Weeks bled into one another, and for Hermione and Draco, an unexpected symphony began to play. Their love story, a melody both profound and passionate, defied easy definition. It was a vibrant tapestry woven with threads of serenity and scorching desire, punctuated by the occasional discordant note, a reminder of the tempestuous past they both carried.
Each day unfolded like a new verse, a testament to the intricate dance they had begun. The shadows of their history lingered, whispering in the corners of their shared moments. Yet, their present devotion, a flame carefully nurtured, burned bright, offering warmth and a fragile sense of security. They were learning to navigate the complexities of their bond, a work in progress sculpted by shared laughter, whispered apologies, and the raw honesty that bloomed between them.
Bathed in the buttery light of a summer dawn, the Malfoy-Ganger household stirred with an unfamiliar quietude. Draco, usually a restless sleeper, found himself surprisingly content, his gaze tracing the peaceful rise and fall of Hermione's chest. A stray curl tickled her cheek, and with a tenderness that surprised even him, he reached out to brush it aside.
Their journey together had been a whirlwind – icy resentment thawing into a wary truce, then, to his astonishment, blossoming into something far deeper. He still grappled with the echoes of the past, the ghosts of choices made and burdens shared. Yet, nestled here beside her, the air thick with the promise of a new day, he couldn't deny the truth. His life, once a tapestry woven in shades of duty and cold indifference, now held vibrant threads of warmth and something far more precious – love for this fierce, brilliant witch who'd somehow become his anchor.
A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he leaned down, the pad of his thumb brushing a feather-light kiss across her forehead. It was a silent promise, a vow whispered in the quiet of the morning – a vow to cherish this fragile peace, this unexpected love, and to face whatever storms might come, together.
A soft smile played on Draco's lips as he murmured, "Good morning, love." His voice, usually laced with a sardonic edge, was now brushed with a tenderness that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.
Her eyes fluttered open, blinking away the remnants of sleep. "Good morning," she replied, her voice a husky whisper.
"Did you sleep well?" he inquired, his hand lingering on the edge of the duvet, a question hanging in the air.
Hermione nodded, a shy smile gracing her features. "Perfectly," she admitted, the truth laced with an unspoken appreciation for his presence beside her.
"Especially with you here," Draco added, his voice barely above a murmur. Then, with a boldness that surprised even himself, he reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. The brush of his fingertips sent a jolt of electricity through her.
A blush crept up Hermione's neck as she met his gaze. "You always know how to make me feel special," she said softly, the words laced with a newfound vulnerability.
Draco's eyes held hers, his expression intense. "And you are special, Hermione," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "Every moment with you is a gift, darling. A gift I never thought I'd deserve."
Their mornings were often filled with moments like these—simple, yet profound. They would share breakfast, fuck on the table, talking about their plans for the day, laughing over inside jokes, and sometimes just sitting in comfortable silence, fucking on the couch, enjoying each other's presence.
—------------------------------------
Hermione's tranquil afternoon, bathed in the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the conservatory, was abruptly shattered by the sudden gravity that settled on Draco's features. His usual playful banter, the comforting rhythm of their days together, was replaced by a stillness that sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes, normally sparkling with mischief, were now shadowed with a concern that was both unfamiliar and unsettling.
"Hermione," he began, his voice a stark contrast to the cheerful tone she was accustomed to. His fingers found hers, his touch a grounding presence amidst the growing turmoil in her chest. The familiar warmth of his skin was suddenly imbued with an undercurrent of tension, a silent plea for understanding.
"What is it, dearie?" she asked, her voice steady despite the churning in her stomach. The pet name, a playful endearment, hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the seriousness of the moment. As their gazes locked, a silent battle commenced. Her heart, a captive to worry, pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird, desperate for release.
Draco took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around hers. The air crackled with unspoken words, the weight of his coming revelation hanging heavy in the room. "I would like you to come with me to visit my father in Azkaban."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. She knew that Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment had been a heavy burden for Draco, a shadow that loomed over their lives. But she also understood the courage it took for him to ask her to be part of this painful journey.
"Draco, are you sure?" she asked gently, squeezing his hands reassuringly. "Do you think it will help?"
Draco's jaw clenched for a moment, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. Finally, he released a shaky breath. "I need to face him, love. Merlin knows he deserves it, the tosser." A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And... I want you there with me. You've been my anchor, Hermione, my rock through all this. I can't imagine doing this without you."
His voice softened a touch, his gaze holding a vulnerability she hadn't seen before. "It won't be easy. It'll be… unpleasant, at best. But if you're willing to face him with me, to be my strength, I…" He faltered, searching for the right words. "I know it's a lot to ask."
The vulnerability in Draco's eyes sliced through Hermione's apprehension, revealing a raw need for closure, a yearning for some kind of understanding that gnawed at him. His carefully constructed facade crumbled, replaced by a plea that resonated deep within her.
"Of course, I'll come with you," she said softly, the words a balm to the storm brewing within him. Her voice, laced with unwavering support, soothed the knot of anxiety that had tightened in his gut.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm, flickering light over the cozy study. For a moment, the weight of his request seemed to recede, replaced by the comforting hum of the flames and the gentle shadows dancing on the bookshelves. But the unspoken tension lingered in the air, a reminder of the daunting journey they were about to embark on together.
Hermione and Draco sat on a plush green sofa, nestled together under a thick blanket. The comfort of the setting stood in stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere that had settled over them.
A veil of quietude had shrouded Draco all evening. Gone was his usual playful banter, replaced by a distant gaze and a pensive furrow in his brow. Hermione, attuned to the subtle shifts in his mood, watched him with a worried heart. Reaching out, she gently stroked his hand, her touch a silent question, a wordless offering of support.
He didn't flinch, but his fingers remained taut beneath hers, a physical manifestation of the internal struggle playing out within him. It was clear the burden he carried was deeply personal, a private storm brewing behind his guarded facade. Patience, she knew, was the key. She would wait, a steady presence by his side, until he felt ready to share the weight of his turmoil.
"Draco," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper against the heavy silence. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
His gaze met hers, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within – love, fear, and a flicker of something akin to shame. A muscle in his jaw clenched tight, then relaxed with a sigh. "There are things I've never told anyone, Hermione," he confessed, his voice rough. "Things about my childhood… things I've kept buried for so long, locked away in a vault of my own making."
A warmth bloomed in Hermione's chest, dispelling the worry that had settled there. Vulnerability, even from Draco Malfoy, was a sign of trust, a bridge he was offering her to cross. Squeezing his hand, she spoke with quiet conviction, "I'm here for you, Draco. Whatever darkness lurks in those memories, you don't have to face it alone, dearie. We'll face it together."
Her words, laced with unwavering support, were a beacon in the storm raging within him. Perhaps, just perhaps, with her by his side, he could finally unlock that vault and confront the ghosts that haunted him.
The fire crackled hypnotically, casting dancing shadows on the walls of the living room. He stared into the heart of the flames, his expression a mask of warring emotions. Finally, he spoke, his voice rough and laced with a vulnerability he hadn't known he possessed.
"My childhood wasn't some idyllic fairytale," he began, the words tumbling out in a rush. "There was wealth, yes, and a status that opened doors. But within the gilded cage of Malfoy Manor, a different story unfolded."
He took a shaky breath, the air heavy with unspoken memories. Shame flickered in his eyes, a fleeting glimpse into the turmoil he held within. Sensing his struggle, Hermione leaned in, resting her head gently on his shoulder. It was a silent gesture of unwavering support, a wordless promise that she would be his anchor in the stormy seas of his past.
"My father, was... a harsh man".
A flicker of pain crossed his features, a glimpse of the young boy who'd shouldered the weight of those expectations.
"His expectations were impossibly high, and failure was never an option. If I didn't meet his standards, the punishments were severe. He had a way of making me feel worthless, constantly reminding me that I had to live up to the Malfoy name."
His expectations were like a mountain range, ever-present and impossible to scale. Failure wasn't an option, not even a possibility. And when I fell short...He had a way," Draco continued, his voice low, "of making you feel like dust, like you could never be good enough. The Malfoy name," he said, the word laced with a bitterness he couldn't quite mask, "became a burden, a constant reminder of what I was supposed to be, not who I actually was."
His voice grew quieter, tinged with bitterness and pain. "It wasn't just verbal abuse. He would... use spells, curses, to teach me lessons. To 'toughen me up,' as he put it. The Cruciatus Curse was his favorite. The pain... It was excruciating. But what hurt more was the emotional distance, the constant reminder that I was never good enough."
His cane still has scars on his skull. What a fucking monster.
Hermione felt a tremor run through her. She'd known about the Malfoys' rigid expectations, but the raw vulnerability in his voice painted a far harsher picture – a portrait of a childhood under constant pressure, devoid of warmth or acceptance.
Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring the edges of his face. Reaching out, she cupped his cheeks in her hands, her touch a silent plea for him to open up further. "Draco," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "look at me." She needed him to see the unwavering support in her eyes, the strength she offered without reservation. "He doesn't define you," she said softly, her thumb brushing away a tear that escaped down his cheek. "The Malfoy name doesn't have to be a burden. You are so much more than that."
"Draco, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"That's… awful. No child deserves to be treated like that."
He leaned into her touch, seeking solace in the warmth of her hand on his face. "There's more," he confessed, his voice a low rumble. "It wasn't just my father. Mother, bless her heart, tried her best to shield me. But she was trapped in her own gilded cage, her anxieties a constant undercurrent in our lives. The rise of the Dark Lord only amplified the pressure. We had to prove our loyalty, maintain appearances… it felt like we were all suffocating under the weight of expectations."
A flicker of anger crossed Hermione's face, a spark of defiance against the cruelty he'd endured. But it was quickly replaced by a deep sadness. The image of a young Draco, caught between a demanding father and a trapped mother, painted a picture of a lonely childhood, devoid of the love and support a child craved.
A storm of emotions brewed in Draco's eyes – a bitter cocktail of anger and a deep, welling sadness. "I grew up believing that ruthlessness and domination were the only currencies that bought you respect," he confessed, his voice raw.
"It took me far too long to realize there was another path, a way paved with kindness and compassion. A path you, Hermione, helped me see."
His gaze held hers, a silent plea for understanding. He had bared his soul, revealing the scars etched by a loveless childhood, and now, he yearned for her acceptance, for the knowledge that despite his past, he wasn't irredeemable.
A wave of tenderness washed over Hermione, a fierce protectiveness mingling with the love that already bloomed in her heart. She reached up, her fingers brushing a stray tear from his cheek. "Draco," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "you are so much more than the sum of your past."
Her gaze held his, a beacon of unwavering support. "You're brave, Draco. Braver than you give yourself credit for. To face your demons, to choose a different path – that takes a strength not everyone possesses."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips as she continued. "And kind. You have a capacity for kindness that surprised even me. A heart full of love, even if it took a while for you to see it yourself."
Pride, fierce and unwavering, shone in her eyes. "I am so proud of the man you've become, Draco. Proud of you for overcoming the darkness, for choosing the light. And I'll be here beside you, every step of the way."
Kind? That's a weird way of saying that he just gutted and annihilated someone weeks ago. But go off queen.
Relief washed over Draco in waves, a cleansing tide that swept away years of tightly held secrets. He had confessed the ugliness of his past, bracing himself for judgment, but instead, he found solace in the warmth of Hermione's embrace.
Holding her close, he felt a vulnerability he hadn't known he craved. "I love you, darling," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for being my safe harbor, the light that pierces through the shadows I used to carry within."
A single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down his cheek. He wasn't ashamed of it, not anymore. He had finally found the courage to face his past, and in doing so, had found a love that promised a brighter future, a future he would face hand-in-hand with Hermione, his fierce love, his guiding light.
A radiant smile, shimmering with tears, bloomed on Hermione's face. "I love you too, Draco," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And together, we will. Azkaban won't stand a chance against us."
The fireplace continued to cast its warm glow as Draco and Hermione sat together, enveloped in each other's presence. After his emotional revelation, a contemplative silence settled over them. They knew there was more they needed to discuss, especially about the upcoming visit to Azkaban to see Lucius Malfoy.
Draco broke the silence first, his A tense silence settled over the room after their shared moment. Draco, his expression now a mask of steely resolve, cleared his throat. "Hermione, about Azkaban..." he began, his voice steady but laced with a subtle tremor of apprehension. "I want to be prepared for whatever we might face."
Hermione, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what awaited them, met his gaze with understanding. "Absolutely," she agreed, nodding firmly. "We should think through the best and worst-case scenarios. It's important we know what to expect, even if we can't predict everything."
She wanted to kill his father. How could someone hurt a child? How could someone follow someone blindly with no hair and nose?!
He took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. "Best case..." he started, then paused, the weight of the words heavy on his tongue. "Maybe... maybe there's a flicker of regret in him. Perhaps Azkaban's harsh reality has forced him to reflect on his choices, to see the pain he's inflicted. If he can even acknowledge that, Hermione, if he can just offer a shred of remorse, it might be enough. It might give us some semblance of closure."
A flicker of hope, faint and fragile, flickered in his gaze. The possibility, however remote, of his father showing a sliver of humanity was a balm to the years of resentment that festered within him.
Her fingers tightened around his in a silent display of support. "That would be ideal, wouldn't it?" she said softly. "A flicker of humanity, an admission of his mistakes. It would mean there's a sliver of hope for him, a chance he's capable of change, even if just a little. And for you, Draco," she continued, her voice taking on a gentle strength, "it might be the key to unlocking that prison within yourself. The prison of resentment, of anger. Forgiveness might not be on the table, but maybe, just maybe, seeing a shred of remorse from him could allow you to finally move forward."
Draco's gaze flickered, a storm brewing behind his steely resolve. "Worst case..." he began, his voice a low rumble. "He hasn't changed a bit. Still the same arrogant, cruel man who reveled in power and reveled even more in inflicting pain. The thought..." he trailed off, his jaw clenching tight.
"The thought of him trying to manipulate us, to hurt you especially, darling..." He didn't need to finish the sentence. The fierce protectiveness that flared in his eyes spoke volumes. "I don't know if I could hold back. Azkaban's high security wouldn't be enough to stop me from…"
He cut himself off, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air. Shame flickered across his features for a moment, a fleeting reminder of the darkness he'd wrestled with for so long. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to speak calmly. "We'll need a plan, something to ensure your safety no matter what he throws at us."
Oh she had a plan in mind already.
Hermione's eyes softened with concern. "We'll face it together, Draco. If he hasn't changed, we'll know that we've done everything we could. It will be painful, but it will also be a reminder of how far you've come. The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children. You made your own mistakes but you are not defined by his actions."
Draco looked at her, his eyes filled with gratitude and determination. "I know you're right, darling. And no matter what happens, I promise I won't let him hurt you. You're my priority."
Hermione leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "And you're mine, Draco. We'll support each other through this, no matter what. We're stronger together."
Draco nodded, feeling a surge of resolve. "There's one more thing we need to prepare for. If he tries to provoke us, to draw out a reaction... we need to stay calm. We can't give him that power over us."
Hermione agreed. "Yes, we'll stay composed. We won't let him see that he's getting to us. And if it becomes too much, we can leave. We have control over this situation."
Draco tightened his grip on Hermione's hand, his expression a mix of determination and worry. "Hermione, I admire your strength, but hearing those words from him... it won't be easy. Are you sure you're ready for that?"
Hermione met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Draco, I've faced worse and come out stronger. I know he will call me a filthy Mudblood. It doesn't phase me anymore. What matters is that I'm there with you, supporting you."
Draco's eyes softened, a mixture of pride and love shining through. "You're incredible, you know that? I don't deserve you."
Hermione smiled gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. "We're in this together, Draco. Your past doesn't define you, and it doesn't define us. We'll confront it, and then we'll move forward."
Draco nodded, drawing strength from her unwavering support. "Alright. We stick to the plan. We stay composed, we don't let him get to us, and we leave if it becomes too much."
"Exactly," Hermione affirmed. "We've prepared for this, and we'll handle it. No matter what he says, remember that his words have no power over us."
Draco kissed her forehead, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "Let's get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day, and we'll face it together."
They spent the next hour discussing various scenarios, formulating plans for how to respond in different situations. They talked about the questions they wanted to ask, the emotions they might face, and the strength they would need to draw from each other.
"Love"- Draco began while stroking her hair- "I didn't mean to pry, but why do you never talk about your parents"?
Hermione looked up, her eyes reflecting a hint of surprise and sorrow. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before responding. "Dearie, it's not something I talk about often because it's one of the most painful parts of my past."
Draco's expression softened with concern. "You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready. I just want to understand you better, to be there for you."
Hermione nodded, appreciating his sensitivity. "It's okay. You deserve to know. During the war, I had to make some impossible choices to keep them safe. I... I obliviated them. Made them forget they had a daughter and sent them to Australia. It was the only way I knew to protect them.
Draco's eyes widened, a mix of admiration and sadness filling his gaze. "That's incredibly brave of you, darling. But it must have been so hard for you."
A tear slipped down Hermione's cheek. "It was. After the war, I went to find them and reverse the spell. They remembered me, but... things were never quite the same. They understood why I did it, but there was always this... distance. It felt like I lost a part of them, even though they were physically there."
He reached out, gently wiping away her tears. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I can't imagine how difficult that must have been, but believe me, you made the right decision."
She leaned into his touch, drawing comfort from his presence. "It was. And sometimes, talking about it brings back all those feelings of loss and guilt.
Draco pulled her into a tender embrace, his voice a soothing whisper. "You don't have to carry that burden alone anymore.
Hermione buried her face in his chest, finding solace in his warmth. "Thank you."
They held each other in a comforting silence, the weight of their shared pasts easing just a little in the embrace of their love.
They were so in love it was sickening.
-----------—-----------------
The ferry ride to Azkaban was a grim affair. The relentless assault of the icy wind and the churning grey sea mirrored the churning emotions in Draco's gut. Hermione sat beside him, her hand a warm anchor in the gathering chill. He squeezed it gratefully, a silent thank you for her unwavering presence.
As they disembarked and entered the prison itself, the oppressive atmosphere intensified. Cold, damp air clung to the ancient stone walls, and the flickering torches cast grotesque shadows that danced along the dimly lit corridors. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic clang of their boots against the rough-hewn floor and the distant, hollow echo of a scream. A shiver ran down Draco's spine, a prickle of unease that had nothing to do with the physical cold. He stole a glance at Hermione, her expression unreadable but her jaw set with determination. They were in this together, whatever awaited them within the bowels of Azkaban.
As they disembarked and entered the prison itself, the oppressive atmosphere intensified. Cold, damp air clung to the ancient stone walls, and the flickering torches cast grotesque shadows that danced along the dimly lit corridors.
The silence was broken only by the rhythmic clang of their boots against the rough-hewn floor and the distant, hollow echo of a scream. A shiver ran down Draco's spine, a prickle of unease that had nothing to do with the physical cold. He stole a glance at Hermione, her expression unreadable but her jaw set with determination.
They were in this together, whatever awaited them within the bowels of Azkaban.
Finally, the guard stopped before a heavy iron door, its surface marred by countless scratches and dents. With a metallic clang, it swung open, revealing a small, grim room. A single, bare table and two rickety chairs occupied the centre, illuminated by a single flickering sconce that cast long, skeletal shadows across the floor.
Lucius Malfoy sat on one of the chairs, his back straight but shoulders slumped in a way that spoke of defeat more than defiance.
Gone was the arrogance that had once been his signature expression. His face, once pale and aristocratic, was now gaunt and haggard.
The years in Azkaban had etched deep lines around his eyes, which were the only part of him that seemed unchanged. They still held a glimmer of the cold superiority that Draco knew all too well, a flicker of the man he used to be – a man Draco barely recognized anymore.
Lucius's pale lips stretched into a thin, humourless smile.
"Draco," he rasped, his voice roughened by years of disuse and laced with a bitterness that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. His gaze, cold and assessing, flicked to Hermione, lingering for a moment too long. A flicker of disdain, quickly masked by something akin to grudging respect, crossed his features. "Miss Granger," he acknowledged with a curt nod, the formality a stark contrast to the casual way Draco had addressed him.
"Father," Draco replied, his tone a carefully constructed mask of indifference that faltered slightly at the edges. "I wanted you to meet Hermione properly. She's..." He paused, taking a deep breath, the weight of the unspoken word "wife" hanging heavy in the air.
Lucius's face contorted in fury, a stark contrast to the gauntness etched upon it. His once-proud posture crumbled as he spat out the words, laced with venom, "A Mudblood in the Malfoy lineage. How utterly disappointing." The disdain in his voice was a tangible thing, a thick fog threatening to suffocate the meagre hope that had bloomed in Draco's chest.
Oh let the mudblood counter begin.
Unfazed by the outburst, Draco reached into his bag and produced a steaming cup. Placing it carefully on the table in front of his father, he offered a statement rather than a question. "Mother sends her regards. She thought you might enjoy your favourite cup of coffee."
The words hung in the air, a silent challenge to his father's venomous diatribe.
Lucius's eyes narrowed further as he stared at the untouched cup. The air crackled with unspoken tension. He finally broke eye contact, a flicker of something akin to pain crossing his features before he schooled his expression back into a mask of indifference. "Tell your mother I… appreciate the gesture," he said curtly, his voice betraying a hint of fatigue.
Draco, unfazed by his father's emotional evasion, pressed on. "She hopes you're well, Father," he continued evenly. "Despite everything, she still cares about you." His voice held a quiet plea, a desperate hope for some shred of normalcy, some flicker of a bond that hadn't been completely severed by years of estrangement.
Lucius cradled the cup in his bony hands, the warmth seeping into his chilled fingers. He hesitated for a beat too long, the silence heavy with unspoken emotions. Finally, he raised the cup to his lips and drained it in one long gulp, the bitter coffee a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within him.
Setting the cup down with a faint clatter, he met Draco's gaze, a flicker of vulnerability flitting across his hardened features. "Your mother," he began, his voice raspy with disuse, "always was too sentimental for her own good." A faint, humourless smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Perhaps that's not such a bad thing, in the end."
Draco saw the faintest of tremors in his father's hands, a silent acknowledgment of Narcissa's love, a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had grown between them. "She cares about you, Father," Draco repeated, his voice firm but laced with a sliver of hope. "We both do."
Lucius's eyes flickered to Hermione, who stood by Draco's side, watching the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
Lucius's gaze flickered across the room, landing on Hermione for a long, assessing moment.
Her hand, firmly clasped in Draco's, seemed to bristle with defiance. A sardonic smile played on his lips.
"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione began, her voice firm and laced with a hint of scholarly forbearance, "while the concept of blood purity may have held significant social sway in the past, its continued adherence in the face of mounting evidence to the contrary can only be classified as anachronistic."
A sardonic smile played on Lucius's lips as he leaned back in his chair. "Anachronistic, is it?" he drawled, his amusement laced with a touch of bitterness. "The purity of one's lineage, Miss Granger, has long been considered the cornerstone of wizarding society. Perhaps your esteemed studies haven't delved deeply enough into the foundational texts?" His voice dripped with condescension as he dismissed her argument.
"On the contrary, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione countered, her voice unwavering, "my research has provided a comprehensive understanding of the historical underpinnings of such beliefs. However, recent sociological studies, along with a growing body of magical theory, all point towards the fallacy of such antiquated notions."
She took a deep breath, pushing forward. "Our presence here signifies an attempt to establish a modicum of mutual comprehension, a bridge across the chasm that has divided our families for far too long."
Draco's posture exuded unwavering conviction, his voice a testament to his emotional fortitude. "While the initial circumstances surrounding our union may have been externally imposed, Father, the love we share transcends such constraints. Hermione has become the fulcrum upon which my existence pivots, a radiant beacon that illuminates the path towards a more virtuous self. Through her unwavering challenges and unwavering support, she has empowered me to forge a persona I once deemed unattainable."
His gaze locked with Lucius's, a silent plea for comprehension shimmering within their depths. "Perhaps," Draco continued, his voice softening into a poignant timbre, "you could attempt to transcend the limitations of the pejorative label you have assigned her. Through such an effort, you might glean a deeper understanding of the profound significance she holds in my life. In essence, she embodies the catalyst for the metamorphosis I stand before you as living testament to."
Draco squared his shoulders, his gaze unwavering as it met Lucius's. "The impetus for our marital union," he began, his voice laced with quiet resolve, "was not solely a response to external pressures.
My affections for Hermione predated that obligation, blossoming organically into a love that transcends the confines of societal constraints. She has become the lodestar of my existence, a luminous beacon that illuminates the path towards moral rectitude. Through her unwavering challenges and steadfast support, she has empowered me to forge a persona I once deemed an unattainable ideal."
Draco let the weight of his words hang in the air, his gaze unwavering as he met Lucius's. "Prior to this moment," he began, his voice a measured testament to his emotional growth, "the acquisition of your sanction held a significant position within the hierarchy of my desires. However, in the crucible of time and experience, that yearning has been eclipsed by the profound depth of the love and respect that binds Hermione and me in an unyielding consortium. Through her unwavering expression of empathy and unwavering fidelity to our bond, she has furnished me with a hithertofore elusive comprehension of the essence of unconditional positive regard – the steadfast commitment to advocate for another with the totality of one's being, absent any preconditions or external contingencies."
Draco's voice softened, imbued with a poignant blend of tenderness and unwavering resolve. "During a particularly tumultuous period in my life, one characterised by profound disorientation and haunted by the spectres of our family's tarnished past – a period, I might add, that was undeniably exacerbated by the psychological ramifications inflicted upon me as a result of your own choices – Hermione remained an unwavering pillar of support. She exhibited unwavering faith in my capacity for redemption, even during those moments when I myself doubted the possibility of metamorphosis.
Fueled by the unwavering intensity of her love, I was empowered to disentangle myself from the restrictive paradigms of our lineage and embark on a path of personal reformation, striving to cultivate a self worthy of her unwavering trust and allegiance."
His gaze drifted towards Hermione, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within its depths. "Paternal approval or sanction holds no particular weight in the grand tapestry of my existence, Father. The cornerstone of my current reality is the life Hermione and I are meticulously constructing together, a future imbued with the promise of mutual fulfilment. She embodies the very essence of partnership, a confidante par excellence, and the very core of my being. My unwavering dedication to her protection, the cherishment of her presence, and the boundless love that courses through my veins with each inhalation are independent of your judgement. The foundation of our happiness is not contingent upon your endorsement; it is inextricably linked to the formidable bond we have forged, a connection that transcends the potency of any malevolent curse or the limitations of mere blood relations."
Draco's posture stiffened, his resolve solidifying into an impenetrable core. "Therefore, comprehend this unequivocally: my unwavering commitment to Hermione transcends the constraints of any arbitrary legal construct. She embodies the very essence of love in my life, and no amount of verbal barbs or manipulative tactics at your disposal can alter that immutable truth."
Thank Merlin for the private tutoring, because he's not sure how else would he form a fucking coherent sentence.
Lucius's icy gaze burned with an inferno of indignation. "Love? You posit this ephemeral sentiment as a justification for such a transgression? You have demonstrably weakened the purity of our bloodline, sullying the legacy we have so meticulously strived to preserve."
A glint of malevolent amusement flickered in Lucius's eyes as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with venomous disdain.
"One might be led to believe, Ms. Granger, that a single application of the Cruciatus Curse proved insufficient for your… rehabilitation. Perhaps my esteemed sister-in-law lacked the requisite finesse in her execution of the spell."
Despite the tremor that snaked down her spine, Hermione held her ground, refusing to grant Lucius the satisfaction of witnessing her trepidation.
"On the contrary, Mr. Malfoy," she countered, her voice laced with unwavering conviction, "the barbarous act inflicted upon me by your relative only served to bolster my resolve. It ignited a burning awareness within me of the paramount importance to combat the virulent hatred your family lineage has so vehemently propagated."
Lucius's sneer deepened, but Draco stepped forward, his protective instincts flaring. "Enough, Father," Draco interjected, his voice firm and laced with a quiet authority. "Hermione is not merely my wife, but by virtue of our marital union, your daughter-in-law. As such, she is a direct blood relative through the legal construct of marriage, and therefore merits your respect. If not for her intrinsic worth, then perhaps for the fortitude she has demonstrated in the face of adversity."
Lucius's icy gaze flitted towards Draco, a flicker of something akin to begrudging curiosity flickering within its depths. "Respect, you say?" he scoffed, a sardonic edge lacing his voice. "Respect is a commodity that must be earned, Draco, not bestowed frivolously."
A steely glint hardened Draco's features. "And Hermione has demonstrably earned that respect tenfold," he countered, his voice unwavering. "Her reserves of courage and inner strength far surpass your capacity for comprehension, and indeed, your own demonstrably limited capacity for such virtues."
Lucius's gaze shifted back to Hermione, his expression hard.
"While I may concede the possibility of your merits, Miss Granger, your fraternisation with a Mudblood, undermines the long-established Malfoy principles of blood purity."
"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper"- He smirked. Golden girl might have a golden cunt, but don't even think about for one second that I'll ever approve of this." Lucius's voice now was trembling with annoyance.
WHAT THE FUCK???
Draco's voice shook with anger as he confronted his father. "Don't ever talk about my wife in that manner ever again, Father," he shouted, his eyes blazing with intensity.
Hermione stood by Draco's side, her hand on his arm in a silent show of support. She met Lucius's cold gaze with a steely one of her own. "You may have once been Draco's father, but you have no right to speak to me like that," she said, her voice calm yet firm.
Lucius's smirk faded, replaced by a sneer. "You think you can stand up to me, Mudblood?" he spat. "You're nothing but a stain on the Malfoy name."
Draco clenched his fists, his jaw tight with fury. "Enough. Father, while I acknowledge your lineage, I must insist on civility towards Hermione. As my wife, she merits your respect."
Lucius leaned back in his chair, his expression darkening. "Respect? For a Mudblood? Never," he scoffed.
Hermione's heart raced, her hands trembling with suppressed anger. She had expected hostility from Lucius Malfoy, but his contempt cut deeper than she had anticipated. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she replied, "The intensity of your disapproval holds no sway over our marital bond, Draco and I share a deep affection that transcends external influences."
Lucius's lip curled in disdain.
"Love? There's no room for such weakness in our world," he retorted.
"You know, Lucius," Hermione began, her voice cool and steady, "there is one good thing about bringing gifts to Azkaban—they never check for Muggle ones."
She winked at him, a chilling smile on her face. "What you are drinking right now is not just a regular coffee. Soon you will feel unwell, like you've got the flu. That will be the ricin I gave you. That is a poison, nastier than the one you fed to your son for decades."
Lucius Malfoy's face contorted with a mixture of shock and rage, his eyes widening in disbelief. He stared at Hermione, a flush of fear creeping up his neck. For the first time since they entered the room, he felt a cold chill run down his spine.
"You... you wouldn't dare," Lucius stammered, his voice betraying his fear.
Her grin widened, but there was no warmth in it. "Oh, I dare. You see, Lucius, I'm not like you. I don't need a wand to defeat my enemies. I have other ways."
Draco stepped forward, his expression conflicted but resolute. "Goodbye Father."
His eyes locked with Lucius's. "You taught me that sometimes the most powerful magic is found in the simplest things. You taught me how to be strong, how to survive. And now, you're going to learn that lesson yourself."
Lucius Malfoy's face turned pale, and he struggled to maintain his composure. "You... you can't do this. You're a witch—you'll be caught!"
Hermione's voice was like ice. "Oh, I won't be. No one will suspect a thing. After all, why would anyone suspect a harmless cup of coffee with sweetener in it?"
Draco looked at Hermione, his expression softening. "Let's go, love," he said gently, leading her out of the room.
Hermione glanced back at Lucius, who watched them leave with a mixture of disdain and resignation. She knew their visit hadn't gone as she had hoped, but at least Draco had stood up for her. As they walked through the corridors of Azkaban, Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that their meeting was over.
The magic version of Bonnie and Clyde.
Draco walked beside Hermione in silence, the weight of what she had done hanging heavily between them. After a while, he stopped, gently touching her arm to get her attention. She turned to him, her eyes searching his face for any trace of anger or disappointment.
"Thank you," Draco said quietly, his voice filled with a mix of relief and sorrow. "Thank you for freeing me from my demons."
Hermione's heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Draco, I..." she started, but he cut her off.
"I know you did it for us," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "I know you did it to protect me, to protect our future together."
Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes, and she nodded, unable to speak. She pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him close as he buried his face in her shoulder.
"I can't imagine how hard it was for you," Draco continued, his voice muffled against her neck. "But thank you for doing what needed to be done."
Hermione held him tighter, silently letting her tears fall. She didn't regret her decision, but the weight of it pressed heavily on her heart. In that moment, she knew that despite the darkness they had faced, they would face the future together, stronger than ever.
"I love you, Hermione," Draco whispered, his words tinged with both sadness and gratitude.
"I love you too, Draco," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.
They stood there, holding each other, finding solace and strength in their shared love and the knowledge that they had overcome yet another obstacle together.
Once again, they are so in love it's disgusting at this point. Happy murderous family.
--------------------—------------------
28 hours later, Draco stood beside Hermione, their hands clasped tightly, their gazes fixed on the open grave of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. The still morning air hung heavy with the weight of the past, a tangible silence that pressed down upon them.
Neither of them felt sorrow.
Regret was a stranger to them at this moment. Instead, a profound sense of detachment washed over them, as if they were observing the end of a chapter they'd long since stopped reading. It was a cold, clinical peace that had settled in the aftermath of a storm.
The man lowered into the earth had once been a towering figure in their lives, a symbol of power and darkness. But now, as the first shovelfuls of soil began to cover the coffin, he was merely a ghost of the past, a relic of a world they had both fought to escape.
Narcissa stood nearby, composed and solemn. Her eyes betrayed a sense of relief rather than grief. Years of heavy burdens seemed to lift from her shoulders as she watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. A single tear escaped Narcissa's eye as the coffin disappeared from sight. It was a solitary drop, a silent acknowledgement of a life lived, a chapter closed. She glanced at Draco and Hermione, a small nod of acknowledgment passing between them.
No one spoke during the service. The sky was overcast, matching the somber mood of those gathered. As the minister concluded the ceremony, everyone began to disperse slowly. Draco and Hermione stayed behind for a moment longer, their thoughts their own.
Finally, Draco turned to Hermione and squeezed her hand. "Thank you," he said quietly.
Hermione met his gaze, understanding his gratitude. "You don't need to thank me," she replied softly. "I did what I had to do."
Draco nodded, a small, sad smile on his face. "I know," he said, his voice filled with a mix of emotions. "But I'm grateful. For everything."
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
After Lucius's funeral, Narcissa invited Draco and Hermione to have tea at their family estate. The tension in the tea parlour was thick enough to slice with a knife. Narcissa, though outwardly composed, seemed to radiate an aura of fragility. Her eyes, usually so cold and calculating, held a vulnerability that was both surprising and unsettling. She poured tea with trembling hands, her movements slow and deliberate.
Draco and Hermione sat across from her, their own discomfort evident. The ornate tea set, usually a symbol of elegance and refinement, seemed out of place in the charged atmosphere.
"Hermione," she began, her eyes holding a mixture of sorrow and something akin to pleading. "The onus of contrition falls upon me, Hermione. Firstly, for Bellatrix's transgressions, actions for which I accept vicarious culpability. Secondly, for my own lapse in communication, a failing that has undoubtedly fostered an undeserved sense of isolation."
Hermione's expression softened at the unexpected apology. She had not expected this from Narcissa, who had once been her enemy. "Thank you, Narcissa," she replied quietly, her voice tinged with emotion. "Your words mean a lot to me."
Draco looked at his mother, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his eyes. He had never heard his mother speak like this before. "Mother," he said softly, "thank you."
"My love for Lucius was a tapestry woven with both devotion and shadows, Draco," Narcissa said, her voice thick with emotion. "The complexities of love often defy linear definition. Undoubtedly, Lucius possessed unwavering loyalty, a quality most admirable. However, his paternal expression left an undeniable void in your tapestry, a thread that remains, perhaps, a shade darker than the rest."
Draco and Hermione listened attentively, both curious and cautious about where this conversation would lead.
"Lucius' expectations, I surmise, were a heavy burden to bear," she said gently. "He craved an extension of himself, a reflection of his ambition in you. The Malfoy name, with its weight of history, became a mantle he draped upon your shoulders, perhaps overlooking the need for emotional sustenance and genuine connection."
Draco's jaw clenched, his gaze falling to the tea in his cup. He had never fully grasped the extent of his mother's insight into his father's harsh expectations.
"My love for you Draco, was an act of quiet rebellion, a deflection of Lucius' ambitions. I ought to create a sanctuary within the storm, a haven where your draconian expectations held less sway. Yet, the confines of societal pressure and his unwavering pursuit of legacy undoubtedly limited your ability to fully shield him from the emotional brunt of his upbringing."
Hermione reached out and squeezed Narcissa's arm in a gesture of empathetic understanding. "The constraints you faced, Narcissa, were undoubtedly formidable," she said gently.
"Caught between the Scylla of societal expectations and the Charybdis of your husband's ambition, navigating a course that prioritised Draco's emotional well-being must have been a herculean task."
Draco looked up, meeting his mother's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and understanding. "I know, Mother," he said quietly. "And I appreciate everything you've done for me."
Scylla and Charybdis, where any misstep can lead to disastrous consequences.
A tremor of emotion flickered across Narcissa's face, a silent war between societal propriety and maternal yearning. "Draco," she began, her voice thick with unspoken affection, "the mosaic of our bond transcends the vicissitudes of circumstance. The trials we weathered may have frayed the edges, but the threads of love, however obscured, have never truly severed."
That was as close to an "I love you" as it gets.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of their shared history heavy in the room. For Draco and Hermione, hearing Narcissa's perspective brought a new understanding of the complex dynamics within the Malfoy family. It was a moment of healing, of acknowledging the past and finding a path forward together. it."
Draco swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in his throat. He had never heard his mother speak so openly about their family's past. "Mother," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I understand. And I forgive you."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of years of pain and regret hanging in the air. Narcissa's gaze softened, a flicker of vulnerability replacing its usual stoicism. "The sentiment is appreciated, my dragon," she replied. "While the past cannot be rewritten, its lessons can serve as guideposts for navigating the present. If an opportunity arises where my experience can be of strategic assistance, I would be most willing to lend it."
Hermione nodded gratefully, her heart touched by Narcissa's sincerity. "Thank you, Narcissa,for everything" she said, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling within her. "Also your apology means a lot to me."
Draco reached out and took Hermione's hand, squeezing it gently. "It means a lot to both of us," he added quietly, his eyes meeting Narcissa's.
A flicker of sadness crossed Hermione's face, a subtle counterpoint to Narcissa's regrets. "While the path may not have always led to the most desirable outcome, I assure you, your love for Draco, however veiled by circumstance, was a guiding light in his life."
Narcissa's voice softened, a wistful quality lacing her words. "Confession compels me to admit, Hermione," she began, "that I harboured a long-held aspiration to welcome a daughter into our family fold. Forgive the inherent bias, Draco," she added with a hint of amusement directed at her son, "but my vision was ever of a being imbued with both intellectual brilliance and an abundance of compassion. In you, Hermione, I find that very aspiration unexpectedly fulfilled, a delightful serendipity that has graced our family tapestry with a thread richer than I could have ever preconceived."
That sudden statement earned a small chuckle from the two of them.
As they finished their tea, a comfortable silence descended upon the room, broken only by the clinking of china against saucers. Yet, within that quietude, a subtle transformation unfolded.
The air, once heavy with unspoken grievances and the weight of past sorrows, seemed to lighten. A sense of healing, tentative at first, bloomed gradually, like a fragile flower pushing through cracked earth. It was a reconciliation not yet complete, but a seed nonetheless, planted in the fertile ground of mutual understanding.
Draco stole a glance at Hermione, his eyes reflecting a newfound resolve that intertwined with a tenderness he hadn't dared express before. The years of hardship and the trials they had weathered together had forged a bond deeper than either could have ever imagined. Narcissa, her usually composed demeanour etched with the faint lines of the day's emotional toll, surprised even herself by reaching out. Her hand, cool and slender, touched Hermione's briefly, a silent gesture that spoke volumes. It was an acceptance long overdue, an unspoken apology woven into a touch that held the weight of years.
In that quiet moment, a shared vulnerability flickered between them. For the first time in a long while, perhaps ever, a glimmer of hope for their future flickered into existence. It was a fragile flame, easily extinguished by the harsh winds of the past. Yet, they held onto it fiercely, a beacon in the darkness. The chasm that had separated them, built from layers of pain, both shared and individual, remained vast.
But for the first time, they saw a way to bridge it, not with empty words but with genuine understanding and a willingness to forgive.