Her Sweet, Decadent Smile

☘ Epilogue ☘

Whenever she would look back, even a few years later, she would still feel a slight ache in her chest. Her recollection of the things that had happened between them, the murders, the deaths, seemed only a dream, scattered glass shards in her mind. Once in a while these shards of memories would cut her and tears, instead of blood, would pour out.

Draco served a few years in Azkaban. It was a small price to pay for all the crimes he had committed. But Worden deemed it fair, considering he had suffered so much in the hands of Voldemort. Once he was released, the Wizaring World welcomed him again, especially after the Prophet had published the story of how he had stopped Voldemort's second rising.

He hadn't fully recovered, as Blaise had said. Even after his time in Azkaban, there was still a monster inside him that would probably never die. It was a permanent scar that he was burdened with for the rest of his life.

But she would be there for him this time.

Today was a Saturday morning, and they were in the lovely Malfoy Garden.

Hermione was dressed in a comfortable white sundress and her husband had one arm wrapped affectionately around her waist.

They were watching two little kids playing in the grass. One was picking flowers to put in her pale blonde, bushy hair. Her skin was porcelain white and she looked doll-like in her little pink dress. The other one was playing in a puddle of mud and smearing some on his cheeks and blond hair, the epitome of his father. But he never let the mud get into his silver eyes.

On Sundays, the Potters, (Luna and Harry, and their twin sons) would come over.

On Fridays, they would eat dinner at Grandma Brielle Zabini's place, and play with the Zabini kids.

Dennis came to visit five times a week.

Hermione loved the feel of Draco's hand in hers. She always loved holding his hand. Seven years had passed since Voldemort's death. Draco hadn't killed anyone since. He kept his promise. He still got a little jealous and possessive at times, but nothing bordering on evil anymore. Nightmares still plague him at night, but she would always be there to calm him down.

Because of this, he would often look at her for reassurance and whisper, "Tell me you love me?"

"I love you," she would respond, always, without hesitation. And he wouldn't feel so scared and alone anymore.

She would smile, too, because he loved her smiles the most.

And all was well.

The End.