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genetics Jan. 1st, 2008 06:41 pm)
papered.livejournal.com posting in genetics Jan. 1st, 2008 06:41 pm)Title: Kiss Me On The Lips And Put Those Stars To Shame
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
papered
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Draco Malfoy, Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6278
Summary: A Dramione take on Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.
Notes: Written formidnightdream__ for Christmas 2007. ♥ spadul has all my love for her encouragements and betaing. :)
"Sympathy constitutes friendship; but in love there is a sort of antipathy, or opposing passion. Each strives to be the other, and both together make up one whole." - Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I.
If you asked anyone in the wizarding world – anyone at all – they would recognize the name “Malfoy”. And if you asked them to tell you something about the family, you’d undoubtedly hear about all the crimes they’d committed, starting with Lucius Malfoy and what he’d done as a Death Eater to Narcissa Malfoy’s poisoning of the Minister of Magic.
If you asked for more, you’d probably hear about Draco Malfoy too. Many speculated on what he would do with his life. Most were certain that he was better off locked away in Azkaban before he did something worthy of the Malfoy name. A few – very few – would defend him, claiming that everyone should be given a chance, but those few grow even fewer as time passes and the blond proves as cold as the rest of his family had been.
There had been a rumour a few years back, that Draco was dating Hermione Granger, best friend of the famous Harry Potter, The Boy Who Saved Them All. But that story had been dismissed before too long, and whatever favour the youngest Malfoy had gained from being paired off with one of the most brilliant witches of their generation had also disappeared.
Of course, Draco was still well-known, although he was more infamous than anything else. Perhaps that reputation was inevitable, with his background. People whispered about his cruelty, how he’d thrown Madam Rosmerta out (she ran a string of orphanages now, after The Three Broomsticks had been burnt down during a particularly bad Death Eater attack) when she’d gone to the wealthier families of the wizarding world to ask for donations for the children. And how he’d refused to give even a knut, when everyone knew that the Malfoy family was probably the richest name known to wizardkind.
It’s without a doubt that Draco Malfoy is one of the least popular people in wizarding Britain at the moment. And that is where our story starts.
II.
He was just about to get ready for bed when, without warning, all the lights flickered out. Which normally wouldn’t have been unusual, except the chandeliers at Malfoy Manor had all been charmed so that they couldn’t be extinguished unless Draco did so magically. He found himself groping through the darkness, trying to find a wall to steady himself against.
Suddenly, there was a flash from the center of the room. As the light dispersed, it left behind one Albus Dumbledore. His eyes twinkled in that infuriating way of his that had driven Draco mad on so many occasions in the past.
Without a second thought, he had his wand out in front of him. Everyone knew that the Headmaster has passed away peacefully in his sleep last year, and so Draco had no doubt that this had to be an impostor.
Before he could open his mouth, however, the impostor spoke first. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy – no need to be so agitated. I mean you no harm.”
“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Dumbledore.”
“What makes you think I’m lying?”
Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Hmm, I don’t know, let me think. Maybe the part where Dumbledore’s dead.” The sarcasm was evident in his tone.
“Oh, that – well, of course I am, dear boy. But that doesn’t mean I’m not myself.”
Draco raised his eyebrow at the man. If this was an impostor, he was an awfully unrealistic one. No one would fall for an explanation like that.
The Man Who May Or May Not Be Dumbledore looked amused. “I think I’d better explain after all. You’re right in saying that I did pass on last winter – but I’ve been keeping an eye on things. And I noticed that you, my dear boy, aren’t as happy as you ought to be, and so I came back to see what I could do about it.”
“I am not ‘your dear boy’. And you’re mental.”
Chuckling, the elderly wizard reached into the left pocket of his violently purple robes and pulled out a small tin can. “Lemon drops, Mr. Malfoy?”
In that end, that was what convinced Draco that this indeed was the deceased Headmaster. And, the fact that only Albus Dumbledore would be able to tell such an unbelievable story and yet still expect to be believed.
“Okay. So you came back. But why did you visit me? Why not Weasel, or anyone else?”
“Because I know for a fact that Mr. Weasley is very happy at the moment. You, on the other hand, are not.” Those blue eyes suddenly turned piercing.
“I’ll bet he is,” Draco mumbled under his breath, and forced himself not to shift from foot to foot. In a louder voice, “And as I’ve said, you’re mental. I’m perfectly happy the way things are right now.”
“Are you now, Draco? You might believe that is the case – but are you quite certain you wouldn’t be happier with a nice girl to settle down with? I hear Ms. Granger is quite popular lately.”
Draco snarled. So that was what this was about, was it? “Why on earth would I want someone like Granger? She’s an annoying know-it-all who doesn’t know when to shut up. Besides, she’s dating the Weasel.” His words were really running away from hiM tonight.
“Now now, Mr. Malfoy. You might not believe me right now, but I’ve made an arrangement, you could say. You’ll be visited by three Christmas spirits tonight, and hopefully, you’ll see where you’re mistaken.” Dumbledore twinkled at him again.
Draco resisted the sudden urge to break the Headmaster’s nose.
“And now I’ll be taking my leave. I hope that the next time we meet will be many long decades from now, my boy. Have a happy life.” Popping one last lemon drop into his mouth, the elderly wizard faded. The lights flickered back on.
Draco remembered too late to ask him why he cared at all.
Of course, he didn’t believe a word of the drivel the Headmaster had just sprouted. Plans for him? Christmas spirits? He remembered being told stories about the latter as a child, but everyone knew that they were just fairy tales.
Crawling into bed, he managed to sleep.
III.
It felt like he’d only been asleep for minutes when he was suddenly woken by a gust of wind.
“Malfoy! Get up!”
Draco blinked blearily, and then nearly fell off his bed when he realized who was standing in front of him. “Potter?”
“What are you doing asleep, Malfoy? I know Albus let you know I would be coming.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Potter? You’re dead. You’re supposed to stay dead.”
“I am dead, Malfoy. I’m just here for one night to show you the Christmases past.”
Draco had had enough. “You? Even if what Dumbledore said was true, why would he send you, of all people?”
“Because while I personally don’t give a damn as to what happens to you, I do care about Hermione. She’s been my best friend since I was eleven, and after all she’s done, she deserves some happiness.” Those green eyes narrowed at him. “And I don’t know what on earth she sees in you, but if that’s her choice, then that’s that.”
Draco gave a haughty sniff. “I’ll have you know that I’m the best there is, Potter. Obviously, everyone would want me.”
“Right, and that’s why you’re spending Christmas Eve alone with nobody but house elves to keep you company. And even they’re too scared of you to actually do anything.” Potter rolled his eyes. “But enough chit-chat – I don’t have all night. Let’s go.”
“And what if I don’t agree to come along, Potty?”
The Gryffindor had the audacity to grin at him. “Sorry, but no choice for you, Malfoy. Albus went to a lot of trouble to arrange this, and you’re coming along for the ride.”
Before Draco could voice any more protests, he found himself grasped by the arm. There was a sensation like he was Apparating. And then he was no longer at Malfoy Manor.
*
When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a stone corridor.
Wrenching him arm out of the other’s grasp, he turned to the Gryffindor. “Hogwarts? Why did you bring me to Hogwarts?”
Potter didn’t reply, just pressed a finger to his lips.
Draco would have protested, but at that moment, he froze as he saw Herm – Granger coming down the hall. Except it wasn’t Granger as she was now. This Gryffindor still had bushy hair and carried a mountain of books around with her.
He noticed quite suddenly that Granger’s eyes looked suspiciously red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying. Before he could think about it further though, he saw himself come along from the other way of the hall.
Suddenly, Draco knew what was going to happen. He remembered this.
Younger!Draco seemed to have just noticed who was walking towards him, and paused to smirk. “My, my – alone on Christmas day, Granger? What’s happened to Potty and Weasel?”
Granger looked up and glared at him, but younger!Draco ignored it with ease. “I bet you just love polluting Hogwarts and the rest of us with your filthy self, don’t you, Granger? If you had any consideration at all, you’d take your Mudblood self home for the holidays – or better yet, for good.”
At his words, Hermi – Granger’s expression crumpled and she raced past him without a word in response. At the time, Draco had been vaguely surprise. He’d expected an angry retort or even a hex in his direction, but running away wasn’t something Hermione Granger did.
He hadn’t known why she’d reacted the way she did until later that day, when he heard word that Granger’s parents had been attacked and killed by the Dark Lord the night before. And just to himself, he’d admitted feeling guilty for what he’d said.
“Hermione was crying in the washroom for hours that day, you know. Neither Ron nor I could get her to come out.”
Potter’s soft voice startled Draco out of his thoughts – for a moment, he’d almost forgotten about the Gryffindor’s presence.
Before he could respond though, the scene before him had changed. He was still at Hogwarts, but this time, he saw himself and Hermione on the Hogwarts grounds in the evening.
Another year, another Christmas.
It was obvious, even at first glance, that this was back when they’d still been dating. The two of them were lying side-by-side on the grass, looking up at the sky. Hermione’s hair fell around her in waves, and his own was surprisingly messy. They both looked happy enough for the moment.
Draco felt something in his chest twinge painfully at the scene.
He watched himself talking with the Gryffindor, pointing out certain stars and constellations he’d learned about as a child.
For a while after that, there was a comfortable but temporary silence – the eye of the hurricane. Draco swallowed. He already knew what was coming.
“Draco?”
“Hmm?”
“Draco, when are we going to tell everyone about us?”
The silence immediately turned awkward. It stretched on. Younger!Draco seemed to be fighting to find something say, but for once, he seemed to be at a loss for words.
Somewhere in the distance, the crickets chirped.
Finally, “I don’t know yet, Hermione. But a while longer? Maybe after the war is over.”
Draco could remember his hesitance back then. A part of him had been wary about other people’s reactions, but even more than that, he’d worried about the effect those reactions would have on Hermione. He’d known without a doubt that as soon as people found out, everyone would be actively trying to get the Gryffindor away from the big bad Death Eater’s son. He’d never told her what he’d really been concerned about – after all, the brunette would have done her best to reassure him, to promise not to listen to everyone else. But such a promise would only be made to be broken. How would he stand a chance against all those protesting voices?
He’d never told her. Not that it had made a shred of difference in the end.
Hermione, of course, had taken it the wrong way. Looking back now, he supposed that to her, it was the only interpretation. “Are you ashamed of us, Draco?”
Younger!Draco immediately sat up, a hint of indignation colouring his features. “No, of course not! How can you say that?”
“Then why don’t you want anyone to know? You’re always so secretive about us, and unless there’s a good reason for it, I’m tired of it, Draco. I’m tired to always having to make up excuses to come out and meet you, to lie to Harry and Ron about where I am. Why can’t we tell the rest of the world?” She wrung her hands.
Draco winced as he saw his younger self grow frustrated. “Oh, so this is about Potter and the Weasel, is it?” The oh-so-familiar sneer. “I should have known.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? And don’t call them that! They’re my friends – it’s not their fault they care about me.”
Younger!Draco sneered. “Oh yes, I’m sure they care about you very much. Especially that Weasel – he’s been just dying to get into your pants.”
Hermione slapped him.
Draco flinched with his younger self as the loud crack rang in the air.
The brunette stood up and stormed away without another word.
The scene didn’t disappear like he expected it to. Seeing that his younger self wasn’t going anywhere soon, he followed Hermione instead, back to Gryffindor Tower.
It was rather unnerving the first time a student walked right through him, but Draco shrug it off.
The brunette stormed into the Common Room, and he quickly followed before the portrait slammed shut.
Potter and Weasel came running up to Hermione, then both stopped short when they saw her angry expression.
“’Mione? What’s wrong?” Potter’s eyes were ridiculously cautious – but with good reason, Draco supposed. Hermione did look rather scary at the moment.
Weasel was less tactful. “Did you run into Malfoy again? You did, didn’t you?”
Draco was surprised for a moment – did Weasel know about them, after all? – before he realized that the redhead was just jumping on conclusions, like he’d always done. And the Slytherins had always been convenient scapegoats.
“I knew it! What did that bastard do now?” Weasel raged on, unaware of the dangerous look in Hermione’s eyes. “I’ll punch him in the face the next time I see him, that’s for sure. Death Eaters in training, him and the rest of the Slytherins –”
He cut himself off abruptly as he finally took in the seething Hermione.
Draco couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry at all when the brunette finally got started.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Ronald Weasley! I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And as for Malfoy – I know you don’t like him, but no, that doesn’t make him and the rest of his friends Death Eaters in training. I’ve told you this so many times already – what does it take to get it through your thick skull? You and him don’t get along, fine, I understand that, but don’t go around making baseless accusations, understand me?” She jabbed a finger into the redhead’s chest before storming up to her dorm.
Draco was rather surprised that Hermione had defended him at all, considering the mood she’d been in – but she’d always been the reasonable one of the trio, coming to the defence of whoever had been wronged. Not that he needed her to defend him, of course. It gave him a strangely heart-warming feeling though, that she’d cared enough even when she’d been angry with him.
The scene disappeared from before him, and another one unfolded to take its place.
It had taken many long years before the Dark Lord had been defeated and all his Horcruxes taken care of. The Light had suffered enormous losses. You would be hard pressed to find a family that had been unaffected by the war. Everyone seemed to have lost someone – an aunt, a cousin, a parent or sibling. And the final sacrifice had been Harry Potter himself.
Potter had been the eighth Horcrux that the Dark Lord, with his soul fragmented into so many pieces, had unintentionally created. And the only way to be rid of him for good had been for Potter to kill himself.
Which he’d done, immediately after AK-ing Voldemort. The initial plan had been to figure out what to do with the final Horcrux in Potter’s body after the Dark Lord had been taken care of, but as usual, the reckless Gryffindor had dived in headfirst and did something no one had expected.
Although he was sure no one would believe him, Draco had been suitably grieved to see The Boy Who Lived go. They had never been friends, but they’d been on the same side – they’d been allies, and had saved each other’s lives more than once.
He saw the same scene unfold before him, saw Potter collapse on top of the fallen Dark Lord. He saw Hermione over her friend, crying – saw her run into Weasley’s arms and sob in a way that made Draco wince.
Of course, younger!Draco chose exactly that moment to come in – to see his girlfriend in his rival’s arms.
He’d broken up with her the next day. Hermione had slapped him.
It had been the last time he’s spoken to her civilly in the last year.
Draco grudgingly admitted now that perhaps he’d been too hasty and judged too harshly. But he had no doubt that he’d been right. Hermione had been with him in body, but it was obvious to anyone who cared to look that her heart was with the Weasel. And Draco Malfoy never settled for being second best.
As the scene faded, Draco found himself once again back in his bed. Looking around, Potter was nowhere in sight.
He has no doubt that another spirit would be along before long though. This time, he didn’t try to fall asleep.
IV.
Sure enough, five minutes later, there was a sudden gust of wind. The lights flickered.
The identity of the ghost was what shocked him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
She laughed wildly, as if what he’d said was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. And Draco could hear the hint of insanity in it, just as he’d been able to when she’d been alive.
“Oh, it’s little Draco, all grown up now. You seem to have forgotten your manners though, boy. Is this any way to greet your dear Aunt Bella?” Her voice was as chilling as he remembered, and Draco shivered as he saw something stir in her eyes.
Just because she was dead didn’t mean she was powerless.
Deciding it was safer to just play along, he forced a smile, hoping that it came out halfway natural. “Of course not, Aunt Bellatrix. I apologize – you just surprised me. I hadn’t expected to see you.”
“Oh? And who were you expecting to see?”
He met her gaze, but merely shrugged. “Shall we go then, Aunt Bella?” Staying polite was best with someone as unstable as Bellatrix. Plastering on a smile, he held out his hand, as if offering her an arm.
“Oh, we shall, we shall.”
With an insane cackle, they were gone.
*
He was at some run-down building he’d never been to before. Walking through the doors that looked like they might fall off if the wind hit it from the wrong angle, the sombre mood was immediately detectable.
He didn’t see the children until he turned the first corner and peered into a room. A group of perhaps sixty children were scattered around the space, looking up a woman with stern features and a no-nonsense kind of voice.
Bellatrix was staying unnaturally silent, although the scorn on her features was clear for anyone to see.
Still uncertain as to where he was, Draco walked on. He didn’t have far to go until he came across a small office, but what stopped him was the people inside.
Hermione Granger was standing, facing towards him. Her hair cast shadows on the left side of her face, which only made her seem more upset than she was. And leaning on a chair, next to her, was none other than the Weasel.
He sniffed. How predictable.
“Ah, the little Mudblood, is it?” Bellatrix rolled her eyes in disdain. “Should have died along with Potty, that one. And the blood traitor too.”
He didn’t visibly react to her comment, but a part of him seethed.
The brunette had her eyes focused on a point on the wall, and Draco felt vindictive satisfaction in seeing that Weasley looked miserably uncertain as to what to do. Whatever pleasure, however, disappeared when Hermione turned and closing her eyes, leaned against the redhead. Draco’s fist involuntarily clenched, and he forced himself to relax.
“Merlin, look at how they’re living, Ron. I wish I could do more for the kids.”
“I know, ‘Mione, I know. But you’ve done all that you can.”
Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. “Have I?”
“There’s only so much one person can do, and I know better than anyone else that you’ve done the best that you can. You’ve donated as much as you can afford, and all those volunteer hours have made a difference, Hermione. You know that.”
Draco suppressed the urge to hex off the freckled arm Weasel placed around Hermione’s shoulder.
“Now, if only bastards like Malfoy would donate once in a while.” The redhead ignored the look Hermione shot him. “What? I’m not just attacking him – you know it’s true. Malfoy has enough gold for all these kids and their grandkids to live in luxury for the rest of their lives. But do you see him helping out at all?”
Hermione seemed to have nothing to say in response to that.
Draco felt his stomach clench at her silence, but in anger or in shame, he couldn’t say. Besides, it was hardly his fault that these kids had such unfortunate lives. And as wealthy as he was, he couldn’t help everyone.
But you could help someone.
But what difference would it make, to save one child, or even one orphanage of children? There would always be more, more that he couldn’t help. That no one could help.
It would matter to that one person.
Draco viciously tried to squash down that little voice. Merlin, now he was arguing with his own mind.
And losing.
*
He opened his eyes, surprised to see that he was back at Malfoy Manor already. Frankly, after the trip with Potter, he’d expected more scenes.
And, he noted with a sigh of relief, Bellatrix was nowhere in sight. That was one relative he never wanted to lay eyes on again.
He’d heard whispers when he was younger that once upon a time, his aunt had been a great beauty, and although she was strong-willed, something that was discouraged in pureblood girls, she was a daughter of the ancient House of Black, and she’d had many suitors. But Draco personally thought that whatever sanity and beauty she’d had, it had been stripped from her during her years in Azkaban.
Of course, afterwards, everyone still treated Bellatrix as if she was queen, her being one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted servants. But anyone with eyes could see that she was far from sane. Or beautiful.
With a sigh, he settled back onto bed, resting his eyes as he waited for the next spirit. Whoever that would be.
V.
As the old grandfather clock rang exactly three times, there was a gust of wind. Draco looked up, half in anticipation and half in nervousness.
And then he saw the spirit. Dressed in black from head to toe, those sharp features and hooked nose were unmistakable.
“Severus?” he breathed, not daring to move. Of all the people who had died in the war, his godfather had been the one he’d missed the most.
“Draco.” The man’s lips twitched, as if suppressing a smile.
And he was off, running towards the only father figure he’d ever known. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had gone right through, but he didn’t, for which he was grateful.
“It’s good to see you too, Draco.” Those arms held him briefly before pushing him back. “But we don’t have much time, I’m afraid. You know what I’m here for.”
Draco nodded.
“So let’s go.”
*
He was in Malfoy Cemetery again, surrounded by the white tombstones that stood row upon row – each one marking the resting place of some Malfoy ancestor. Snow covered each of the stones completely. During the spring, the ground would have been covered in grass, but now, the only green visible was the wisp of ivy that peeked out from beneath the white.
He turned to ask Severus why he’d been brought here of all places, but he was disappointed to find that his godfather was nowhere in sight. Potter and Bellatrix had stayed – so why not Severus? He’d wanted to make the most of whatever time he’d had with the potions master.
“Well, that’s another one dead and buried.”
Draco whirled around at the voice, his attention diverted, not aware that there was someone else here too.
Two wizards were behind him on the other side of the cemetery. From their robes, he could tell that they were official buriers. But the question was, what were they doing in Malfoy Cemetery?
“And hopefully the last one,” the other man said gruffly. “We’ve had enough problems with Malfoys to last us a lifetime.”
Malfoys? Other than some very distant relatives in France (and they didn’t even have the same last name anymore), Draco was fairly certain that there were no more Malfoys in the area. So whom were they burying?
“What I don’t understand is why that girl was crying over him earlier. Such a nice girl too – wasn’t she friends with Harry Potter? Why would anyone cry over scum like this?”
“Not like any of them did anything good for us,” the second wizard agreed. “As far as I’m concerned, our world’s better off without him.”
Draco walked closer. If only he could see the name written on the tombstone, he would be able to figure out what on earth was going on.
But he’d barely taken two steps when he felt that familiar sensation of Apparition. Damn it, not now.
Draco fought to stay, but it seemed like this was all fate was going to let him see. The scene disappeared, and feeling as if he was being squeezed through a tube, Draco snapped his eyes shut.
*
Hermione was crying.
That was the first thing he was aware of when he opened his eyes. Turning in the direction of the sound, he spotted a figure kneeling in the grass.
But then he noticed his surroundings.
Like before, snow covered everything, but it was obvious that he was still in Malfoy Cemetery. Draco knew the place like the back of his hand – how many times had he played here as a child? He’d always found the cemetery strangely soothing.
But the most urgent question was – what was Hermione doing here, of all places?
Walking closer, he turned so that he was facing the brunette, and got a shock when he finally took in her features. It was clear that whenever this was, it was (would be, he corrected himself in his head) a while into the future. The signs of aging were obvious on Hermione’s face. Her skin had more wrinkles, and although she was still attractive (Draco was Malfoy enough to appreciate beauty, after all), the obvious fire of her youth had burnt out. This was only further emphasized by her red-rimmed eyes, which were decorated with large bags. Her brown hair contained a hint of white and was in a state of disarray.
He was surprised by the pop that signalled Apparition – unless something had changed drastically in the future, the cemetery should have the same anti-Apparition wards around it that Malfoy Manor itself had.
A red-haired man appeared, and although he was much older than the last time Draco had seen him, there was no mistaking Ron Weasley. And Hermione’s presence was odd enough – what was Weasel doing here as well?
He leaned closer as the redhead opened his mouth to speak, hoping that he could figure out what was going on.
“Come on, Hermione. Let’s go. You’ve been here long enough.”
Hermione didn’t react, as if she hadn’t heard him at all.
“And why don’t you have a cloak on? It’s freezing, for Merlin’s sake – it’s snowing, ‘Mione. You’re going to catch a cold out here if you’re not careful.”
Draco was suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out and punch Weasel in the face when the Gryffindor reached out and physically dragged Hermione up. (Not that it meant anything, of course. Wanting to punch Weasel was nothing new – he’d been wanting to do it since his Hogwarts years.)
“Hermione. Listen to me. I know you loved him, though Merlin knows why you do – he never did anything for anyone while he was alive – but he’s gone now, okay? And you have to let it go.”
At his words, Hermione seemed to sob even louder.
“Please, ‘Mione. Come on, let’s go – I’ll Apparate you to your flat. You can take a nap and come to The Burrow later for Christmas dinner – you know how much mum loves having you over.”
Weasel wrapped his arm around the brunette, and with a crack, they were gone.
His curiosity far from satisfied, Draco turned back towards the gravestone. Now he could finally figure out who had passed away. To be honest, Draco couldn’t imagine Hermione mourning the death of anyone related to him. In fact, the only ones of his family she knew at all were his parents, and the idea of any Muggleborn crying over Lucius and Narcissa was utterly ridiculous.
He approached the other side of the headstone. Reaching up, he wiped the snow away with his hand so that he could see the inscription.
And he froze.
Seeing the name engraved on the stone, he swore that his eyes were deceiving him.
Draconis Lucius Malfoy
June 5, 1980 – December 24, 2028
The rest of the stone was completely empty, no personal touch or any hint of the person who’d been buried.
And suddenly, all the pieces fit together. The crying. Weasley’s eyes, that had been unsympathetic even as he tried to comfort Hermione.
I know you loved him, though Merlin knows why you do – he never did anything for anyone while he was alive – but he’s gone now, okay? And you have to let it go.
The buriers’ words.
“Well, that’s another one dead and buried.”
“And hopefully the last one.”
And of course he was the last one. He was the last of the main family branch of the Malfoys. The rest of his relatives didn’t even carry the same last name anymore.
He stumbled, falling to his knees as he brought his hands to the smooth surface of the gravestone, clenching as if trying to unconsciously pull it out. “Nonono. I’m not dead, damn it. I’m right here. I AM NOT DEAD.”
He wasn’t even aware of the hot tears running down his cheeks, nor that his hands were getting scratched from the thorns of the small plant that had been planted next to the gravestone. All he knew was that this couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t be dead, and on Christmas Eve too –
Abruptly, the world went dark around him.
And he knew no more.
*
He wasn’t sure how much later that he woke, but it couldn’t have been too long, because was Severus was still there.
Without a second thought, he threw himself at his godfather, what he’d seen just starting to sink in.
“I’m sorry,” he heard Severus say.
Still numb, he raised himself to look at the potions master in the eye. “For what?”
“I tried when you were younger – to warn you, to teach you. But it looks like I didn’t manage too well after all.”
“To teach me what?”
“To show you another way. So that you wouldn’t end up like your parents. Or like me.”
Draco opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn’t sure, but he was cut off as Severus spoke again, his voice strangely urgent. “We don’t have much time left, Draco, but I want to tell you this – the future you saw, it can change. You can change.”
“Change? How?”
“That future was just a possible version of what could happen. None of it is set in stone.” Those eyes were darker than Draco had ever seen them. “I just want you to be happy, Draco. Even if it means taking know-it-all Granger as a wife.”
“What? Hermione? I don’t like her like that!” Draco protested, but seeing his godfather’s lips quirk in amusement, knew that he wasn’t fooling anyone.
Severus stood up and pulled him into a brief hug before letting go. “Time’s up, Draco – I have to go. And I don’t want to see you again until you’re an old man with three brats who’ll undoubtedly wreck havoc on Hogwarts, understood?”
The blond nodded, his eyes suddenly feeling suspiciously prickly. No, he wasn’t going to cry – not now, damn it. Malfoys didn’t cry.
“Show them all that you’re better than your parents. It’s time for you to make a new name for the Malfoys, Draco.”
And with that, the potions master was gone.
Draco sagged down onto his bed, closing his eyes and trying to get himself under control.
What hurt the most about that final scene was not the fact that he had died. Of course he knew that one day, he would die. He didn’t have any misconceptions about his mortality.
But he’d died, without doing anything. And the only difference he’d made was that people sighed in relief at the thought of the last of the Malfoys finally dead.
And Hermione. Draco wasn’t a sentimental person, but if there was good and righteousness, it was the brunette Gryffindor. And the fact that he’d fulfilled people’s worst expectations of him, to the point where not even Hermione had stepped up to defend him to Weasel’s words – that was what had been the most painful.
His godfather was right. He wasn’t going to let him name be dragged through the mud anymore because of what his parents had done.
He was going to do something to change – and he would do Severus proud.
VI.
If you asked anyone in the wizarding world three years ago what they would think if Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were to get married, their reactions would range from outright enraged to murderously angry. And then they’d cart you off to St. Mungo’s for brain damage.
If you asked them now though, they would undoubtedly be a lot more accepting. Grudgingly, perhaps, but it would still be acceptance.
Of course, the two involved in the relationship happily didn’t give a damn as to what the rest of the world thought. And that’s all that matters anyway.
Two years after the first rumours of their romance, the two had officially begun dating. People had been rather miffed at first – imagine, the brilliant Hermione Granger going out with a scoundrel like Malfoy! – until the brunette had told them in no uncertain terms that what she did with her life was none of their business.
The couple had purchased a small flat in London, and had turned Malfoy Manor into a wizarding orphanage. Draco must admit that he’s quite amused at the thought of his ancestors rolling in their graves.
Reporters often wondered how the two had gotten together in the first place. A Death Eater’s son and a Muggleborn witch – it was unlikely, to say the least. And Draco would tell them, in politer words, of course, but the meaning no less clear, that their private lives were just that – private.
Between you and me though, I’ll let you in on a secret. As much as Draco would protest to being called hot-headed and irrational, that was exactly how he’d been in his reaction that day when he’d found his girlfriend in Ron’s arms. Anyone less in love would have been able to tell you that it was clear Hermione was only seeking the comfort of a best friend after Harry was gone. And Ron had been the only one left.
But people can be foolish in love, and I suppose we can forgive Draco for his mistake. Besides, as soon as he figured out where he’d gone wrong, he’d corrected himself – which is the most you can ask for.
And this is where our story ends – with their wedding, where Ron’s the best man (despite Draco’s protests) and the blond Slytherin is getting fussed over by a certain Molly Weasley (and it’s not even her daughter getting married!)
And although we know that Draco and Hermione will hardly ride off into the sunset and live a classic fairytale life (how boring would it be if Draco never threw a tantrum again? Or Hermione became the perfect princess-like wife with never a hair out of place?), they’re happy enough with their chaotic lives. And that, if I may say so, is their own ending, and all that really matters.
And they lived happily ever after.
Finis.
story completed Dec 28, 2007
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Author:
paperedFandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Draco Malfoy, Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6278
Summary: A Dramione take on Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.
Notes: Written for
midnightdream__ for Christmas 2007. ♥ spadul has all my love for her encouragements and betaing. :)"Sympathy constitutes friendship; but in love there is a sort of antipathy, or opposing passion. Each strives to be the other, and both together make up one whole." - Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I.
If you asked anyone in the wizarding world – anyone at all – they would recognize the name “Malfoy”. And if you asked them to tell you something about the family, you’d undoubtedly hear about all the crimes they’d committed, starting with Lucius Malfoy and what he’d done as a Death Eater to Narcissa Malfoy’s poisoning of the Minister of Magic.
If you asked for more, you’d probably hear about Draco Malfoy too. Many speculated on what he would do with his life. Most were certain that he was better off locked away in Azkaban before he did something worthy of the Malfoy name. A few – very few – would defend him, claiming that everyone should be given a chance, but those few grow even fewer as time passes and the blond proves as cold as the rest of his family had been.
There had been a rumour a few years back, that Draco was dating Hermione Granger, best friend of the famous Harry Potter, The Boy Who Saved Them All. But that story had been dismissed before too long, and whatever favour the youngest Malfoy had gained from being paired off with one of the most brilliant witches of their generation had also disappeared.
Of course, Draco was still well-known, although he was more infamous than anything else. Perhaps that reputation was inevitable, with his background. People whispered about his cruelty, how he’d thrown Madam Rosmerta out (she ran a string of orphanages now, after The Three Broomsticks had been burnt down during a particularly bad Death Eater attack) when she’d gone to the wealthier families of the wizarding world to ask for donations for the children. And how he’d refused to give even a knut, when everyone knew that the Malfoy family was probably the richest name known to wizardkind.
It’s without a doubt that Draco Malfoy is one of the least popular people in wizarding Britain at the moment. And that is where our story starts.
II.
He was just about to get ready for bed when, without warning, all the lights flickered out. Which normally wouldn’t have been unusual, except the chandeliers at Malfoy Manor had all been charmed so that they couldn’t be extinguished unless Draco did so magically. He found himself groping through the darkness, trying to find a wall to steady himself against.
Suddenly, there was a flash from the center of the room. As the light dispersed, it left behind one Albus Dumbledore. His eyes twinkled in that infuriating way of his that had driven Draco mad on so many occasions in the past.
Without a second thought, he had his wand out in front of him. Everyone knew that the Headmaster has passed away peacefully in his sleep last year, and so Draco had no doubt that this had to be an impostor.
Before he could open his mouth, however, the impostor spoke first. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy – no need to be so agitated. I mean you no harm.”
“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Dumbledore.”
“What makes you think I’m lying?”
Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Hmm, I don’t know, let me think. Maybe the part where Dumbledore’s dead.” The sarcasm was evident in his tone.
“Oh, that – well, of course I am, dear boy. But that doesn’t mean I’m not myself.”
Draco raised his eyebrow at the man. If this was an impostor, he was an awfully unrealistic one. No one would fall for an explanation like that.
The Man Who May Or May Not Be Dumbledore looked amused. “I think I’d better explain after all. You’re right in saying that I did pass on last winter – but I’ve been keeping an eye on things. And I noticed that you, my dear boy, aren’t as happy as you ought to be, and so I came back to see what I could do about it.”
“I am not ‘your dear boy’. And you’re mental.”
Chuckling, the elderly wizard reached into the left pocket of his violently purple robes and pulled out a small tin can. “Lemon drops, Mr. Malfoy?”
In that end, that was what convinced Draco that this indeed was the deceased Headmaster. And, the fact that only Albus Dumbledore would be able to tell such an unbelievable story and yet still expect to be believed.
“Okay. So you came back. But why did you visit me? Why not Weasel, or anyone else?”
“Because I know for a fact that Mr. Weasley is very happy at the moment. You, on the other hand, are not.” Those blue eyes suddenly turned piercing.
“I’ll bet he is,” Draco mumbled under his breath, and forced himself not to shift from foot to foot. In a louder voice, “And as I’ve said, you’re mental. I’m perfectly happy the way things are right now.”
“Are you now, Draco? You might believe that is the case – but are you quite certain you wouldn’t be happier with a nice girl to settle down with? I hear Ms. Granger is quite popular lately.”
Draco snarled. So that was what this was about, was it? “Why on earth would I want someone like Granger? She’s an annoying know-it-all who doesn’t know when to shut up. Besides, she’s dating the Weasel.” His words were really running away from hiM tonight.
“Now now, Mr. Malfoy. You might not believe me right now, but I’ve made an arrangement, you could say. You’ll be visited by three Christmas spirits tonight, and hopefully, you’ll see where you’re mistaken.” Dumbledore twinkled at him again.
Draco resisted the sudden urge to break the Headmaster’s nose.
“And now I’ll be taking my leave. I hope that the next time we meet will be many long decades from now, my boy. Have a happy life.” Popping one last lemon drop into his mouth, the elderly wizard faded. The lights flickered back on.
Draco remembered too late to ask him why he cared at all.
Of course, he didn’t believe a word of the drivel the Headmaster had just sprouted. Plans for him? Christmas spirits? He remembered being told stories about the latter as a child, but everyone knew that they were just fairy tales.
Crawling into bed, he managed to sleep.
III.
It felt like he’d only been asleep for minutes when he was suddenly woken by a gust of wind.
“Malfoy! Get up!”
Draco blinked blearily, and then nearly fell off his bed when he realized who was standing in front of him. “Potter?”
“What are you doing asleep, Malfoy? I know Albus let you know I would be coming.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Potter? You’re dead. You’re supposed to stay dead.”
“I am dead, Malfoy. I’m just here for one night to show you the Christmases past.”
Draco had had enough. “You? Even if what Dumbledore said was true, why would he send you, of all people?”
“Because while I personally don’t give a damn as to what happens to you, I do care about Hermione. She’s been my best friend since I was eleven, and after all she’s done, she deserves some happiness.” Those green eyes narrowed at him. “And I don’t know what on earth she sees in you, but if that’s her choice, then that’s that.”
Draco gave a haughty sniff. “I’ll have you know that I’m the best there is, Potter. Obviously, everyone would want me.”
“Right, and that’s why you’re spending Christmas Eve alone with nobody but house elves to keep you company. And even they’re too scared of you to actually do anything.” Potter rolled his eyes. “But enough chit-chat – I don’t have all night. Let’s go.”
“And what if I don’t agree to come along, Potty?”
The Gryffindor had the audacity to grin at him. “Sorry, but no choice for you, Malfoy. Albus went to a lot of trouble to arrange this, and you’re coming along for the ride.”
Before Draco could voice any more protests, he found himself grasped by the arm. There was a sensation like he was Apparating. And then he was no longer at Malfoy Manor.
*
When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a stone corridor.
Wrenching him arm out of the other’s grasp, he turned to the Gryffindor. “Hogwarts? Why did you bring me to Hogwarts?”
Potter didn’t reply, just pressed a finger to his lips.
Draco would have protested, but at that moment, he froze as he saw Herm – Granger coming down the hall. Except it wasn’t Granger as she was now. This Gryffindor still had bushy hair and carried a mountain of books around with her.
He noticed quite suddenly that Granger’s eyes looked suspiciously red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying. Before he could think about it further though, he saw himself come along from the other way of the hall.
Suddenly, Draco knew what was going to happen. He remembered this.
Younger!Draco seemed to have just noticed who was walking towards him, and paused to smirk. “My, my – alone on Christmas day, Granger? What’s happened to Potty and Weasel?”
Granger looked up and glared at him, but younger!Draco ignored it with ease. “I bet you just love polluting Hogwarts and the rest of us with your filthy self, don’t you, Granger? If you had any consideration at all, you’d take your Mudblood self home for the holidays – or better yet, for good.”
At his words, Hermi – Granger’s expression crumpled and she raced past him without a word in response. At the time, Draco had been vaguely surprise. He’d expected an angry retort or even a hex in his direction, but running away wasn’t something Hermione Granger did.
He hadn’t known why she’d reacted the way she did until later that day, when he heard word that Granger’s parents had been attacked and killed by the Dark Lord the night before. And just to himself, he’d admitted feeling guilty for what he’d said.
“Hermione was crying in the washroom for hours that day, you know. Neither Ron nor I could get her to come out.”
Potter’s soft voice startled Draco out of his thoughts – for a moment, he’d almost forgotten about the Gryffindor’s presence.
Before he could respond though, the scene before him had changed. He was still at Hogwarts, but this time, he saw himself and Hermione on the Hogwarts grounds in the evening.
Another year, another Christmas.
It was obvious, even at first glance, that this was back when they’d still been dating. The two of them were lying side-by-side on the grass, looking up at the sky. Hermione’s hair fell around her in waves, and his own was surprisingly messy. They both looked happy enough for the moment.
Draco felt something in his chest twinge painfully at the scene.
He watched himself talking with the Gryffindor, pointing out certain stars and constellations he’d learned about as a child.
For a while after that, there was a comfortable but temporary silence – the eye of the hurricane. Draco swallowed. He already knew what was coming.
“Draco?”
“Hmm?”
“Draco, when are we going to tell everyone about us?”
The silence immediately turned awkward. It stretched on. Younger!Draco seemed to be fighting to find something say, but for once, he seemed to be at a loss for words.
Somewhere in the distance, the crickets chirped.
Finally, “I don’t know yet, Hermione. But a while longer? Maybe after the war is over.”
Draco could remember his hesitance back then. A part of him had been wary about other people’s reactions, but even more than that, he’d worried about the effect those reactions would have on Hermione. He’d known without a doubt that as soon as people found out, everyone would be actively trying to get the Gryffindor away from the big bad Death Eater’s son. He’d never told her what he’d really been concerned about – after all, the brunette would have done her best to reassure him, to promise not to listen to everyone else. But such a promise would only be made to be broken. How would he stand a chance against all those protesting voices?
He’d never told her. Not that it had made a shred of difference in the end.
Hermione, of course, had taken it the wrong way. Looking back now, he supposed that to her, it was the only interpretation. “Are you ashamed of us, Draco?”
Younger!Draco immediately sat up, a hint of indignation colouring his features. “No, of course not! How can you say that?”
“Then why don’t you want anyone to know? You’re always so secretive about us, and unless there’s a good reason for it, I’m tired of it, Draco. I’m tired to always having to make up excuses to come out and meet you, to lie to Harry and Ron about where I am. Why can’t we tell the rest of the world?” She wrung her hands.
Draco winced as he saw his younger self grow frustrated. “Oh, so this is about Potter and the Weasel, is it?” The oh-so-familiar sneer. “I should have known.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? And don’t call them that! They’re my friends – it’s not their fault they care about me.”
Younger!Draco sneered. “Oh yes, I’m sure they care about you very much. Especially that Weasel – he’s been just dying to get into your pants.”
Hermione slapped him.
Draco flinched with his younger self as the loud crack rang in the air.
The brunette stood up and stormed away without another word.
The scene didn’t disappear like he expected it to. Seeing that his younger self wasn’t going anywhere soon, he followed Hermione instead, back to Gryffindor Tower.
It was rather unnerving the first time a student walked right through him, but Draco shrug it off.
The brunette stormed into the Common Room, and he quickly followed before the portrait slammed shut.
Potter and Weasel came running up to Hermione, then both stopped short when they saw her angry expression.
“’Mione? What’s wrong?” Potter’s eyes were ridiculously cautious – but with good reason, Draco supposed. Hermione did look rather scary at the moment.
Weasel was less tactful. “Did you run into Malfoy again? You did, didn’t you?”
Draco was surprised for a moment – did Weasel know about them, after all? – before he realized that the redhead was just jumping on conclusions, like he’d always done. And the Slytherins had always been convenient scapegoats.
“I knew it! What did that bastard do now?” Weasel raged on, unaware of the dangerous look in Hermione’s eyes. “I’ll punch him in the face the next time I see him, that’s for sure. Death Eaters in training, him and the rest of the Slytherins –”
He cut himself off abruptly as he finally took in the seething Hermione.
Draco couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry at all when the brunette finally got started.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Ronald Weasley! I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And as for Malfoy – I know you don’t like him, but no, that doesn’t make him and the rest of his friends Death Eaters in training. I’ve told you this so many times already – what does it take to get it through your thick skull? You and him don’t get along, fine, I understand that, but don’t go around making baseless accusations, understand me?” She jabbed a finger into the redhead’s chest before storming up to her dorm.
Draco was rather surprised that Hermione had defended him at all, considering the mood she’d been in – but she’d always been the reasonable one of the trio, coming to the defence of whoever had been wronged. Not that he needed her to defend him, of course. It gave him a strangely heart-warming feeling though, that she’d cared enough even when she’d been angry with him.
The scene disappeared from before him, and another one unfolded to take its place.
It had taken many long years before the Dark Lord had been defeated and all his Horcruxes taken care of. The Light had suffered enormous losses. You would be hard pressed to find a family that had been unaffected by the war. Everyone seemed to have lost someone – an aunt, a cousin, a parent or sibling. And the final sacrifice had been Harry Potter himself.
Potter had been the eighth Horcrux that the Dark Lord, with his soul fragmented into so many pieces, had unintentionally created. And the only way to be rid of him for good had been for Potter to kill himself.
Which he’d done, immediately after AK-ing Voldemort. The initial plan had been to figure out what to do with the final Horcrux in Potter’s body after the Dark Lord had been taken care of, but as usual, the reckless Gryffindor had dived in headfirst and did something no one had expected.
Although he was sure no one would believe him, Draco had been suitably grieved to see The Boy Who Lived go. They had never been friends, but they’d been on the same side – they’d been allies, and had saved each other’s lives more than once.
He saw the same scene unfold before him, saw Potter collapse on top of the fallen Dark Lord. He saw Hermione over her friend, crying – saw her run into Weasley’s arms and sob in a way that made Draco wince.
Of course, younger!Draco chose exactly that moment to come in – to see his girlfriend in his rival’s arms.
He’d broken up with her the next day. Hermione had slapped him.
It had been the last time he’s spoken to her civilly in the last year.
Draco grudgingly admitted now that perhaps he’d been too hasty and judged too harshly. But he had no doubt that he’d been right. Hermione had been with him in body, but it was obvious to anyone who cared to look that her heart was with the Weasel. And Draco Malfoy never settled for being second best.
As the scene faded, Draco found himself once again back in his bed. Looking around, Potter was nowhere in sight.
He has no doubt that another spirit would be along before long though. This time, he didn’t try to fall asleep.
IV.
Sure enough, five minutes later, there was a sudden gust of wind. The lights flickered.
The identity of the ghost was what shocked him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
She laughed wildly, as if what he’d said was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. And Draco could hear the hint of insanity in it, just as he’d been able to when she’d been alive.
“Oh, it’s little Draco, all grown up now. You seem to have forgotten your manners though, boy. Is this any way to greet your dear Aunt Bella?” Her voice was as chilling as he remembered, and Draco shivered as he saw something stir in her eyes.
Just because she was dead didn’t mean she was powerless.
Deciding it was safer to just play along, he forced a smile, hoping that it came out halfway natural. “Of course not, Aunt Bellatrix. I apologize – you just surprised me. I hadn’t expected to see you.”
“Oh? And who were you expecting to see?”
He met her gaze, but merely shrugged. “Shall we go then, Aunt Bella?” Staying polite was best with someone as unstable as Bellatrix. Plastering on a smile, he held out his hand, as if offering her an arm.
“Oh, we shall, we shall.”
With an insane cackle, they were gone.
*
He was at some run-down building he’d never been to before. Walking through the doors that looked like they might fall off if the wind hit it from the wrong angle, the sombre mood was immediately detectable.
He didn’t see the children until he turned the first corner and peered into a room. A group of perhaps sixty children were scattered around the space, looking up a woman with stern features and a no-nonsense kind of voice.
Bellatrix was staying unnaturally silent, although the scorn on her features was clear for anyone to see.
Still uncertain as to where he was, Draco walked on. He didn’t have far to go until he came across a small office, but what stopped him was the people inside.
Hermione Granger was standing, facing towards him. Her hair cast shadows on the left side of her face, which only made her seem more upset than she was. And leaning on a chair, next to her, was none other than the Weasel.
He sniffed. How predictable.
“Ah, the little Mudblood, is it?” Bellatrix rolled her eyes in disdain. “Should have died along with Potty, that one. And the blood traitor too.”
He didn’t visibly react to her comment, but a part of him seethed.
The brunette had her eyes focused on a point on the wall, and Draco felt vindictive satisfaction in seeing that Weasley looked miserably uncertain as to what to do. Whatever pleasure, however, disappeared when Hermione turned and closing her eyes, leaned against the redhead. Draco’s fist involuntarily clenched, and he forced himself to relax.
“Merlin, look at how they’re living, Ron. I wish I could do more for the kids.”
“I know, ‘Mione, I know. But you’ve done all that you can.”
Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. “Have I?”
“There’s only so much one person can do, and I know better than anyone else that you’ve done the best that you can. You’ve donated as much as you can afford, and all those volunteer hours have made a difference, Hermione. You know that.”
Draco suppressed the urge to hex off the freckled arm Weasel placed around Hermione’s shoulder.
“Now, if only bastards like Malfoy would donate once in a while.” The redhead ignored the look Hermione shot him. “What? I’m not just attacking him – you know it’s true. Malfoy has enough gold for all these kids and their grandkids to live in luxury for the rest of their lives. But do you see him helping out at all?”
Hermione seemed to have nothing to say in response to that.
Draco felt his stomach clench at her silence, but in anger or in shame, he couldn’t say. Besides, it was hardly his fault that these kids had such unfortunate lives. And as wealthy as he was, he couldn’t help everyone.
But you could help someone.
But what difference would it make, to save one child, or even one orphanage of children? There would always be more, more that he couldn’t help. That no one could help.
It would matter to that one person.
Draco viciously tried to squash down that little voice. Merlin, now he was arguing with his own mind.
And losing.
*
He opened his eyes, surprised to see that he was back at Malfoy Manor already. Frankly, after the trip with Potter, he’d expected more scenes.
And, he noted with a sigh of relief, Bellatrix was nowhere in sight. That was one relative he never wanted to lay eyes on again.
He’d heard whispers when he was younger that once upon a time, his aunt had been a great beauty, and although she was strong-willed, something that was discouraged in pureblood girls, she was a daughter of the ancient House of Black, and she’d had many suitors. But Draco personally thought that whatever sanity and beauty she’d had, it had been stripped from her during her years in Azkaban.
Of course, afterwards, everyone still treated Bellatrix as if she was queen, her being one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted servants. But anyone with eyes could see that she was far from sane. Or beautiful.
With a sigh, he settled back onto bed, resting his eyes as he waited for the next spirit. Whoever that would be.
V.
As the old grandfather clock rang exactly three times, there was a gust of wind. Draco looked up, half in anticipation and half in nervousness.
And then he saw the spirit. Dressed in black from head to toe, those sharp features and hooked nose were unmistakable.
“Severus?” he breathed, not daring to move. Of all the people who had died in the war, his godfather had been the one he’d missed the most.
“Draco.” The man’s lips twitched, as if suppressing a smile.
And he was off, running towards the only father figure he’d ever known. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had gone right through, but he didn’t, for which he was grateful.
“It’s good to see you too, Draco.” Those arms held him briefly before pushing him back. “But we don’t have much time, I’m afraid. You know what I’m here for.”
Draco nodded.
“So let’s go.”
*
He was in Malfoy Cemetery again, surrounded by the white tombstones that stood row upon row – each one marking the resting place of some Malfoy ancestor. Snow covered each of the stones completely. During the spring, the ground would have been covered in grass, but now, the only green visible was the wisp of ivy that peeked out from beneath the white.
He turned to ask Severus why he’d been brought here of all places, but he was disappointed to find that his godfather was nowhere in sight. Potter and Bellatrix had stayed – so why not Severus? He’d wanted to make the most of whatever time he’d had with the potions master.
“Well, that’s another one dead and buried.”
Draco whirled around at the voice, his attention diverted, not aware that there was someone else here too.
Two wizards were behind him on the other side of the cemetery. From their robes, he could tell that they were official buriers. But the question was, what were they doing in Malfoy Cemetery?
“And hopefully the last one,” the other man said gruffly. “We’ve had enough problems with Malfoys to last us a lifetime.”
Malfoys? Other than some very distant relatives in France (and they didn’t even have the same last name anymore), Draco was fairly certain that there were no more Malfoys in the area. So whom were they burying?
“What I don’t understand is why that girl was crying over him earlier. Such a nice girl too – wasn’t she friends with Harry Potter? Why would anyone cry over scum like this?”
“Not like any of them did anything good for us,” the second wizard agreed. “As far as I’m concerned, our world’s better off without him.”
Draco walked closer. If only he could see the name written on the tombstone, he would be able to figure out what on earth was going on.
But he’d barely taken two steps when he felt that familiar sensation of Apparition. Damn it, not now.
Draco fought to stay, but it seemed like this was all fate was going to let him see. The scene disappeared, and feeling as if he was being squeezed through a tube, Draco snapped his eyes shut.
*
Hermione was crying.
That was the first thing he was aware of when he opened his eyes. Turning in the direction of the sound, he spotted a figure kneeling in the grass.
But then he noticed his surroundings.
Like before, snow covered everything, but it was obvious that he was still in Malfoy Cemetery. Draco knew the place like the back of his hand – how many times had he played here as a child? He’d always found the cemetery strangely soothing.
But the most urgent question was – what was Hermione doing here, of all places?
Walking closer, he turned so that he was facing the brunette, and got a shock when he finally took in her features. It was clear that whenever this was, it was (would be, he corrected himself in his head) a while into the future. The signs of aging were obvious on Hermione’s face. Her skin had more wrinkles, and although she was still attractive (Draco was Malfoy enough to appreciate beauty, after all), the obvious fire of her youth had burnt out. This was only further emphasized by her red-rimmed eyes, which were decorated with large bags. Her brown hair contained a hint of white and was in a state of disarray.
He was surprised by the pop that signalled Apparition – unless something had changed drastically in the future, the cemetery should have the same anti-Apparition wards around it that Malfoy Manor itself had.
A red-haired man appeared, and although he was much older than the last time Draco had seen him, there was no mistaking Ron Weasley. And Hermione’s presence was odd enough – what was Weasel doing here as well?
He leaned closer as the redhead opened his mouth to speak, hoping that he could figure out what was going on.
“Come on, Hermione. Let’s go. You’ve been here long enough.”
Hermione didn’t react, as if she hadn’t heard him at all.
“And why don’t you have a cloak on? It’s freezing, for Merlin’s sake – it’s snowing, ‘Mione. You’re going to catch a cold out here if you’re not careful.”
Draco was suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out and punch Weasel in the face when the Gryffindor reached out and physically dragged Hermione up. (Not that it meant anything, of course. Wanting to punch Weasel was nothing new – he’d been wanting to do it since his Hogwarts years.)
“Hermione. Listen to me. I know you loved him, though Merlin knows why you do – he never did anything for anyone while he was alive – but he’s gone now, okay? And you have to let it go.”
At his words, Hermione seemed to sob even louder.
“Please, ‘Mione. Come on, let’s go – I’ll Apparate you to your flat. You can take a nap and come to The Burrow later for Christmas dinner – you know how much mum loves having you over.”
Weasel wrapped his arm around the brunette, and with a crack, they were gone.
His curiosity far from satisfied, Draco turned back towards the gravestone. Now he could finally figure out who had passed away. To be honest, Draco couldn’t imagine Hermione mourning the death of anyone related to him. In fact, the only ones of his family she knew at all were his parents, and the idea of any Muggleborn crying over Lucius and Narcissa was utterly ridiculous.
He approached the other side of the headstone. Reaching up, he wiped the snow away with his hand so that he could see the inscription.
And he froze.
Seeing the name engraved on the stone, he swore that his eyes were deceiving him.
Draconis Lucius Malfoy
June 5, 1980 – December 24, 2028
The rest of the stone was completely empty, no personal touch or any hint of the person who’d been buried.
And suddenly, all the pieces fit together. The crying. Weasley’s eyes, that had been unsympathetic even as he tried to comfort Hermione.
I know you loved him, though Merlin knows why you do – he never did anything for anyone while he was alive – but he’s gone now, okay? And you have to let it go.
The buriers’ words.
“Well, that’s another one dead and buried.”
“And hopefully the last one.”
And of course he was the last one. He was the last of the main family branch of the Malfoys. The rest of his relatives didn’t even carry the same last name anymore.
He stumbled, falling to his knees as he brought his hands to the smooth surface of the gravestone, clenching as if trying to unconsciously pull it out. “Nonono. I’m not dead, damn it. I’m right here. I AM NOT DEAD.”
He wasn’t even aware of the hot tears running down his cheeks, nor that his hands were getting scratched from the thorns of the small plant that had been planted next to the gravestone. All he knew was that this couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t be dead, and on Christmas Eve too –
Abruptly, the world went dark around him.
And he knew no more.
*
He wasn’t sure how much later that he woke, but it couldn’t have been too long, because was Severus was still there.
Without a second thought, he threw himself at his godfather, what he’d seen just starting to sink in.
“I’m sorry,” he heard Severus say.
Still numb, he raised himself to look at the potions master in the eye. “For what?”
“I tried when you were younger – to warn you, to teach you. But it looks like I didn’t manage too well after all.”
“To teach me what?”
“To show you another way. So that you wouldn’t end up like your parents. Or like me.”
Draco opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn’t sure, but he was cut off as Severus spoke again, his voice strangely urgent. “We don’t have much time left, Draco, but I want to tell you this – the future you saw, it can change. You can change.”
“Change? How?”
“That future was just a possible version of what could happen. None of it is set in stone.” Those eyes were darker than Draco had ever seen them. “I just want you to be happy, Draco. Even if it means taking know-it-all Granger as a wife.”
“What? Hermione? I don’t like her like that!” Draco protested, but seeing his godfather’s lips quirk in amusement, knew that he wasn’t fooling anyone.
Severus stood up and pulled him into a brief hug before letting go. “Time’s up, Draco – I have to go. And I don’t want to see you again until you’re an old man with three brats who’ll undoubtedly wreck havoc on Hogwarts, understood?”
The blond nodded, his eyes suddenly feeling suspiciously prickly. No, he wasn’t going to cry – not now, damn it. Malfoys didn’t cry.
“Show them all that you’re better than your parents. It’s time for you to make a new name for the Malfoys, Draco.”
And with that, the potions master was gone.
Draco sagged down onto his bed, closing his eyes and trying to get himself under control.
What hurt the most about that final scene was not the fact that he had died. Of course he knew that one day, he would die. He didn’t have any misconceptions about his mortality.
But he’d died, without doing anything. And the only difference he’d made was that people sighed in relief at the thought of the last of the Malfoys finally dead.
And Hermione. Draco wasn’t a sentimental person, but if there was good and righteousness, it was the brunette Gryffindor. And the fact that he’d fulfilled people’s worst expectations of him, to the point where not even Hermione had stepped up to defend him to Weasel’s words – that was what had been the most painful.
His godfather was right. He wasn’t going to let him name be dragged through the mud anymore because of what his parents had done.
He was going to do something to change – and he would do Severus proud.
VI.
If you asked anyone in the wizarding world three years ago what they would think if Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were to get married, their reactions would range from outright enraged to murderously angry. And then they’d cart you off to St. Mungo’s for brain damage.
If you asked them now though, they would undoubtedly be a lot more accepting. Grudgingly, perhaps, but it would still be acceptance.
Of course, the two involved in the relationship happily didn’t give a damn as to what the rest of the world thought. And that’s all that matters anyway.
Two years after the first rumours of their romance, the two had officially begun dating. People had been rather miffed at first – imagine, the brilliant Hermione Granger going out with a scoundrel like Malfoy! – until the brunette had told them in no uncertain terms that what she did with her life was none of their business.
The couple had purchased a small flat in London, and had turned Malfoy Manor into a wizarding orphanage. Draco must admit that he’s quite amused at the thought of his ancestors rolling in their graves.
Reporters often wondered how the two had gotten together in the first place. A Death Eater’s son and a Muggleborn witch – it was unlikely, to say the least. And Draco would tell them, in politer words, of course, but the meaning no less clear, that their private lives were just that – private.
Between you and me though, I’ll let you in on a secret. As much as Draco would protest to being called hot-headed and irrational, that was exactly how he’d been in his reaction that day when he’d found his girlfriend in Ron’s arms. Anyone less in love would have been able to tell you that it was clear Hermione was only seeking the comfort of a best friend after Harry was gone. And Ron had been the only one left.
But people can be foolish in love, and I suppose we can forgive Draco for his mistake. Besides, as soon as he figured out where he’d gone wrong, he’d corrected himself – which is the most you can ask for.
And this is where our story ends – with their wedding, where Ron’s the best man (despite Draco’s protests) and the blond Slytherin is getting fussed over by a certain Molly Weasley (and it’s not even her daughter getting married!)
And although we know that Draco and Hermione will hardly ride off into the sunset and live a classic fairytale life (how boring would it be if Draco never threw a tantrum again? Or Hermione became the perfect princess-like wife with never a hair out of place?), they’re happy enough with their chaotic lives. And that, if I may say so, is their own ending, and all that really matters.
And they lived happily ever after.
Finis.
story completed Dec 28, 2007
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Awwww! That was great, Liz! <3 I especially liked the tone of your narrator. :D
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TY, KATE! <3
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Thank you so much. This was so much more than I expected when I asked for this a while ago in your post. This means a lot, thank you! <3.
Happy New Year, Liz!
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*off to friend you*
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Thanks for reading! <3
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I'm glad you enjoyed! TY.
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I'm glad you liked the characters I chose to appear as the ghosts - I had a bit of a hard time with those, actually, since I wanted them to sort-of match the book spirits but not be completely predictable. Thanks for reading! \O/