroyed. He was nothing, and she was everything.

"Draco?" The tips of her fingers grazed the stubble on his cheek. Her dewy palms held the sides of his face as he had held hers. "Look at me, please, Draco."

He did. He cried as she wrapped her arms so tightly around him he felt that he would never breathe again.

"I forgive you."

Who knew that three words could be the end of someone? That was what it felt like, to feel the weight of remorse like a giant on your chest, to have someone give their last strength to save you, and tell you that it was okay to not be scared anymore. It was too much, and he feared he would bruise her hands. Could she feel it? The tremble that went through his body?

"I love you."

"Time's up!"

"Take Bandy home with you," he told her in a hurry. "She doesn't have anyone else."

She nodded.

"Ten seconds to leave," the guard bellowed.

It would be five years. Five whole years until he would see her face again. Hermione would move on before he would be released, but that last goodbye, that last lie of a future they would never have, it would get him through.

He exited out the door, not looking back although, like a fire, he could feel her gaze on his back. Outside he was escorted to his tower. Nothing felt real, not the frigid air and the pebbles under his bare feet. There was no color, not in the skies or in the sea. He was surrounded by dreary gray.

The clanging of his iron tower door shattered him to his knees. He kept the happiness in his head, the feel of Hermione's hands and how her hair, despite being clipped up was big, and the smile at her lips.

It wasn't strong enough to stop the thought of who she would see soon. The idea of Harry by her, smiling, touching her, and how easily it happened before. It was bound to happen again and Draco could never stop it. A force beyond his control.

He was going to go slowly insane, he was sure. His mistakes and the knowledge that he would be nowhere when he returned to the Wizarding world sent him into despair.

To nothing and no one that could possibly hear him, a message that would never get through, he pleaded, "take care of her, Harry."

Hermione leaned over the side of the boat, her hands gripping the slick railing, her feet shoulders-width apart to keep her balance, her hood whipped off her head and flying behind her. She did not bother to keep it on or control the strands of her hair that escaped her clip. They whipped about her face, a few stuck to her wet cheeks.

In an hour she would be Floo'ing home. The idea of the warm flames she would be encountering should have been calming her, but she was like the unsettling sea in the currents of winds they were in. She would be leaving without Draco. Somehow she didn't think of having to leave without him and how much it would hurt. It was constricting, like being in a confined space, unable to stretch out.

The sea and its spikes rolled her stomach but icy sprays kept her focused on reality and helped stilled her emotions. "Take care of him, God."

Chapter Twenty-Two

As a child Hermione's parents often took her to the museum. Almost as often as she made trips to the bookstore to further research the subjects she learned on the shiny black and bronze plaques. The whole feel of history was seeped into the bricks of the three-story building. It had curved windows, one in the top on the side facing away from the street made of green and purple stained glass.

Hermione read about it in the muggle paper, it's demolish. Her breath caught in her throat as memories flooded her mind. She couldn't allow them to tear down the memories, and she thought quickly in realization that the Wizarding world did not have a museum. It would receive one then, and so she quit her job, and in a month's time the building was Hermione's.

She enlisted Harry, Ron, Luna, George, Angelina, Neville and Ginny to help. She each gave them jobs for the day to complete, and attempted to set them in pairs, specifically not with their significant other. She would not have activity going on while there was so much to be done. She had exactly a month until it was to be open.

Hermione was never more grateful to be a witch. The others didn't share the enthusiasm, however. They groaned as she "bossed" them around. That was Ron's wording, of course.

The night before they all cleaned it Harry and George were classifying the artifacts. Hermione got a loan to buy from numerous sources and grouping them in the main room for Ron and Angelina. They were following the carefully drawn design of how she wanted the museum to look as Neville and Luna decorated the ceilings and doorways with holly and bells and fairies for the holidays as well as the permanent decorations such as the rustic walls and lighting over each section. Ginny walked with Hermione, overseeing the lot of them.

"Aren't you stretching yourself a bit thin," she asked her as they watched Ron struggle with a heavy axe used in a troll war, Angelina not daring to come near him as he swung it around.

"RON! Careful with that!" She glanced at Ginny, "I'll have a full staff of workers to take care of the place. I hardly have to be here."

"Is this because Draco's in Azkaban or because you're afraid you'll change your mind about waiting?"

She glared at her. "My mind is made up. This is because I love this museum. I didn't want to see it torn down."

Ginny must have understood in the smallest sense, for she didn't argue further. She did, however stand with her arms crossed but she soon laughed as Ron stuttered backward, the ax well above his head.

Hermione whipped out her wand. "Wingardium Levoisa!" Ron fell on his back and the ax remained above him. She moved it to the side and into the hand of the replica of a baby troll. "Ronald," she sighed.

"I'll help them, you can see about the upstairs."

Hermione nodded as Ginny aided her brother to his bumbling feet. There was a double-wide oak staircase with a scarlet runway that needed cleaning, but she hurried up to the second floor, spotting Harry and George, their directions limp at their sides, appearing to be having an interesting conversation. Harry was clearly in a state of unease while George was happily whooping.

"What is this," she asked, and Harry shuffled his feet, backing into the panel of the wall behind him.

George grinned, "Harry likes someone."

She looked to Harry who looked more like he had been hit by the Whomping Willow. He didn't seem to be breathing. "Who is it," she asked softly and curiously.

"A suspect," George howled, his hand out to the wall.

Hermione eyed him, "that's not funny, George. Is that true, Harry?" She wouldn't believe that Harry would mix business with pleasure unless she heard him from him.

He paused too long, not looking her in the eye.

"Oh, Harry, isn't that against protocol? If she's a suspect you shouldn't be involved with her."

George, who had calmed, and was wiping a tear from his eye, said, "it wasn't that long ago we were all on the Ministry's list."

"That was different," she shrilled. "The Ministry was different then, it was under the rule of Voldemort."

George flinched at the name, but she was focused back on Harry who told her, "nothing will come of it."

"I would surely think not!" She snatched the paper from George's hand and held it out in front of his face. "Get to work now, we don't have long until our opening!" She strode past them.

"Lucky you, Harry, you could have ended up with her."

Hermione's shoulders stiffened to her ears. "I heard that," she called behind her, hearing the boys freezing fearfully.

Ahead of her she could see that Harry and George had set up the area nicely. Floor to ceiling posters, all moving, were displayed, sorrowful and moving music from the walls playing. On the left it featured the first downfall of Voldemort, the Owls that flew in the daytime, and baby pictures of Harry with the scar on his forehead. On the right featured Voldemort's final stand. There were photos of the papers displaying the headlines, each person who had risked their lives for the cause, Lupin and Tonks, Fred and Colin Creevey among many, many others. There were photos of the survivors afterward, of the wreckage of the school.

She didn't go down that hallway, she took a left through a door that was magically barred from letting many thought and at the end of another hallway that contained personal photos and a fireplace for her visitors at the end was an archway in which met with yet another door, its handle glowing a soft blue in the sudden darkness. Up the winding staircase were four rooms.

She stood on a brown plush rug. To her left was a second fireplace, a burgundy bowl on top full of Floo Powder. There was her couch across from the television, tall bookcases surrounding them. There was the kitchen in front of her, the white tiled counters and fridge, and cooker.

Entering her room, behind door next to the couch was a double bed was set in front of the stained glass window illuminating purple and green on the white comforter, and there were two more tall bookcases on either side, and hanging from the high rafters were tiny balls of light that George placed, emitting the scent of lavender. The room was set in its ethereal ambiance of peace. She hoped Draco would like it. She had gone to the Manor to bring his belongings and placed his desk and wardrobe on his side of the bed with enough light not to hurt his eyes and not to disturb her if she was asleep.

There were soft footsteps and she turned seeing Ginny. "This is lovely," Ginny said taking in her surroundings, smiling at the balls of light above them. "George," she asked of the lights.

"Yes."

"I had him put some in my room. It smells like roses."

"It's nice that he doesn't give us something from his joke shop all the time."

"Nothing wrong with that," Ginny smiled playfully, most likely recalling last Christmas when she had received his gift of his and his late brother's Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. She had used it that night before George and Ron set off red and green fireworks in the living room. Mrs. Weasley had quite the nervous breakdown and Mr. Weasley made them swear they would not do it again.

Ginny was peering at her worriedly but Hermione didn't return her gaze. She ran her hand along the carved designs of the bedpost. It was Draco's.

"Can you wait five years?"

"I don't have a choice. I promised him I wouldn't try to shorten his sentence." Tears stung her eyes. For a month, she hadn't visited him. It was more than being too busy, it was because it was easier on the both of them. She would visit him, though, she would after Christmas with the Weasley's.

"I admire you. I couldn't do it."

"Not for Neville?"

Ginny didn't answer, either because she didn't know or she was too ashamed to say that he wasn't an exception. Hermione didn't judge her. It never crossed her mind, how difficult it would be to be with someone in Azkaban. She was eternally grateful to Harry, who kept the information about his arrest out of the ear-shots of the Daily Prophet. It was better for her career. It was not right, to wait for someone who was in Azkaban for poisoning you. Of course, the details made the situation quite different. The facet that it was a memory potion, and Draco didn't realize its flaws because of his slacking in Potions. That he tried to save her, that he put himself in Azkaban.

Bandy apparated in then, in her salmon colored dress that was the last Draco had bought for her. In her hands she held tiny frames of glasses. "Bandy found it," she happily exclaimed.

"Thank you, Bandy." She took the glasses from her, and gently laid them on Draco's desk, right on top of his book: "Broom Styles and Designs of Europe of the Ages in 963 A.D."

"Malfoy wears glasses," Ginny queried.

"To read. He says they are cumbersome, but I think he likes them."

Bandy bowed deeply, her stout nose nearly touching the floor, a habit Hermione desperately tried to end. Hermione worked tirelessly to be sure that the house-elves had their freedom and she would not be treated as though she owned Bandy. "If that is all Mistress Hermione."

"That is all, and Bandy please don't bow."

"Yes, Mistress Hermione."

"You have no need to call me Mistress," she exhaled, exhausted.

"Bandy understands." And she popped, a sound like a whip breaking the sound barrier.

Ginny bent at the waist, inspecting the glasses, clearly amused by the thought of Draco wearing them. "If you ever feel lonely, Hermione, feel free to Owl me. I kind of like it here."

Although Ginny was being kind, the reasoning behind it was clear. She meant to say, do not break Harry's heart again. Little did Ginny know, Hermione didn't reject Harry, Harry had let her go. It was the self-sacrificing sort of thing he would do and she appreciated it more than she could express. Harry had no idea of her suspicion about it and she didn't plan to aware him, that Hermione knew exactly what he had done for her and for Draco.

Ginny nudged Hermione, her elbow in her arm. "Lets go give something heavy to Ron again." Ginny raced out of the room toward the stairs.

"Gin, those are important artifacts of tremendous value, do not let Ron handle them!"

By magic Harry and George moved cases of armors up the stairs to the second floor. They passed Luna telling Neville stories of her travels, and he was listening closely. Harry suspected that if Ron hadn't told Neville of his liking of Luna, Neville would have gone for her. Harry didn't know how he felt about that on Ginny's behalf, and he gave it no more thought.

"How mad would Hermione be if we tried on these armors?"

"Are you kidding," Harry asked, careful with the steps on the stairs. "Hermione nearly hexed Ron for playing with a rusty sword."

He guffawed, "thought she'd behead him with it."

Into one of the many large rooms in the building they set the armor down in a corner. Neville and Luna had already been in there, the medieval ages of Wizarding development showing in the patterns of the banners hanging down from the ceiling of lions and unicorns stitched on them.

"Do you think Hermione's barking for doing this?" He drew out his wands to set the case against the wall. It was meant to be Ron and Angelina's job but they were seeming to have a bad day.

"Yes," Harry answered watching to be sure that it did not scuff the wall.

Then, a dull gray Ministry owl flew into the room, swooping over the wizards and dropping a letter on top of Harry's head. It flew out with a single hoot, a reminder to open the letter and not throw it aside.

"If you're leaving, I'm leaving too," George warned.

Harry ripped open the envelope and unfolded the thick letter that only the officials would use.

Harry,

She's here and asking for you.

Ben

He felt a warmness in his chest, as though there was a single candle lit inside. He folded up the letter and stuck in his back pocket. "Have to go. I'm needed at the Ministry. Tell Hermione, will you?"
George moaned glaring at the information booth that had to be set up. "Fine. Go."

Harry hurried out of the room, bidding goodbye's along the way. Neville held a ladder steady in a corner and Luna was hanging up some plant Harry didn't recognize but it wasn't holly. Downstairs he saw Angelina standing feet away from Ron who was bent in half, sneezing with such force it sent him reeling backward into a plant with thorns. He cried out and Angelina tried to rush him away.

He wavered at the fireplace. He didn't have time but he couldn't very well leave Ron in that state. "Need help, Angelina?"

She shook her head regretfully and sadly. She ran a hand through her black hair glistening with sweat, her dark eyes tired. "It's been a long day. He got himself into some dust bunnies. They flew up his nose."

"Hermione'll have something for it."

"I'll call her soon."

"Hang in there. Been called by the Ministry."

"Lucky," she retorted as she held Ron by the shoulders as he spasm forward, his head hit the railing and flailing backward again.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Harry didn't have the time to drop by his house to get his work cloak, his dusty jeans and T-shirt would have to do. He rushed into the Atrium, nodding to everyone who said hello and who asked how he was. He politely but hurriedly made his excuses, rushing past the gold-speckled fountain to the golden lift. It clanged shut and he noticed Ben, who beamed at him.

"She's looking good today."

Harry tried not to think about that. "What is it that she wants?"

"She says she has an alibi."

A muggle had died and Harry had two suspects, one of them her. There was a raising in his spirits at the idea that she was innocent.

The lift opened and Ben waved at him as he exited. Two doors down was his name embossed on the door. He entered, a black-haired woman sitting in the seat in front of his cluttered desk. He wished then that he had taken the time to clear it off.

"Ms. Asteria Greengrass," he greeted professionally. "How may I help you?"

Greengrass held out her hand, and he took it. It was thin and a little bony but her eyes were a brilliant shade of green, darker and somehow more striking than his. Her hair was slick running waves over her shoulder, her skin creamy and her lips full. Harry felt his heart could be seen hammering.

He took his seat behind his desk. "My subordinate, Mr. Nichols told me you have an alibi?"

"Yes, sir, I was at a conference with fifty officials from the Board of Directors to discuss placing a better mode of transportation for St. Mungo's."

Harry had read her information. She worked to better transport the Wizarding population through muggle London undetected. "I will need to contact those members of the board that were with you that day."

She handed him a sheet of parchment listing each of the individuals and their address. "You made my life easier," he told her.

"I'm pleased," she said surprisingly.

Harry couldn't help but stare as she stood, holding out her hand. "It was good to see you, Mr. Potter."

Many times Harry tried to recall her in Hogwarts. There were too many students and he paid little attention to the ones that were in Slytherin, as she had been. He did plenty of background information on her. Her family was friends with the Malfoys. He would have never guessed, for she treated him like he wasn't Harry Potter, the wizard who defeated the darkest wizard who had ever lived; she didn't treat him with the animosity that was expected from a pureblood Slyterherin who was friends with Mafloy's. She wasn't prejudice and he hardly knew what to make of that. She was not only attractive, but intelligent and that made her all the more attractive.

Greengrass peered at him curiously and he noted that he hadn't stood as well or had taken her hand. He rushed to do so, the back of his knees pressing his chair out scraping loudly against the floor. To his disappointment their handshake was rushed and she left him wondering what she was possibly thinking of him then.

Harry dragged his chair back to his desk and took out the copies of the folders he kept on the case in his bottom drawer. He laid them out over the clippings of newspaper articles and sample packets of coffee.

He read over his other suspect who had motive, means and opportunity. Greengrass, she only had the means and it was clear she had no motive. The muggle that had described her, he was found with chemicals on his body. He would use the contact list, but he was certain she was innocent. The best part was that proving it would be a cinch.

He would stay at the office, partly to avoid Hermione and the museum disaster and partly because he would prove Greengrass' innocence that night.

Standing in her bedroom, night approaching, everyone having left the museum, she deducted that there was something missing. She did not forget a piece of furniture or decoration. It was completed, it only lacked a certain blond man.

Her mouth was fresh, her pores tightly closed against the cool air, her hair tied in a high ponytail. She chose comfy flannel pajamas and she couldn't delay any longer in going to bed. She wanted to sleep in the room for the first time with Draco, not by herself. She wanted it to be theirs, but as close as she could be with him that night was with his things mingled with hers. A beauty she didn't realize before.

Draco loved black, he said it went best with his fair hair and she would have to agree. Her things were light and more colorful, and somehow it fit together. It was intimate, like the way she thought of their clothes lying on the bed together, or how their legs and fingers intertwined, and the way his cloak felt around her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

Opa hooted from her perch. Hermione frowned.

She felt terribly guilty for not visiting him in Azkaban. It must be horrible for him, for after all, the tower didn't even contain one bathroom much less two. He was alone and winter was arriving. The stone walls would freeze him.

She sat at his desk, running her hands over the smooth black painted wood. She picked up his quill, large and elegant, bulky between her fingers. She dipped it into the pot of ink, and began writing. She wrote the first thing that came to her mind, something that would be more appreciative to Draco who disliked ongoing formalities that were only used in meetings where no one truly cared.

Dear Draco,

Do you remember our first date? You took me to Magische Artifiacts in Germany. It was the best date I had ever been on. I know it sounds soon but I think I began falling in love with you that day. I remember the exact moment, too. There was the levitating plaque that detected a person's eye-level, and when we both approached it, it chose your height first. You pushed it down and lowered your head to mine for us both to read.

You were right when you said I was taking the easy way out. I was unafraid in what you were but I was afraid of myself, of how easily it was to be with you after all you've done. I'm sorry, Draco. We both deserve better than what we have given each other.

Bandy is doing well. She misses you greatly. She has a room that she decorated in pink. It was a joy to see her so happy about it. I assure you she is well taken care of.

I'm waiting for you.

Love, Hermione

She placed the quill down, folding the parchment three times. Opa glided over, hoping near her. She gave it to her, and opened the side window for her to fly into the night. It was a long trip; Opa wouldn't return that night. Hermione closed the window to prevent a further chill through the room.

Hermione pulled back the thick covers and paused. She stared at the side that Draco would sleep on. Always on the right side, nearest the door. His wand would be there above his head, always close. He would be turned to her, his leg over hers, his nose in her hair. That was how they slept and she wondered then how she ever slept without him.

She slipped into bed and waved her wand for the lights to turn off. Her eyes attempted to quickly adjust and to help them, she turned to the window. There was nothing to see but sky and faceless buildings in the far distance. She turned away from it, unable to see a free landscape when she felt trapped inside. She pressed the spare pillow against her back and pretended with all of her might that she wasn't alone.

It was not an easy sleep that night, in a new place to be shared with someone who was far away. Her heart was hollow.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It was an early morning on Harry's day off. The sun shone on the crisp white snow around his house and lit the inside brilliantly, thoroughly waking him. It was a good start to the day. In all the days he had missed chasing after Hermione he fully made up for it in the month where he had caught a dozen Death Eaters. He decided to spend half of his day de-gnoming his garden and taking Asteria out for dinner. He thought of a nearby Wizarding park, casting a cone of warmth, and had asked Ginny to help him actually pack the picnic basket. Never in his life had he been on one. The Dursley's never liked dirty things and even if they did he doubted he'd ever be invited. He was unsure what was proper to bring. Did wizards have different rules for picnics? That was why he asked Ginny to come.

However, she had come early, and de-gnoming the garden was suddenly put on the back hob.

"It is unethical!" She raved, her arms in the air, her hands slamming down on her thighs as she walked in front of Harry, meeting him by the kitchen. "Doesn't this go against a code of yours?"

"You sound like Hermione," he told her.

"Hermione is right this time," she said, which caused him to laugh, because Hermione was nearly always right. Ginny just didn't agree with the strict rules she supported.

Harry rolled his eyes at her, "why do you care so much, Gin?" He brought their empty mugs to the basin with the others worth three days he had failed to wash. He was beginning to regret placing Ginny on the "allow" list in the Floo Network. He had woken that morning still feeling like he was walking on air from his late night contacting everyone on Greengrass' list, and every one of them had checked out. Ginny had been jerking him down from the clouds since he walked into his lounge that morning, her feet propped up on the coffee table with the Daily Prophet until she spotted him and went into a rage of what George had told her.

"She's not a suspect anymore," he assured her. "Ben met up with the other one and he confessed. He's awaiting trial. Not that I'm supposed to tell you any of this," he warned her.

Ginny folded her arms across her chest, her eyes alit. He knew that look all too well, as she had given it to him many times when he didn't tell Hermione the truth about Draco and the potion. But then, the glare faded, and her arms were wrapped around his neck in a tight squeeze off-balancing him to a stumble and forcing him to catch the counter with his fingertips. Lost in what she was thinking, he caught up and squeezed her shoulders right as she pulled away.

"Good for you, Harry."

He shook his head, not grasping what she was referring to.

"Good for you. You let go of her. I know how much you loved her."

In his heart, there was a twinge. Confusion laid in whether it was guilt or truth. He admitted to Ginny, the woman he considered a sister since he saved her from Voldemort in her First Year, and said, "I do still love her."

Once more, Ginny waved her arms in the air and returned to the living room. Dramatically she plopped herself down on the couch in a low slump. "Harry... Why? I know - Hermione's great, we all love her, but... It's over. You let her go."

Harry pressed his fingers to his scar, something he hadn't done in ages. It wasn't because it was hurting, but because his head felt on the edge of a throb. He leaned back against the door siding, it pressing close to his spine. "Draco and her, they make sense in a bizarre sort of way."

He looked at her and thought of Asteria, where she grew up, how she grew up; everything about her that he read in her profile. Under the bright lighting that his two windows gave, he never imagined he could like someone through a piece of paper and photo. Just as quietly, he said, "it doesn't have to make sense."

Ginny, whose eyes were averted, glued to the reflection of the television, hushed, "I know." She did know, just as much as him, because Neville had always been her friend, much like Hermione had been his.

"Christmas will be here soon." Sighing, she heaved herself off the couch and came close to him, her head tilted up. "What are we going to do about it?"

Cross-legged on her lounge floor, Hermione wrapped Bandy's present. It was a brand new dress, a shimmery emerald one. She folded it gently and tucked it into the small box tapped with the same shade of green and completed it with a gold bow just as shiny as the present inside. It was the last gift she had to wrap and she set it aside, pushing it underneath the tree in the corner by the bookcase with all the others, most of the pile belonging to the Weasley's.

A branch that stuck out the farthest touched the window pane. On the tip of its branch was a glass round ornament and inside was the scene of her beach, of her house, the waves crash, and the skies rolling in the top.

Outside of her window the snow fell harder than ever. The landscape in her expansive garden was covered in pure layers of it. It was beautiful and she felt warm and comfortable. She considered hot cocoa, but remember solemnly, that she would be drinking it alone. Hermione didn't like being alone. Many only children experienced it but never grew accustomed, especially when they had found someone they wanted to spend their life with.

Distracting herself she scooted past the window and closer to the tree. It was real, and self-maintaining, grooming itself, the nettles disappearing as they fell, and the sap drying and vanishing as it leaked. She was going to insist on a muggle tree until Ron talked her out of it. He didn't understand why she would want to spend more time with a muggle tree than one that had been bewitched. She couldn't explain to him that she wanted her time took up, to stop thinking about a place farther away and far more colder. It was just as well though, she had plenty of work to suffice.

In another ornament there were clumps of trees, the green bright in the sun. The Forest of Dean, where she had spent camping with her parents and where she stayed with Harry during the hunt for Horcruxes.

There was another ornament that showed Hogwarts. It was rare to have an image captured in a globe like the one she had. McGonagall had done her a great favor. Hermione held Hogwarts, the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, and the Quidditch pitch all in the palm of her hand. It was like home. A home she moved away from but stayed forever close in her heart.

The miniature Hogwarts fell from her fingers and swayed back and forth, not moving the rippling lake with the tentacle poking out, not disturbing Hagrid's hut billowing smoke. It remained picturesque.

Hermione laid on her back, her foot touching a box. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the box was wrapped in a teal, a note card on it numbering it, "one." She would number each of Draco's gifts. When he came back she would hand them to him in order. That one in particular he would love. It was a rare Quidditch set, spelled to a smaller size to fool him. She couldn't very well hand him a gift shaped like a broom, that wouldn't be very secretive at all.

An ornament tapped against her knee. Inside she could see her childhood room. Posters on the wall of muggle movies, books stacked in her bookshelf, on top of her flower-painted desk, a small collection next to her bed.

Childhood innocence. Before Hogwarts and magic, Harry and Ron, before terror and worries... Before Draco.

The snow had lightened considerably, dusting past her window. They were not flakes but white, a curtain of dust. It was harder to see outside but perhaps it all looked the same. Everlasting white. She felt more closed in than ever, never farther away from Draco. She turned her face, her nose buried in her own hair. The scent of her coconut shampoo was still strong. She remembered how he loved it so.

"Merry Christmas Eve, Draco."

Chapter Twenty-Five

The wind was blowing snow in all directions, swirls of white like mini hurricanes. Hermione, cozy in her warm but empty bed watching from the inside dreaded going out. It wasn't the cold that she was thinking of, it was the happy atmosphere of the Weasley's that she was going to attend. However, it was tradition, and her parents were renewing their honeymoon in Greece. And so, Hermione dragged herself out of her bed, and dressed in her thickest jeans and her plum violet jumper Mrs. Weasley knitted her last year. She would be expecting another one that year, as every year.

Pulling her hair up in a high ponytail she spotted Bandy was waiting for her in the lounge by the tree, bouncing on the balls of her heels excitedly. "Bandy was up at dawn, Hermione. Bandy is happy. Today is Christmas!"

Hermione knelt and hugged the tiny elf to her. "Merry Christmas, Bandy."

"Happy Christmas Hermione!"

Letting her go she brought her present to her. "For you," she told her.

Bandy's eyes shimmered in tears as glistening as the paper that she was gently tearing off. She lifted the box and she emitted the tiniest choked squeak. "A new dress! Bandy loves it, Hermione. Bandy will wear it all the time!"

"Go put it on," Hermione urged, happy to see the elf loved it so.

Bandy hurried off to the kitchens where there was a large storage space that Bandy claimed as hers. In minutes where Hermione tightened the band around her hair and picked lint off of her jumper she waited. Then Bandy came forth, twirling around in the dress.

"You're lovely, Bandy." She kissed the top of her head to complete the sentiment.

The previous night she had placed all of her gifts into a giant red bag. She lugged it over her shoulder by its white strap. Bandy waved, her hand a blur, and she popped over to the Weasley's. Hermione ducked into the fireplace, swirling in the fire, stepping out to see the interior of the Burrow's lounge, setting her bag under the old reusable and damaged tree with the rest of the mountain of presents.

It was warm with all the people and love. While there was nothing like spending Christmas with her parents, there was indeed nothing like spending Christmas with the Weasley's, all the happenings and cheeriness and the delicious smell of food.

Bandy climbing on the arm of the couch greeted infant Victoire in Fleur's arms, Ginny leaning over with slurs of words of baby-talk. Hermione said hello too to Fleur and cooed over the chubby-cheeked baby, lightly touching the red curls. It was not the first time she had seen Fleur's baby, as she had been at the hospital giving a teddy bear, that Ron eyed with curiosity. She remembered how Fred had turned his into a spider when he was three.

"She's beautiful, Fleur," Hermione whispered. It was something that needed to be said again, for it was very true. The baby was young but it was obvious that it was her mother's ethereal glow she had inherited but she was pink with the ginger from her father.

"Zenk you."

"Where are the boys," she asked Ginny but she didn't answer as there was a huge outburst that sounded exactly like Mrs. Weasley's.

"OUT! THIS IS FOR DINNER! OUT! DON'T TOUCH THAT PIE, GEORGE! RONALD, I'M WATCHING YOU!"

Hermione giggled as Mr. Weasley, George, Bill, Charlie, Ron and Neville backed out of the kitchen, their hands raised, face full of fear, Ron's eyebrows disappeared in his hairline.

"Bonkers, mum is. Every year!"

Hermione placed her hands on her hips. "You could not try to eat before dinner."

"I'm hungry," he complained.

She looked around, "where are the girls?"

"Oh, erm, they didn't get thrown out. They're in the kitchen still."

"Harry's in there, I suppose?"

Ron was amused by that, "Harry's a girl?"

"Ron," she complained, and George nudged her in her arm playfully as he passed, Teddy on his hip, "he had a business run."

"It's Christmas!"

Bill sat next to his wife, taking baby Victoire from her arms. "Not all dark wizards take a holiday. Harry's the head of his department, I'd think he'd very well should be there."

She understood, but Harry had done quite a lot for the department. He had accomplished more in his life than the load of them, and if there was something he should enjoy, it was Christmas with family. After all, he didn't have the Christmas' they had as children.

George passed Teddy to her who giggled and garbled and tangled his fingers in her hair. She smiled, taking his small hand in hers. His hair turned from patches of red and green (to imitate the strung balls of light floating around that had to be George's doing) to a boring brown, like hers. It was the sweetest thing and she grinned, seeing Lupin's brown eyes in his.

"He'll be here, mum won't start without him. Ron'll bring him back if he has to."

"Happy to," he mumbled, contorted in a glare as George was setting up a game of wizard chess beside the fireplace.

Sitting beside Ron, Teddy yawning and leaning against her arm to sleep she watched the match between the brothers. She attempted to help Ron, if nothing else to keep her mind occupied, and she was very sure where that knight was supposed to be, but he fussed.

"Hermione, you're not helping!"

A flower dress brushed against her arm and Luna was standing beside her, peering down at the board interestingly. "I do think you're mistaken Hermione. The knight should go this way."

Ron took her advice, and the knight was smashed by his opponent. Ron glowered up at his girlfriend who merely shrugged. George whooped as the pieces of the knight were swept off the board by the little pieces and he invited Luna to sit on his side.

An hour later dinner was called. They all joined inside, crushed together around the table. Hermione was squashed between Ginny and Angelina. George and Ron were shoving against each other, causing a domino effect of being pushed. Ron's face was red from the match he nearly lost, much less being able to breathe properly. Luna was nearly on Ron's lap, but neither of them seemed to mind. Neville had to put his arm around Ginny's shoulders as Charlie situated his chair, crushing his fingers and cursing.

The only two that were not uncomfortable were the two children. Victoire was asleep in her cob in a room upstairs, and Teddy woke long enough to sit straight in Hermione's lap, tearing apart a bun.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed softly. "Arthur, we'll have to come up with a better solution next year."

Hermione suspected that Mrs. Weasley wasn't too upset about it. She was glad for the large family, of how happy they all were. Except, there was an vacant seat. Charlie, his fanged earring dangling, moved it out to a corner and all of them breathed more comfortably. However, it seemed to Hermione that none of them expected Harry to show up. She wondered where he was. He never missed Christmas with the Weasley's.

The food was as good as it smelled. They laid on her stomach like rocks. The bacon, turkey, roast potatoes and cranberries. There were also crackers from George's shops and all of them were gifted with crowns and mini-chess sets and sometimes little white mice that scurried off quickly before Mrs. Weasley could scream and Mr. Weasley could capture.

They drifted into the lounge where they settled on the couch and chairs and the floor. It was more roomy and all of them appreciated that. Mrs. Weasley happily read out the first name of the present, one belonging to Charlie, but Hermione interrupted.

"Harry's not here yet."

Mrs. Weasley hesitated and sighed. "We can't wait for him much longer Hermione. He'll be here soon and we'll all stay for him, right?" She strictly pierced each of her children who all nodded.

The large present was given to Charlie, a dragon emblazoned jumper, and the events went on.

Hermione received a small library and a new purple jumper. Nearly all the gifts were handed out, and she alone seemed to be missing Harry. It just wasn't Christmas without him. It increased the wound in her chest.

"OH! Dad this is brilliant!" It was a plaque of Ginny's last victory in Quidditch containing a lacquered snippet of the Daily Prophet.

There was a knock, barely heard over the exclamations and lively chatter in the room. Neville reached oddly from his place, a bunch of crinkled wrappers in his lap, a new cap on his head from Ginny and he opened the door. Hermione's heart leapt as Harry came in, shaking off the snow from his shoulders and pounding it from the crevices of his boots on the dirty mat.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said relieved from her post by the tree with her granddaughter in her arms. "I'm sorry, dear, we couldn't wait."

"I understand, Mrs. Weasley. It took longer than I hoped."

Teddy cried out from Ginny's lap and stretched out his arms for him. Harry came in and took him, balancing him on his hip, his eyes catching Hermione's. "I have gifts for everyone but Hermione, you first." He stepped aside from the open door.

A thin cloaked man walked in, his hands the embodiment of winter, ice cold and pale. Then she realized it was winter, as he threw off his hood revealing who it was. The pointed face of the man she loved more than life and Christmas and work and studying.

Hermione jumped up and ran to Draco, throwing herself on him shamelessly. His arms were tightly around her waist, tightly in her hair.

Light-headed when they parted, she drunk in his face. There was a glint of pain but he otherwise looked whole. But it was brief, for she looked for Harry among the cat-calls from George and blushing Ron and to Harry, who smiled at her sadly but it was a smile all the same. She smiled back, feeling Draco's arms around her waist.

"Thank you," she mouthed.

Teddy's red hair became as black as Harry's as he looked up admiringly. Harry gave him attention, handing him the gift he kept in his pocket, a stuffed Hippogriff, which was hugged tightly to his chest, his face illuminating. It was better than seeing Hermione and Draco, both of them glowing. It was something he wasn't quite prepared for, but he would get there. He had all the time in the world.

In the meantime he greeted everyone, exchanged gifts, and thought of his date with Asteria. They spilled the wine on the blanket; they were too caught up in their conversation to realize too late that the charm had worn off and they were freezing; snow tumbling on their picnic. It was somehow ideal, finding shelter in a gazebo, their very first kiss that left his heart weightless.

Everything quieted then as the ambiance focused in on Neville who was bent at the knee, holding Ginny's hand in his. He presented her with a gold ring between his fingers, and Ginny was on top of him, toppling them to the floor. He heard her say yes between a fiery kiss.

Once the ring was on, the girl's congratulated her, Mrs. Weasley embracing her daughter and tearing Neville away from the claps on his back and hand-shaking to be hugged too, a little too constricting from what Harry could tell.

Harry nodded to Neville, giving a one-arm hug when Mrs. Weasley faced her daughter, weeping. "Congratulations, mate."

"Thanks. Thanks."

Not meaning to, he caught a glimpse of Hermione and Draco, Draco's arms still around her, peering down into her eyes. It was intimate and Harry looked away.

Draco had been angry at first, when Harry arrived, the door unlocking on his cell. He was furious into a silence as they crossed the ocean the night before. He didn't even sing in the shower and he returned in Harry's clothes with that same scowl.

"I did it for Hermione, not for you," he had told Draco.

For reasons beyond him, the scowl was gone at those words, and Draco didn't argue, he didn't pretend to be mad. He asked for the tele to be on and they sat, Harry explaining the show that was on; the muggle devices they were using, and how the point of the show was to be funny, an actor dressed as a woman, a mother, and running into cockeyed problems. It had been a Christmas miracle that Draco didn't say a word about muggles the entire show.

While Harry had brought him back for Hermione's sake only, he saw Draco as a changed man then.

"I'm dating Asteria Greengrass," Harry confided in him.

Draco had beamed. "Did you like the manor?"

"What?"

"She bought the manor. Got the papers yesterday."

Chapter Twenty-Six

As quiet as he could be, Harry stood outside of the kitchen. He peeked in at her, at Asteria. She was moving her hips in time with the music that was playing on the wireless, music that he couldn't decipher from how her feet moved, her hair loose above her waist. The way her nightdress moved with her, the hem elongating her legs... He was certain he had never seen anyone more captivating, he felt that he was on the verge of losing his mind due to her.

It was nice, to wake to the sound of music, knowing she was dancing as she did every morning over breakfast, the scent of coffee and bacon. He could lie in bed and think about the night before, how fantastic it was and it all waiting for him.

She swung around, her hair flying over her forehead like a circlet, and Harry, who was too focused on those hips didn't realize that she was watching him. He caught himself but she was grinning and the room was brighter than it was before.

Asteria had been waiting for her coffee to pour, when the last drip had dropped she handed him the mug, placing hers underneath and pressing the red button. The noise wasn't nearly as loud as the music, which she turned down.

"Go on, Harry. You'll be late for work."

He nodded, kissing her lips. They tasted of cherry. Cherry and blossoms, but her hair, it smelled of his shampoo. He decided he liked that best. It was better than it being used by Draco.

"Go on," she laughed softly.

His hand gripped his briefcase, not wanting to go to work but to stay with her all day. Yet, she had work too. He took a sip of his coffee. "Did you sell the manor," he asked. It was a lengthy discussion they had after Draco informed him, for he didn't want her to get attached to a place that he would never move in to (the memory of Hermione's screams still rung). They were not planning such a step in the near future, but the idea was clear when everyone surrounding them was. It became a necessary point.

"Theodore Nott bought it. He was so happy. He always preferred Draco's house to his."

Again, he nodded. He didn't care who bought it as long as he never had to cross his mind to move there.

"I know," she said, in the way she did. Harry never had to say what he was thinking, because she somehow knew. She didn't press, she let him be. It was an unnatural way to his life that he loved enough to grace her with truth.

"Hermione was tortured there."

"Then I don't want it," she said simply and just like that, the subject was changed. "Tonight," she asked.

"Tonight," he promised. They had dinner every night, one night at his place the next at hers. He planned to leave work early that night to make her a grand dinner, better than the one he had last time, where he had arrived late with Chinese.

Her eyes sparkled, and it was what remained on his mind as he Floo'd to the Ministry.

"You're going to kill me!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you not trust me," she asked?

Draco held his hands out in front of him as she guided him by his shoulders.

"It's not normal to blindfold someone, Hermione."

"I want you to be surprised, and you would've peeked through your fingers."

When they reached the steps of the museum, she let him pull her flowered scarf down. He stared up at the large building, at the arched oak doors. Then, he looked at her.

"What is this?"

"It's our home."

He peered back at the building. "You couldn't have chosen this. This has to have more than one bathroom."

She laughed. In such a light spirit, she found herself laughing much more. "It's a museum, like the one we visited in Germany." She explained the rest, of how it was once a muggle museum that she visited as a child.

Draco inspected the museum with the same expression as he had with the one in Germany. Hermione was aware that it was the unreadable expression he used when he was thinking anything over. It slightly annoyed her as she had never been good with reading anyone, except the guilt of Harry and Ron's - and that was only because she had plenty of practice at it.

She led him upstairs, giving him an official tour guide. She told him about each of the artifacts she acquired, their history, and their importance in their time. As they reached a helmet with a arrow that struck inside of its weakest point in a war that she she never finished telling him about. He tugged her to him, her hip bumping his, and he brought his head down to her cheek, his breath breezing by her lips. So close.

"Show me the gold," he whispered to her.

"We don't have gold here, Draco," she whispered back. It was meaningless as they were the only ones in the whole museum. It would open the next day, Draco to be there when it did.

"Show me what you want me most to see."

Hermione slipped her fingers between his and leaded him out of the room, taking a right, and then a left, and down the hallway. She opened a couple of doors, him following, finally with an expression of piqued interest. She hadn't told him what laid upstairs for them.

Through the final door she freed his hand and stepped to the side for him to take in. He spotted her couch and their books, he spotted her owl, gave a glare and set off into the bedroom. Silently she trailed behind him.

His hand touched the corner of his desk and he saw a book of hers on the corner nightstand on her side. He turned, his eyes full of an emotion that sent her into a slight panic. It was bad enough that he was unreadable, but when he placed a strong emotion in his eyes that was only strength and depth and something else eluding, it was terrifying.

"You don't like it," she asked worriedly.

He smiled, always proud of how he could take her off guard. "Not as much as I love you." Behind her shoulder she saw he was staring at his broomstick, the highest quality, from his line of course. "How are we going to run a museum with our other jobs?"

"I quit my job."

"I thought you loved it..."

"Not as much as I love this."

Draco sat on the edge of the bed wearily. "I love you," he breathed. "I messed up but I've never stopped loving you. I'll never let you down again."

Between his legs she stood, her hands on his shoulders. "Welcome home, Draco."

In a lightening flash move he grabbed her, swinging her underneath him, towering over her. His hips were digging into hers, pressing her into the bed. His hair, the tips to his cheekbones touched her forehead, tickling her. "You can do better than that," he teased, attacking her neck setting her of in a fit of giggles.

It didn't make sense, but then again, very little in Hermione's life made sense. She had to conform with the fact that not everything was written down, emotions couldn't be pinned. Her life with Draco, it was not based in logic. She was okay with that. He was magic, the most illogical, flawed and beautiful kind.

A/N: This was the original ending that I hoped you enjoyed. I didn't separate the chapter into posts because frankly, it spans back to chapter 20 and then onward and it seemed a bit repetitive. So forgive me for that.

Thanks and love.