Draco's heart pounded fiercely against his ribs, a wild rhythm echoing the chaos within him. Impulse guided his every move as he pulled Hermione into the secluded alcove, a sanctuary from the tumult of his mind. With a desperate yearning to break free from the overwhelming surge of his thoughts and emotions, he passionately kissed her, causing the world around them to fade into insignificance.
Each touch and kiss ignited a fiery inferno, incinerating the weight of his reality. He pressed her against the cool stone wall, feeling her yield to him effortlessly, as though she understood the depths of his turmoil without a single word spoken. The memory of their first clandestine meeting here lingered like a ghost, a poignant reminder of a time when everything had shattered around him. Yet, in her presence, he found a fleeting peace.
"Draco," her voice, soft and uncertain, pulled at something deep inside him as she spoke his name. He trailed kisses along her neck, feeling her pulse quicken beneath his lips, her skin warm against his. "Do you feel like talking about it?" she questioned, her breathless words providing comfort to his broken soul.
His mind swirled with the revelation Theo had delivered, a truth so harsh it threatened to consume him whole. That Pansy was gone, spared from the cruelty of the castle, but not his father. The experiences that he had in the room with Ginny and the maze with Harry were so surreal and unexpected that they completely shook his very foundation, forcing him to question everything he thought he knew to be real. Without those encounters, Theo's claims might have seemed mere fantasy. But now, faced with the undeniable horrors they had all endured, Draco could not escape the truth.
It was a revelation to him that Pansy had always been free from the castle's whims, a fact that brought forth a surge of conflicting emotions within him—relief mingled with guilt, a powerful force threatening to engulf him. With his eyes tightly shut, he fought to banish the intrusive thoughts, seeking solace in the sensation of Hermione's mouth against his.
"I want to forget, just for a moment," he confessed. The weight of what he said became palpable, filling the space between them. The instant they escaped, he instinctively pulled back, fully comprehending their gravity. She was worthy of something greater than this. Something more meaningful than a distraction. This was not merely anything to him, but something significant, perhaps even everything to him.
As he gestured vaguely between them, Draco's tone softened to a murmur, almost lost amidst the turmoil swirling within him. "That is not what I meant. You and I... it's..." His voice faltered, like the fragile thing between them was slipping through his fingers, as he perched on the edge of the lounge. "You deserve everything, more than I can offer. My intention was never to belittle your significance by reducing you to a mere escape. But that's what you've been, haven't you? A temporary reprieve from reality." He could feel himself rambling, the words tumbling out in a jumble of emotions he could barely contain. "I'm making a mess of this, aren't I? I simply wanted... I wanted to go back to when you were merely the girl across the Great Hall, with your overly sweet tea, and..."
A soft and melodious chuckle suddenly interrupted his self-deprecating thoughts, causing him to lift his head and find her standing above him, exuding a serene sense of confidence in her eyes.
"This is more than a distraction for me, too," she murmured, her voice a velvet caress against his senses. She gracefully manoeuvred herself, sliding her knee between his legs, sending a thrilling shiver of anticipation down his spine. He held his breath as she moved, lightly grazing the corner of his mouth with an enticing touch.
"Use me to forget, Draco," her words were a whispered plea, laden with a raw, desperate longing that ignited a fierce ache within him. The air crackled with unspoken emotions as she leaned in closer, her lips gently brushing against his. The sensation was electric, sending a ripple of conflicting emotions through his veins. He became lost in the overwhelming feeling as he felt her warmth against his skin, her breath mingling with his. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, but before he could respond, his rationality collided with his desires.
Without hesitation, Draco's hand found its way into her hair, his fingers tangling in the strands with a gentle tug. A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. His touch, at first delicate, grew bolder as he gripped the base of her neck, a silent invitation for her to yield to him.
The moment he pulled her onto his lap, a potent mix of desire and possessiveness flooded his senses. The room faded away, leaving only the two of them in the fucked up world they had found themselves in. With her knees bracketing his hips, she pressed herself closer. Their lips moved together, perfectly in sync, and their tongues entangled in a dance that left them breathless. With each passing second, the kiss became more intense, eliciting an immediate response from his body and unleashing a primal pleasure that coursed through him like an electric current.
Draco's heart raced as her fingers skillfully undid the buttons of his shirt. The anticipation and yearning in her touch were palpable, but he knew he had to regain control of the situation. He wanted to savour the moment, to make sure he didn't stumble and embarrass himself. He pulled himself back, and then his gaze connected with her. The fire in her eyes consumed him. Fuck. A soft, breathy laugh escaped from her lips. So he refrained from saying that in his head like he thought, and she chose not to slow down.
When she tugged his shirt free, she responded to him playfully. "That's exactly what I'm trying to convey here, Draco. Your observation is truly brilliant."
Despite the light-hearted tone she adopted, he could detect a certain level of uncertainty in her gaze, mingled with a subtle tinge of fear of rejection, that appeared to hide beneath the smirk she displayed on her face. He surged forward, his lips meeting her collarbone as his hands gripped her hips. He stood up, pivoted at a leisurely pace, and then delicately lowered her onto her back. Surprise flashed in her eyes as he came down on top of her. He gently kissed her neck while he tugged at the bottom of her jumper. As she leaned up, she forcefully yanked it over her head, leaving Draco with no choice but to gaze down at her in astonishment. The brassiere she had on was a thin, baby pink lace piece that barely covered her. Yeah, he was going to embarrass himself.
He dropped back down to cover her as he reeled himself in. He would need to make this good for her if he ever wanted a repeat performance, which meant that he needed to get her off before she touched him. Slowly, he traced his lips along the delicate curve of her neck, eliciting a shiver from her. The moment her fingertips contacted him, he immediately grabbed her wrist to keep her from moving. He lifted them above her, regaining control. Draco could feel the heat radiating from her body as she squirmed beneath him, her desire evident in every movement. With determination, he braced her arms above her, restricting her from touching him just yet. His tongue tenderly skimmed her skin, enticing a parade of gasps and sighs from her
Draco's hand slid gently along her silhouette, his touch delicate, as he traced the contours of her figure, awakening an intense desire to tear apart the fabric that kept them separated, to push her repeatedly to the edge only to pull her back. She twisted in his hold, but the tight flex of his fingers compelled her to stay put. He released her wrists, leaving them elevated above her head. Hermionedidn't move as he slipped down her body, his tongue trailing the curve of her hip as he met the waistband of her pants. His eyes flitted to hers, and it took only a flip of his thumb on the button to release her from their confines. Rather than removing them, he left his hands on the sides of her thighs, lightly caressing them as she trembled beneath him. He loved how, even through her clothes, she responded so beautifully to him. Anticipation of touch could be just as devastating as the actual act. If she was patient enough, he could bring her right to the brink before he ever touched her bare.
Lifting his head, Draco's gaze fixed on her chest, rising and falling. An intense desire overwhelmed him, urging him to lean up and gently grasp the lace that adorned her with his mouth. However, he resisted the temptation and instead lowered himself, maintaining eye contact with her while he grazed his teeth against her hipbone. Hermione released a broken breath as he exhaled on the spot, soothing it.
Draco took his time, leisurely brushing his lips across the expanse of her lower stomach, barely grazing her delicate flesh but generating a series of goosebumps that traced back to his every touch. His hands, steady and deliberate, began to roll the fabric of her pants down, revealing more of her flushed skin. As Hermione's arms instinctively moved to remove the clothing, he clicked his tongue softly, a command for her to leave them in place.
Dropping her hands into position, Hermione responded by lifting her hips, allowing him to slide the material down her legs effortlessly. With a swift movement, he rose onto his knees and forcefully tore the garments off, his eyes greedily absorbing the mesmerising sight of her curves. Using a gentle caress, his fingertips lightly brushed over her soft, flawless skin, tracing a path from the arch of her feet all the way up to the flesh of her upper thighs.
Draco leaned forward, the faint light of the room casting a glow on their intertwined bodies. He hovered over her, his warm breath gently brushing against Hermione's neck. With her body fully relaxed and giving in to his embrace. She released a broken exhale as he settled onto her, seeking a deeper connection. The subtle scent of her lingering tea on her exhalation enveloped the air, enticing his senses. He yearned to sink his teeth into the tender junction of her shoulder, curious if every part of her tasted as sweet.
"Are you going to be patient, Granger?" His nose traced a path up the column of her throat, his touch both delicate and demanding.
"Yes," her voice barely audible as she swallowed.
With his mouth by her ear, his tone dropped to a low, seductive whisper. "But can you be still for me, love?"
"I..." He cut off her words as his tongue delicately mapped her jawline. "Yes," Hermione gasped.
Continuing his slow exploration of her body, Draco's fingertips sketched delicate patterns along her ribs. The anticipation grew with every ticking second, intensifying the desire that pulsed between them. His breath, warm and teasing, caressed her skin, making her arch up into him, searching. With each inch he mapped, he drew closer to his destination, until, at last, his hands brushed against the intricate lace band encircling her hips. In an instant, an invigorating surge of energy surged through him as the material yielded to his caress, allowing him to venture beneath it. He released the fabric, and it snapped back into place, causing her to inhale sharply, the sound amplifying in the room's silence. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them, as if the pair both knew that this moment was about to transcend everything else. With a subtle, knowing smirk, he looked at her through his long, dark lashes. In a calculated and unhurried manner, he edged downwards and securely grasped the barrier between his teeth. With the knowledge that he was fully in control of her pleasure, the slow, deliberate removal of the obstacle sent gratification coursing through his veins. The moments seemed to stand still as he savoured every second, as if he had all the time in the world to witness her unravel underneath him. They both needed this, this escape from reality. The intoxicating rush of forgetting and simply feeling, touching, and surrendering to the undeniable tension that bound them together.
He shook with restraint, the urge to sink himself into her, to join them in one solid push. But he resisted the temptation, and lowered his face to the curves of her legs, blowing air onto the wetness that he found there. Desire and anticipation permeated the room, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. They had been teasing each other for what felt like an eternity, building up the tension between them. He wanted to consume her, to drink her in, to taste every bit that dripped down her thighs, to not waste a single drop. Hermione squirmed, her body arching towards him, desperate for his touch.
"Where's the patience, Hermione?" he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of desire and amusement.
She whimpered, "I'm trying. I can be good."
Hermione's words only fueled him further. He drew his finger through her wetness as she spoke, feeling her tremble beneath him. She moaned, whispering pleas, silently praying to be brought to the heights of pleasure they both desired.
Who was he to deny her anything? As he flattened his tongue, tracing the same path his hand had taken, her thighs trembled in response to his actions. This. This is precisely why he enjoyed teasing, caressing, and taking his time. She was ready to crumble underneath him, and he had barely touched her. Leisurely, he skillfully circled his tongue around her clit, teasingly light, wanting to make her ache with anticipation before granting her the intense pressure she craved.
"So good for me," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her lips. Her heart raced, her muscles tense with eagerness, as she fought the urge to respond. He understood that she had her limits, knowing that her patience would run out. He revelled in the knowledge that soon she would surrender, her desire becoming demanding and insistent.
A mischievous smirk played on his lips as he trailed delicate kisses just above her most sensitive spot, his chin grazing against her in all the right ways. Her skin blazed with an intoxicating heat, a rosy flush consuming her freckled complexion. His hands, still resting on the lounge beneath them, ventured up her trembling thighs, applying firm pressure. With purpose, his fingers delved deeper, spreading her open to him.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the sound of her ragged breaths filling the air. The need in the room was palpable as he struggled to maintain control. Every fibre of his being yearned to shatter her restraint, to unleash the raw desire that simmered beneath the surface. Breaking her was his ultimate goal, an irresistible need that consumed him.
Slowly, he leaned in and positioned his mouth near her entrance. Using his tongue to collect the gathered wetness, Draco emitted a deep groan of pleasure as her unique taste overwhelmed his senses. The vibration from his lips elicited yet another moan from her, the sound fueling his desire as he automatically rolled his hips against the lounge, relishing in the friction. He chose not to waste any time. Giving her exactly what she craved, he firmly moved his lips against her, creating the friction she desperately sought. Her body reacted instinctively to his touch, contorting in a graceful arch as he grasped her hipbones and drew her closer. In a bold manoeuvre, she elevated her hips, draping her leg seductively over his shoulder, enabling her to fully engulf him.
With a tantalising slowness, he teased her with deliberate strokes of his tongue, gradually building up the intensity before latching onto her clit and sucking vigorously. Hermione's hands swiftly dove into his hair. There she is. He rewarded her, teasingly sliding his fingertips towards her opening. He was so eager for his cock to be the first thing that she came on, but Draco couldn't trust himself to hold back. With a gradual motion, he entered her, feeling her walls tighten. As Draco withdrew his mouth, his breath washed over her while his fingers tenderly caressed her front walls. Hermione trembled beneath him, pushing herself down in a feeble attempt to ride his hand.
"Look at you, love. So eager, using me, making a mess all over this lounge."
Draco didn't let her respond as he took her in his mouth. Each plea Hermione uttered escaped her in ragged, gasping breaths. He moved with purpose, his teeth grazing gently before his lips enveloped her, sucking fervently, his tongue flicking to ease the slight sting. As she teetered on the edge, her body pulsating around his fingers, he knew she needed more - the freedom to surrender, to succumb to the intensity. His hand slid sensually from her hip, finding its place firmly on her ass.
"Can you squeeze your thighs for me, love? Keep me right where you want me," Draco whispered, his voice laced with desire to witness her unravel. Her repeated affirmations spurred him on, using his strength to elevate her hips, deepening his exploration with his mouth. She tensed desperately, gripping his fingers as his skilled tongue moved in rhythmic motions, sucking, pulling, and flicking her with precision.
In a matter of seconds, she came undone beneath him, her hands firmly entangled in his hair as she rode his face without abandon. Draco maintained his unyielding rhythm, willingly surrendering control to her as Hermione unabashedly indulged in using him for whatever she desired. It's almost as if the Gods had intricately crafted his face specifically for this purpose - to be used by her, to be adorned with her essence, marking him and making him unsuitable for anyone or anything else but her—but this.
As she came down, her fingers tightened their grip on his strands, exerting more pressure, causing him to feel the tug, a mix of pleasure and pain. In that moment, he yearned to lose himself in her once more, craving the sensation of unravelling her repeatedly. Yet, the fiery look in her eyes compelled him to move closer, his heart pounding in his chest. She glided her tongue along his chin, tasting herself, and he was stunned, his senses overwhelmed as she travelled her way to his lips. With a fervent embrace, Draco pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue diving in to retrieve everything she had just stolen from him. Hermione's heels dug into his hips, pushing at his pants, trying to nudge them down to expose him to her. With a swift motion, he quickly released himself from the confines, not even taking the time to fully undress as he ran his cock through the mess she had made.
Hermione's plush, rosy lips gracefully travelled from his eager mouth to the tender meeting point of his neck and shoulder. With a gentle touch, her hands elegantly traced the contours of his waist before confidently gripping onto his ass. A shiver of anticipation coursed through him as Draco once again glided his cock through her wetness. With a seamless motion, she guided him into her, lifting her pelvis with a practised finesse, her teeth sinking into his skin, inflicting a pleasurable sting. The sudden surge of pain mingled with the overwhelming pleasure as her velvety walls enveloped him, threatening to push him over the edge. Hermione sensually rolled her hips, and he had to bury his head in her curls, inhaling deeply as Draco attempted to anchor himself to the sensations. He wanted to immerse himself in the present moment, to ingrain every single movement she made into his mind. Every sound. Every breath. Draco gritted his teeth each time he bottomed out and came flush with her, rolling his hips upward.
Gasping her name, Draco's jaw clenched, unable to withstand the temptation as she swayed her hips.
"I can't hold on much longer," he grunted. He wanted to get her there; he had to get her there.
Hermione turned her head, gently brushing her nose against his ear, and in that moment, she exhaled a breath that seemed to possess the power to push him over the edge, compelling him to surrender himself completely to her. With a firm grip on his ass, the witch hummed seductively, caressing every sense within him with tantalising sighs. From the fiery warmth emanating from her core to the electrifying touch of her hands, each touch and sound he drew from her spurred each roll of his hips as he continued to fuck her into the lounge.
"Let go." Her words were strong, commanding. Demanding.
Draco's hands moved, tracing the smooth contours of her body as he lifted his head and met her gaze. The fire that he discovered within them was so powerful that it set him ablaze, with the flames eagerly licking up his spine. With a mischievous smirk on Hermione's face, she rolled her hips one last time, pulling him in deeper and rendering him powerless. Completely and utterly defeated, Draco could only curse under his breath, her lips on his neck punctuating every thrust as he emptied himself.
As he dropped on top of her, he could feel her giggles vibrating through her, and in that moment, all of his tension melted away.
"I never would have fathomed we would end up here, but Gods, I'm glad we did," Hermione whispered, carding her fingers through his hair.
"You never imagined it?" He chuckled, his deep laughter resonating through the room as Draco lifted his head to look at her. Hermione's cheeks flushed, a delicate pink spreading across the bridge of her nose. How could she still be shy after that?
"Well, I suppose I have imagined that. I just never thought..." Her voice trailed off, gaze drifting away as if she could hide from thoughts about to leave her mouth.
"I had hoped." The confession escaped her lips in a mere whisper, but the impact slammed into him as if she had yelled it. She had hoped. He didn't have the words, although deep down, he knew they were there. As the eight letters choked him, he disregarded his need for air. Instead, he gently turned her face towards him, silently praying that his eyes conveyed the depth of his emotions as he kissed her.
———
The crackling fire slowly stirred Draco from his sleep, its cosy warmth embracing him and gradually pulling him back to reality, and for the first time, he didn't mind so much. As he shifted his position, he rolled towards the comforting heat surrounding him. With the velvety fabric beneath him, delicately brushing against his bare skin, he couldn't help but reach out, his hands yearning for the touch of Hermione. To Draco's surprise, his searching fingers stumbled upon a crumpled piece of parchment.
The paper felt rough and uneven underneath his fingertips, its edges jagged against his hand. With a sense of trepidation, Draco squinted in the dim light of the room, struggling to focus his bleary eyes on the words before him. Bathed in the faint glow of dying embers, the page seemed to come alive as the delicate script danced and blurred, its ink smudged and faded as if hastily written.
A surge of fear coursed through Draco's veins as his heart quickened its pace. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. He had woken up alone, the absence of Hermione's presence casting a shadow over the room.
I went to see Harry off. If I miss you at breakfast, I don't want you to think I left for anything other than that.
Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, Draco let out a soft exhale as he eased himself into a sitting position, savouring the satisfying crack of his back as he straightened his posture.
Draco's thoughts briefly wandered as he considered his typical routine of heading to the window overlooking the Black Lake in the common room, a steaming cup of tea in hand. It was the only time where his mind was quiet, and Draco could find solace in the familiar surroundings. But as the notion crossed his mind, an unsettling feeling crept over him, accompanied by a pang of emptiness that tugged at his chest. Pansy wouldn't be there—she never had been. The events of the previous night were still difficult for him to process.
With a shake of his head, Draco pushed the thought aside, refusing to dwell on the absence that weighed on him. Instead, he focused on the present moment, grounding himself in the here and now. There would be an opportunity to confront his ghosts later, but at this time, he had to steel himself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
He stood up and stretched out his neck, feeling the stiffness that came from laying in an awkward position with Hermione. With a dull ache spreading throughout his body, he was unable to resist smiling at the memory.
———
Upon entering the common room, the lingering presence of so many people surprised Draco. He couldn't shake the overwhelming sensation that this prolonged gathering might be reminiscent of the aftermath of his altercation with Ginevra, where they granted them time off to recover. As much as he yearned to spend every moment with Hermione now that they were finally together, his primary focus was getting her out of this hellhole as swiftly as possible. The sooner, the better.
He silently prayed that his partner today would possess some modicum of competence, and hopefully, it wouldn't be Theo. Draco wasn't sure what he would even say to him if they ended up being paired together. He had not completely processed his feelings about everything he now knew.
He had never broached the topic of the final battle with his brother, nor had he inquired about Pansy. Yet, as soon as Draco had revealed his nightmares to Theo, his friend hadn't divulged his own haunting experiences from the war. Regardless, he remained baffled by the fact that Theo could withhold such a significant piece of information from him.
Draco's recollections of the battle were scarce; they remained vivid until the Room of Requirement, and then dissolved into a chaotic whirlwind of blood-curdling screams and relentless spells. The combination of the acrid stench of burning wood, the metallic tang of copper, and the suffocating scent of fear seemed to have merged, leaving a lasting impact on his senses. The healers held onto hope that time might unveil those memories, but Draco fervently hoped that they would remain locked away forever. His mind had instinctively shielded him from the horrors he had seen, and he hesitated to delve into the abyss of those haunting experiences. The things he had to do, the atrocities he had witnessed others commit—it was all too much. How Theo had endured it all, Draco couldn't begin to comprehend. He felt a surge of guilt for his own actions, for leaving when his brother needed him the most. He had been afraid of what he possibly could say if he stayed, terrified of the words he wouldn't be able to retract. So he had left.
Draco abruptly stopped scanning the common room for his brother's familiar face when he locked eyes with someone he wasn't particularly in the mood to see.
"Well, well, well, look who it is," the red-headed git greeted with a smug grin. "Looks like it's just you and me, Malfoy."
Draco suppressed a scoff, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Weasley, there's no way you could persuade me, even with all the gold in Gringotts, to take a leisurely stroll around this castle with you," he shot back, his tone laced with irritation.
Ron's smile widened mischievously. "Ah, but you see, Malfoy," he countered, jabbing a finger towards himself, "I couldn't even if I tried. Poor." His eyes scanned his own attire before adding, "New robes, though."
Draco winced inwardly as the jab struck its mark, unleashing a flood of memories from their tumultuous years at Hogwarts when he effortlessly hurled countless similar insults at the man before him. The weight of regret settled on his shoulders, causing them to deflate.
Interpreting Draco's silence as an invitation to continue, Ron cleared his throat and forged ahead. "Hermione wanted to see Harry off," he began.
"I know," Draco interrupted flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.
Ron raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "My bad, mate," his tone lightened. "As I was saying, she's seeing him off, which means you're stuck with me, courtesy of McGonagall's orders. But don't worry, I promise not to take you on any creepy corridor trips down memory lane."
Draco's stomach churned, and his face contorted in a cringe at the mention of the maze. The haunting image of the twisted pathways flashed before his mind's eye, causing a shiver to run down his spine. But then, a faint sound of relief whispered through him as he learned Harry had confided in someone about what they had witnessed.
"So Potter left?" Draco asked, a tinge of curiosity colouring his tone despite himself.
Ron chuckled. "No, he was practically dragged out of here."
Draco's brow furrowed in confusion. "Dragged out? Why wouldn't he want to leave?"
"He didn't want to leave us behind," Ron explained, his expression momentarily pained before he shook it off. "But Harry is no use here any more. He's done his part. Honestly, I never thought he should have stayed without Ginny, anyway. She was the real reason he was here."
So the Golden Trio had a choice.
"But now that she's gone," Ron sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. " He is better off with her, even if that means leaving us here."
Ron's voice trailed off into silence, his eyes slowly shifting away from the conversation, as if his mind had wandered into the distance, lost in the depths of nostalgic thoughts about home.
The sound of their footsteps reverberated through the desolate hallways, bouncing off the cold stone walls and amplifying the eerie silence. As they walked, Draco's eyes caught fleeting glimpses of discarded textbooks and torn parchment littering the floor, remnants of students' hasty departure. With its missing steps and broken bannisters, the grand staircase, once a magnificent symbol of grandeur, currently posed a perilous path to navigate, creaking and groaning under their weight.
With each step Draco took, his boots relentlessly crushed the remains of the previously beautiful stained glass windows. Once vibrant sources of colourful light, now lay shattered on the ground, their fragmented shards emitting a faint, melancholic hue. The portrait's gaze that once followed them while they wandered the corridors animated and full of life, presently hung askew, their cracked frames and faded colours mirroring the wounds suffered within these hallowed halls. It was a haunting sight that tugged at Draco's heart, evoking a profound sense of sadness for the irrevocable loss of the place he had once called home.
As they approached the gaping hole in the castle, Draco's mind conjured vivid images of what lay beyond it. The idea of freedom beckoned to him, like a melodic siren's voice, promising liberation from the stifling atmosphere that permeated the castle's walls. He longed for the sensation of crisp air caressing his face, the expanse of the open sky above, and the opportunity to elude the clutches of the ominous forces that had invaded their hallowed grounds. Yet, despite his inner yearning, he continued to trail alongside Weasley, who remained blissfully unaware of the destruction surrounding them, engrossed in his incessant chatter about Quidditch—the Cannons, to be precise.
He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he found a strange comfort in Ron's relentless babbling. The sound of Ron's ramblings served as a much-needed escape from the harsh reality of their surroundings, and Draco marvelled at how effortlessly they put him at ease. Deep down, Draco knew Ron should despise him for his past actions. He would understand if he did. Perhaps his indifference behind the castle walls stemmed from all the trials Draco endured within them, with his sister, the snake, and then with Harry.
Yet Draco couldn't shake the feeling that Ron would have more to say about him and Granger than merely revealing her whereabouts. There was no forgetting how Ron's eyes lingered on Hermione back in school, how they betrayed a certain longing when she wasn't looking. The fact that Weasley didn't demand him to stay away, declare Hermione off-limits, or throw accusations about Draco's dark past as a Death Eater seemed odd to him–there was a sense of unusual restraint in his demeanour that he couldn't fully trust.
Perhaps he was merely projecting his own thoughts onto others. He was well aware he didn't deserve her, but damn it all, he was selfish. He couldn't care less if he did. Provided that Hermione felt the same affection for him as he did for her, he would tightly hold that bond until circumstances compelled him to let go of it.
Draco's contemplations were abruptly interrupted as he entered a portion of Hogwarts adorned with exquisite tapestries. He found himself captivated by the intricate depictions of ancient battles and mythical creatures, his brows furrowing in consideration. A realisation struck him—he had either never ventured to this section or had failed to truly grasp its concealed magnificence. The massive stonework hallways stood tall and sturdy, with elaborate carvings and engravings that showcased the rich history of the castle. Soft sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting colourful patterns on the polished stone floors.
Draco and Ron carefully manoeuvred through the area, their footsteps echoing in the quietness. Draco couldn't fathom the logic behind the Headmistress' continuous selection of relatively unharmed areas for their assigned work. Filled with curiosity, he pondered whether the magic had become more resilient, resulting in the charms spreading organically, akin to ivy growing along the walls, gradually advancing towards the pervasive destruction that lay scattered. Here, he could finally inhale deeply without being overwhelmed by the damp, mouldy odour that had plagued the corridors before. As they cast their runes, the air hummed with a faint magical energy, intertwining with the calming ambience of the preserved section. It was a welcome respite from the shadowy, chaotic pathways they had encountered earlier, allowing Draco to focus his concentration on the task at hand.
"So," Ron began, his voice carrying a tremor of uncertainty as he absently scratched the back of his neck. Draco shifted his attention towards him, preparing himself mentally for whatever issue Ron was about to discuss.
"Pansy."
The utterance of her name caused Draco to tense involuntarily, with the heaviness of their recent encounter settling like a leaden weight in the marrow of his bones. He couldn't bring himself to talk about it, not here, not while he needed to focus on their task. So he continued to weave his incantations, silently beseeching Ron to let it drop.
"I heard about what happened, briefly, from Hermione this morning," Ron persisted, unaware of Draco's discomfort. He desperately wished for Ron to detect the unmistakable tension that was coming off of him, to comprehend the inner chaos that was brewing. However, Ron disregarded Draco's silent plea and continued speaking. "I lost my best friend once."
Draco's head snapped around, his gaze sharp with incredulity at Ron's comparison. Potter wasn't bloody lost; he was home safe and sound now. A surge of frustration coiled beneath Draco's skin, his jaw clenching with the attempt to contain it. Ron, as if sensing Draco's unspoken turmoil, scoffed softly. "During the battle," he clarified, his tone tinged with a hint of irritation.
In an effort to subdue the storm of emotions that were raging within him, Draco briefly closed his eyes. But even the mere thought of the lake turned his stomach to knots. The once peaceful sanctuary now echoed with the haunting silence of her absence.
"I remember little from the battle," Draco admitted, his voice strained beneath the weight of his memories. "But I've seen both of your best friends alive and well within these castle walls." He winced inwardly, grateful at least that he wasn't the sole witness to their return.
A fleeting expression of confusion crossed Ron's features before it dissolved into understanding, and he resumed casting his runes with renewed focus. Draco mirrored his actions, the rhythm of their spell work providing a semblance of distraction as they pressed forward.
"During the battle, Harry... died. Well, sort of. I don't quite comprehend the logistics of it," Ron started throwing a sideways glance at Draco, who raised an eyebrow in silent encouragement. Perhaps if he gave him the chance to talk through whatever he was trying to say, he would let him work in silence again. If only to quiet his annoying weasel mouth, he could tolerate indulging him.
"Harry discovered he was a Horcrux himself," Ron hesitated, his voice betraying uncertainty, as if he questioned the wisdom of sharing the information so openly. The war was already over, rendering any potential use of that knowledge against him irrelevant. Draco's stomach churned at the thought that he once might have used what he had said to his advantage.
Ron seemed to continue despite that, "If he were to perish, then He-Who-Must-..." Ron trailed off, clearing his throat. "The key to defeating Voldemort lay in destroying that final Horcrux. So Harry ventured into the woods, and, well, he... died. He doesn't speak much about it. He mentioned your mother, how she lied to protect him, and then Hagrid brought him back to the castle."
Ron's words seemed to dissipate into the air between them, their weight heavy, as if the memories were too agonising to fully articulate. "For a moment, I beheld his lifeless form hanging there, and I just—" He broke off, the raw emotion clear in the silence that followed. "I had lost Fred," Ron continued after a beat, his voice barely above a whisper.
Draco hadn't realised the depth of Ron's anguish, the magnitude of his loss in the tumult of battle. There was a brief moment when Draco had believed that the mention of Pansy was a deliberate choice intended to either belittle or taunt him, a long-awaited opportunity for Ron to get back at him for all the suffering he had caused. A sharp pang of sympathy hit him, combined with a deep remorse for not having noticed Ron's pain earlier. Not knowing how to respond, he remained motionless, allowing the impact of the revelation to settle between them.
"I just stared at his body and felt as though I could have done more," Ron confessed, his voice heavy with the burden of regret. The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, stirring an ache within Draco's chest that mirrored Ron's own sorrow. "I could have gone with him, like Hermione wanted to. But he looked at me, and he didn't even have to say it—I could see it in his eyes. Keep her safe, stay with her, and I couldn't refuse him."
Draco felt his breath catch as Ron's words reverberated through him, stirring echoes of his own inner turmoil. He struggled to maintain his façade of indifference, the tendrils of Ron's grief winding around his heart, threatening to unravel his composure.
"I looked at him, and when he leapt from Hagrid's arms, when he was alive, I still felt as though a piece of me was gone with him. Seeing him like that, witnessing my sister's screams, feeling Hermione tremble beside me..." Ron's voice faltered, his pain palpable in the trembling of his words. "So yes, I got my best mate back, but for a fleeting moment, for a heartbeat..."
"Thank you," Draco choked out, his tone thick with emotion. Ron's attempt to bridge the chasm between them, to share in their collective grief, resonated deeply within Draco. Though their paths had diverged, their wounds mirrored one another, bound by the weight of loss.
"But for the record, Weasley, it's not the same," Draco added, his words a whisper carried on the breath of shared sorrow.
"I know." Ron chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a bittersweet note. As he returned to his task of casting runes, the slight rumble of stone beneath them was the only sign that their magic was working.