From corner to corner in the Wizardying World, Hermione Jean Granger was the witch of all witches. Her story was told countless of times to inspire younger generations to be what she was. She was the example of a magical being the leaders of the Wizardying World wanted to produce in order to shape their world: compassionate, intelligent beyond belief, determined, hardworking, and fearless. They spread word of her story as more than just Harry Potter's friend; she was a soldier, a heroine, and a brave Gryffindor. All over the Wizardying World she was a legend.

But no one knew Hermione Jean Granger like Hermione Jean Granger did. They put her up on a pedestal, but she was nowhere near to the top. They praised her brain, but she was useless in regards to everything that didn't come out from a book. They celebrated her bravery, but she was nothing more than a coward. They thought her unwavering, but she was now crawling through the sharp shambles of her life.

She used to tell Ginny that she didn't date because she didn't have the time for it, but Hermione had come to the realization that she was just incapable of romance. She didn't understand it. She feared it.

Love was easy. Love was something she felt profusely since the moment she was born. She loved Mother Nature: the sand between her toes when she was at the beach, summer days, spring nights, the first fall of snow, and the assortment of colors in a flower garden. She loved her parents: her mother's blue, blue eyes, her father's brown ones, the smile on her mother's face, her dad's words of wisdom, her mum's light, her dad's humor, and the protection she felt in their home. Hermione loved her friends: Ginny's fierceness and sweetness, Harry's loyalty and brotherly affection, Ron's endearing clueless-ness and heart, Luna's bizarreness and bluntness, Neville's tenderness, and Theo's humor and strength. She loved life: the people, the cities, the stories, the knowledge, change, and time.

No one loved as fiercely as Hermione loved. She gave get heart to so many things and so many people. Love was easy for her, but romance was an entirely different matter.

Romantic love was not for someone like her.

Romance required the heart and mind to come together in order to survive. The heart and mind needed to be partners, but neither ever weighed equally the same. There was no balance. Though the heart and mind needed one another, one was always going to lose in the grand scheme of romance. It was a power struggle. If the heart was ahead of the game, one lost their mind. If the mind was winning, the heart would never feel to its potential. Together, whether ahead or behind, they were disaster. It took someone incredibly brave to offer both to someone, and Hermione was just not that brave.

She lost her head and her heart when she tried to understand love. Hermione broke her own heart and disappointed her wisdom when she let herself fall for Draco Malfoy. Since then, nothing made sense. Everything turned upside down, crashed, turned right up, crashed again, and then turned upside down once more. There was just no sense in her loving Malfoy, but she did. She did love him when it was clear that she couldn't. It wasn't just because her love was unrequited, but it had to do with the fact that she just didn't know how.

She loved him so that she lost all sense. She loved him with all her might that she couldn't contain it. She loved him with so much passion and fire that the flames were constantly setting her insides ablaze. She loved him so intensely that it drove her mad.

She was scared of how far she fell, that was the truth. All the time that she kept her affair with Malfoy ongoing she was only digging the hole she purposely and blindly jumped into. She had him every day and every night that she could imagine growing old beside him. So many times she'd been wrapped up in his arms that she already called them home. Countless of times he slipped into her that she thought they were perfectly made puzzle pieces. And many were the nights that they laid in her bed in comfortable silence that she believed they could love one another like the moon loved the stars.

But it was all a childish dream. It was all concocted by her desperate heart that her mind was deceived in believing it all could happen one day.

They were going to have a child together and that's all she'd get from him. That was all she would keep. She will love their child with every fiber of her being, but the fantasy would never be true. She realized that despite her broken heart, the choice to cut all ties with him was the right thing she could have done. For both of them.

"Miss Granger?"

At the voice, Hermione brought her attention back to present day. She had just been about to step out of Madam Malkin's with a few bags of baby clothes that she set out to buy that morning. She was the first there, as she intended to be to avoid any onlooker who might see that her concealment charm was hardly covering her bump and that her purchases were undoubtedly for her.

When she focused her eyes she found Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy standing at the entrance of the shop, looking like they were the epitome of luxury. The mere sight of them made anyone feel under dressed, unqualified, and unnerved.

Mrs. Malfoy was a middle-aged woman, but she held herself with so much grace and was polished like a young beauty at her prime. Her icy blue eyes were the only giveaway of her life experience. The coldness in them were underlined with a certain gleam that made it possible to conclude that a slight change of heart could've taken place after the war. Her blonde hair was tied back into a sleek bun, exposing every hard line of her pale face. She was donned in fine, silk, navy-blue robes that seemed almost a shame to not to be able to touch.

Beside her, with his right arm looped by his wife's left, stood Lucius Malfoy. Mister Malfoy might have spent two years imprisoned by Voldemort, three in a cold, lonely cellar in Azkaban, and another three confined to the walls of his manor, but no signs of it showed on him. Pride and arrogance were still etched onto every line of his face. He held his head high, stared anyone who dared directly in the eye with freezing indifference, and his tongue still lashed venom when he saw fit. Despite the intimidation the reformed Death Eater created, his silver eyes could not effectively hide the regret of an ignorant man. Cool as ever, the icy paleness of the man was highlighted by his black robes and his infamous cane with the serpent head that hid his wand.

"Hello," greeted Hermione as her senses went to overload at the sight of them. Unconsciously, she brought her bags to rest in front of her, hiding what the concealment charm was now failing in doing so. Panic fueled her blood when she wondered if the Malfoy heir was not far behind his parents and the dreaded thought of them knowing about her pregnant state also made an appearance into her brain.

She was hoping for an answer for either of her scared musings, but it didn't seem likely that she would be getting one. Both blondes were unfazed by her clear uncomfort and neither looked inclined to ease her from it.

Instead, Narcissa Malfoy asked, "How have you been, Miss Granger? It has been a while since we've last spoken."

To other ears the polite question might sound odd, especially given the twisted history the brunette had with that particular family, but she didn't find it so. As Draco's partner, Hermione had frequented his parents multiple times, like in Ministry functions, charity events, Remembrance balls, and even in his office when they came in for a visit. However, they were not properly introduced until her and Draco's second year of partnership. They had been in St. Mungo's when it happened. It was an awkward moment considering more than just past animosity, but the fact that Hermione had been there to witness Mister and Mrs. Malfoy lose their almighty facade when they practically sobbed at Draco's bedside. (There had been a duel between a gang of criminals and Draco and Hermione, along with two other Aurors; no one would have made it out alive without Hermione's quick thinking and skill). She'd been about to leave his room when she heard Malfoy say, 'thank Granger. Without her brains I'd still be lying in a pool of my own blood. She saved my life tonight.'

Mister and Mrs. Malfoy would never be straightforward enough as to thank Hermione Granger for anything, and the brunette knew that. She never expected them to do so. Years had gone by and neither of them had once given their gratitude to her or her best friends for keeping Draco out of Azkaban or saving his life during the war, but she'd learned to live with it. The Malfoys would always be humanly challenged.

With that belief firmly held, Hermione was surprised when Narcissa Malfoy kissed both her cheeks in greeting and Lucius Malfoy nodded as politely as he was capable of being from a safe distance. Since then, Hermione has shared various, dismal conversations with Mrs. Malfoy when they ran into each other (Mister Malfoy standing firmly yet idly beside his wife).

"I'm quite well, thank you," the brunette responded with a lie. "And yourselves?"

"Just about the same."

"How was France?" inquired Hermione instantly when she saw Mrs. Malfoy's eyes roam her face and then down to the bags she was firmly clutching onto. "Your son mentioned you were on holiday for a month. It must've been beautiful, I'm sure."

Mister Malfoy eyed her unpleasantly, as if he were annoyed with her question, but his wife almost smirked at it.

"Yes, it was lovely. The current weather in France is just perfect, much like today. Though, Britain is temperamental and who knows how long this sun will last."

Hermione nodded with a dim smile. "I agree. It's why I decided to do some shopping this morning and just enjoy the sun." Hermione really hoped, as ridiculous as it sounded, that neither had the ability to see through her bags and discover her baby purchases. The last people on earth she wanted to explain herself to was them.

"One would assume that being British accustoms you to the dreary weather, but the longing for the sun can be unbearable," Mrs. Malfoy said casually. "I cannot berate Draco's desire for it any longer, I suppose."

At the name, Hermione's heart fluttered and her blood boiled with nostalgia and want. The panic was still there too, but it had been four days since she last saw Malfoy and his beautiful stormy eyes. It'd been four days since he found out about her pregnancy and since she's been avoiding him out of sheer cowardliness.

She missed Draco's presence, his smell, his voice, but she couldn't bring herself to waltz into the Ministry and pretend like nothing happened, or worse, talk about what had occurred. She had just made it out that awful night without having to explain much to Harry and Ron, she was not willing to put herself in that predicament just yet. There was still a lot she needed to sort out.

"Warm weather does seem to make him happy," offered Hermione in spite of herself. Her traitor mind brought forth a memory of Draco glowing like a fallen angel in the rays of the sun one past summer. His alabaster skin had been painted by a light bronze and life swam in his silver gaze that she never thought she'd seen him look more perfect than in that moment.

Narcissa Malfoy gave the brunette a foreign, gentle and apprehensive smile. However, it was Lucius' voice that rang among the three.

"You're quite the understanding person, Miss Granger. No one with a successful partnership as the one you have with our son would be so. I'm sure it'll be a loss to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when the time comes."

Hermione knitted her brows together in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't understand. What loss?"

Mrs. Malfoy lost her strange smile and a glare took over her blue eyes when she looked to her husband. The man pretended to be oblivious, but a reflection of a sneer appeared on him.

"I'm referring to Draco's choice to relocate to the Caribbean, Miss Granger. Surely he's mentioned it. He leaves in a week."

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Blood. Gushing, wet, foul blood. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

It soaked up her blouse and streamed down the right side of her body. It trickled down her face, pooling out from a corner of her head. It made her curls stick to her neck and the sides of her face. She tasted the iron in her mouth, down her throat and between her teeth. It painted her hands red and hid underneath her nails and it marked the lines of her palms. She was certain it was even in her eyes.

Blood. Gushing, wet, foul blood. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

Ron and her had received a tip-off about their Metamorphmagus murderer when they were having lunch in his office. An Auror trainee ran in to tell them someone had spotted the murderer when he transformed from an old, bony woman to one of the descriptions the department had put out of him. Muggles saw him in an abandoned warehouse and were utterly afraid of this person that shape-shifted into multiple people right in front of their eyes. The Muggles reported him to the authorities and the knowing authorities reported it to the offices of Parliament that handled these oddities. It didn't take too long for an owl to swoop in through the office window of an Auror.

The Auror (Harry) in charge of the Metamorphmagus case was in Russia investigating an alleged sighting of the murderer, making him indisposable and unreachable, so it was up to Aurors Weasley and Granger to be at the head. Hermione wanted to plan the raid, but Ron's bruteness and deep, automatic senses of act-now-think-later called her planning untimely and useless. He decided on heading straight to that abandon warehouse with a group of Aurors to catch him before he had time to flee. Hermione argued against it, she called him daft and reckless, but when that same trainee ran back in to mention that Muggles heard screaming from inside the warehouse, the other gathered Aurors agreed with Ron. A mission with no plan was instigated, one that Hermione called suicidal and Ron dubbed as raw justice.

Getting to the Muggle location and clearing out the street was hardly difficult, it was getting inside that proved problematic. Dark magic kept the wards up. Experienced in that particular field, Ron was beyond confident in believing he could bring down the wards with a snap of his fingers. Hermione had to halt him before he blew himself and everyone else up by his arrogance. As she guessed, the dark magic had Russian roots and was custom made to fit Ivan Romanoff's needs. It took her twenty minutes of silence and deep concentration to bring them down and give them enough time to sneak in.

If they thought the wards were going to be the most of their problems, they were wrong. Getting into the warehouse was a maze of unsuspecting, dark magic that shamefully kept the Aurors on their toes. One after another, Hermione had to bring down the fields of magic so they could proceed. What made it worse was the screaming; the deeper they went into the location, the more the painful, haunting screams dug into their ears. It hadn't just been one person screaming for help, screaming in pain, but Hermione had counted at least five different tones (she lost track after that when flashes of her own tortured screaming came forth). It was a means of tormenting the Aurors, of stripping down their strength so that their human nature could make it impossible for them to continue. Two fell, clawing at their ears, unable to move, but the rest gritted their teeth and fought against the devastating sounds to serve justice and capture the lunatic that had created the screams.

When they made it to the doors, Ron decided to do the automatic thing: curse to kill. After being tormented just to get down to the actual warehouse, the Aurors in company seemed just as inclined and enraged as the redhead to do exactly that. Hermione once again called out a plan of attack, but Ron had insisted that she stay behind. He told her he sent a Patronus to Harry, Malfoy, and other Aurors to join the fight, that there was no need for her, but she almost killed him instead for suggesting that she was too weak to carry on. They argued for a few seconds before an Auror reminded them of exactly why they were there. Right beside Ron, like the old times of war, the doors flew open and in Hermione marched.

Expectations of what the raid would be like never could quite match what they actually encountered. There were over twenty bodies in the warehouse, but no one with life inhabited it. In two rows of ten, young women dangled upside down from chains in the ceiling. The chains were wrapped around their right ankles, making all the blood from toe to head stream down and rain over the Aurors. All that blood collecting at their heads made the victims' eyes bloodshot—but that was the least appalling thing. The women were all mutilated in one way or another. Some were missing limbs, others the first few layers of their skin, skulls could be seen, and holes in their abdomen could let see missing organs.

Hermione gagged at the sight and smell, but tears of grief fell down her cheeks.

At the distraction of the murdered women, the Aurors made their first mistake in pitying the dead while in the hunt of a madman. From where he hid, the Metamorphmagus cast two spells: one a jet of green that hit an Auror on the shoulder and another black one that dropped the bodies to the ground. It took only a second for all hell to break loose.

The Aurors shot spell after spell, but the demented man blended in with them. As the hunt for Ivan Romanoff continued, the murdered women stood on their feet. Twenty inferi were circling around the Aurors too. Ron shot out a spell and Hermione screamed at him. Ron's spell was meant to slash against one of the inferi but nothing happened; Hermione knew it wouldn't, but she was still appalled that they had to add more damage to the bodies of the victims. They were being controlled by the dark wizard that murdered them in the first place, it was tragic as it was, and Hermione couldn't cope with the added guilt of having to destroy them further.

One inferi ripped off the head of an Auror and the battle continued. There were so many curses being shot out, so many hands grabbing and hitting, yells echoed, the screams of the dead women tore at the eardrums, the maniac laughter of the Metamorphmagus sent fury, and the sound of falling bodies haunted the survivors repeatedly.

Hermione was sure it was a losing battle, but more Aurors entered through the doors of the warehouse. She saw Harry's beloved emerald eyes and Draco's platinum-blonde hair in the new throng of comrades. But they weren't the only ones that joined; Ivan Romanoff brought forth more corpses to do his bidding.

The fight was unbearable. Hermione was caught in a tornado of emotions too strong to keep her focus. When she saw Malfoy, when she saw him fighting back to back with another Auror against three inferi, she couldn't take the thunder of pain that cracked against her heart. She was going to lose him. Maybe in the fight or maybe because of fate.

A rogue curse hit Hermione's body and she fell to her knees.

Blood. Gushing, wet, foul blood. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

The fight ended when another body hit the floor. Harry and Draco stood over someone who resembled one of their Aurors but slowly morphed into a man with dark, grey hair and a scraggly beard. Ivan Romanoff chuckled as the life went out of him and he lost the control of his murdered victims.

Blood. Gushing, wet, foul blood. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere.

With a groan of pain, Hermione stumbled past the front door of her flat and crashed against the floor of her living room. Her hands left prints of blood on her beige carpet. Nausea from the stench of decaying bodies and rustic blood finally took control and she vomited on the spot. She cried.

With a shaky, bloody and cut hand, Hermione raised her wand and vanished the disgusting mess her insides spewed up. Whatever strength she had in her arms to hold her up gave out, she fell on her stomach and her cheek smacked against the carpet. Another groan. She rolled over to her back.

She couldn't remember much that happened after Ivan Romanoff fell but the feel of her blood draining out of her body. She couldn't recall who lived and who died from her fellow Aurors because she used whatever strength she had left to apparate.

Tears were still falling down her cheeks and joining the blood that was staining every bit of her. She could feel the oxygen in her lungs thin, her throat closing up as it forbade her to breathe. Her chest was heaving, tugging painfully at her heart to pump whatever blood she had left in order to sustain her. But she was tired. Hermione just wanted to close her eyes and drift out. She wanted to sleep and dream a dream that once brought her absolute happiness.

Just as her eyelids were fluttering close, flames ignited emerald in her fireplace and it spat someone out. Through her lashes she recognized the blonde man. She smiled and muttered his name. His hands touched her, he called with desperation for her, but she slipped into the sleep her body was in dire need of.

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She was lying on a familiar hospital bed with Harry as company sitting at the feet of it. She blinked at him and noticed his tired face. His emerald eyes were worried, as they usually were, but she was glad she didn't see his regular guilt in them. There was finally something he couldn't blame himself for. And because there wasn't, he took his role as her brother more literal than ever before.

"I just need to tell you that you're an idiot," he commented as he rubbed her calf gently. "Why didn't you apparate straight to St. Mungo's in the first place, 'Mione? Going to your flat was the dumbest thing you have ever done in your life."

"More than that time I set a dragon loose and made you and Ron ride it?"

He frowned at her smile. "I'm serious, Hermione. You could have died from the blood loss. You know better, come on."

The brunette sighed. "My mind was all over the place, Harry. I couldn't concentrate on a specific location. I was lucky I didn't get splinched, I reckon."

But that was a lie. As her body lost blood and her mind began to shut down, there was one constant thought running through her head. Draco, Draco, Draco. She longed for him more than ever. She wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to be in his presence. Her mind could only focus on the one place in the world where that always took place, her home. It was always there, among the walls of her flat, that she lived a beautiful lie and tragic affair with Draco. And that's where she apparated to.

"Johnson is practically driving himself mad thinking he killed you," Harry continued. "He meant to save you from the inferi headed your way, but he instead hit you with the curse. He didn't think that the corpses were capable of deflecting spells or else he would've never done it if there was a possibility that this could happen."

Hermione's memory gave her a brief flash of the incident. She saw the corpses coming to her, but her mind had been too distracted in personal demons to focus on the ones coming for her. She heard Auror Johnson roaring out a warning to move, but she hadn't. She was too late and too slow when Johnson's spell sliced her from shoulder and down to her knee. She fell and blood just started streaming out.

"Of course he didn't," she added after the flash of memory faded. "Handling inferi is not exactly something we learn in training, is it? Our job is to capture lunatics, but no one has ever dared to use that sort of dark magic before. No Auror has ever had the experience with such thing. What little practice I had with them was from your own memories, Harry. I read a lot about them, mind you, but I wasn't expecting Romanoff to have bewitched them. It was awful."

Sadly, Harry nodded his head. He was silent for a while, contemplating how such evil could live in a person. With a sigh, he glanced back up at her and he rubbed gentle, calming circles on her calf again as a means of comfort.

"I know," he whispered, and she knew that he felt the same loss and grief for the victims as she had, "but that's all over now. I wish we could have stopped it and fixed it somehow, but...There is no pure or magic powerful enough in this world that can restore the originality of these bodies from the damage Romanoff made of them. But...At least their families have someone to bury now. There's a bit closure in that, isn't there?"

Hermione could only hope there was.

"You need to have someone check you," she scolded in a light tone when her eyes glanced over the dry blood on her best friend's face. "I know Romanoff got you a few times."

He waved it off.

"Harry," she called a little more loudly, "go and get looked after. I'm fine. I'm alive. Now get out of here."

The man was about to protest, as it was in his tendency, but the door to Hermione's hospital room opened and Draco Malfoy stood there. His silver gaze went directly to Harry.

"The Head's out there, Potter, and he is with officials from the Russian Ministry. They want to close this case as soon as possible before the fucking reporters of the Daily Prophet start nosing about."

Harry glared at the blonde man, clearly having not forgotten about the past altercation the latter had with his best friend. He seemed inclined to tell Malfoy to piss off, but his duty as an Auror was also one Harry valued. So instead of staying with Hermione, Harry stood from the bed and walked over to her. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"After I'm done dealing with this legal rubbish, I'll go check on Ron, but I'll be back in about an hour to keep you company."

"You are not allowed back in unless you have a Healer properly look over you," retorted Hermione. "I mean it."

Harry gave her a smile, one that she was familiar with, before he headed for the door. Hermione didn't see the un-trusting stare that her best friend gave Malfoy. No, the brunette was busy fearing the reaction her body, mind, and heart were about to produce at being alone with the blonde man.

Draco waited for the door to close behind Harry to even look at her. A part of her didn't want his stormy eyes on her, but she missed them too much to complain when he did. She saw fury in them, something so common, but there was also this underlining of fear and regret that startled her. His left palm was clasped into a fist, his jaw clenched as he stared at her.

"Is the baby okay?"

At the sound of his firm, cool voice, Hermione felt chills run up her arms. She didn't think he was going to speak to her, not after what had transpired the last time they were in each others presence, but he had. He had spoken and he asked about their child.

"Yeah," she muttered, refusing to meet his hard gaze. "Angelina...Angelina checked. I just lost blood, but the transfusion and a few potions put everything right. The baby is fine."

His right foot stepped forward and his left followed. "Then," he began, the paleness and coldness of his features were gradually melting by flames of fury, "what the fuck were you thinking, Granger? How could you possibly be so stupid as to go to a raid pregnant?!"

Despite his loudness, she replied quietly, "It's not an ideal scenario, Malfoy, but I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. I wasn't going to let anything happen to my child. I took all the precautions before leaving the Ministry. I had it under control."

"That obviously worked out for you," he snarled as he motioned around the hospital room. "Don't you fucking get it, Granger? Unplanned things occur all the bloody time! You could have lost the baby—you could have died!"

"That wouldn't have been your problem, anyway," she retorted. She was angry that he thought her careless and stupid. Hermione was well aware that she was pregnant. How could she forget something like that? She couldn't escape it. The child growing and living inside of her was a part of her, had been for more than eight weeks, and she loved it. It was her child, her baby. It was a piece of her, a piece of Draco; she would protect it with her life.

He took another harsh step to her. "Not my problem? That's my child, too, Granger!"

"It doesn't have to be," she replied instantly, no longer whispering. "In fact, you don't have to worry about a single thing. This is my child, Malfoy. I'll raise it. I'll take care of it. It's mine. You can go ahead and live your life. You're not trapped with me, you know. Just go! You're going to do so regardless, so why cause any more trouble between us?"

His glare was still painted on his features, but he also showed signs of something too humane for a Malfoy. It was something she thought she'd never see, something she only got glimpses of on the rare occasions that he drifted off to sleep and she briefly watched him before following him into the world of dreams. It was vulnerability.

"You can't keep me from my child, Granger. No matter how unworthy you think I am, that child is still mine, too. You will not take it from me."

"Unworthy?" she repeated with a breath. "I'm not pushing you away, don't you get it? I'm setting you free. I'm letting you live your life the way you want it. And I know that I...this child, was not a part of that plan. So just go. Go to the Caribbean, transfer, find some pureblood witch to introduce to your parents, and have children with her. I'll be fine. I don't need you."

"BUT I NEED YOU!" If he hadn't yelled it from the pit of his stomach, if she hadn't heard it echo around the walls of the hospital room, if he hadn't gone over to her bedside and gripped her shoulders, if he hadn't been shaking with that same desperation she could never figure out, if he wasn't staring at her like he was dying and she had all the secrets to life, then she would have never believed it came from his mouth.

"For three fucking years, Granger, I've been needing you. Can't you fucking see that? I tried so hard to let you go, to get you out of my head, but I never could. I failed. I fucking failed in letting you go so I decided that I would have you. I took you over and over again that night and I thought that would be enough, but it wasn't. How could it fucking be enough? Look at you. Look at what you fucking do to me!

"I knew it would end it in a disaster. I knew you could never want someone like me, because let's face it, Granger, I'm scum. I'm nothing. I'm worthless. To the world, to you, I'd never be able to have you. I wanted to believe it was just sex, that it could just be carefree sex, but the more we continued, the more I fell for you. The more I wanted to...I love you, Granger, and fuck have I tried not to. I try every fucking day not to love you, but I do."

Hermione felt her soul leave her body. In that moment, as he held onto her, too afraid to let go, too afraid that if he did she'd vanish with the air, she finally recognize the desperation in him. It was the same kind she felt whenever she had to see him leave every night they spent together after climbing up to touch heaven. It was the same desperation that drove her insane, that cut her into pieces when she worried about the day it would all end.

"I...I always thought you just wanted sex," she muttered, eyeing him like she couldn't believe he was right there with her. "I thought you were just passing your time with me until...until someone better came along."

"I hoped for that," he responded sincerely. "I never wanted you to mean anything to me, Granger, but..."

"But unplanned things happened all the time," she completed. Tears pooled in her eyes and she felt a sob create itself in the middle of her chest and then she felt it make its way up in order to leave her lips.

He loved her. All the time that she wasted dreading the day that he would leave her, the day that he stopped wanting her body, that their moments would be a thing of the past, and all that time he felt just as she had. Two years of dreaming about him, of missing him, of wanting him, and he wanted the same. Two years of their life wasted in silence.

"I love you, Draco," she confessed through her tears. "I have for two years and I can't...I love you, but I was afraid you could never want me. I was...I broke things off with you because I thought the pregnancy would ruin your life. I...God, I love you and I'm stupid."

"You are," he said, "but so am I."

His hands took a hold of the sides of her face. He bent down on his knees, being eye-level with her so that he could look into those summer eyes and let life come back to him. And as he did, as he felt his heart piece itself back together, as the darkest places inside of him, products of war and years of evil, lit up, he kissed her. And she kissed back.

She grabbed the fabric of his button-up and pulled. She hadn't strength to move him, to bring him to her, but he knew what she wanted. His body hovered over her and her hands wrapped around his middle, holding him so close to her to remind her body just what he felt like. She wanted to memorize his warmth again, the feel of his heartbeat against hers, and taste his lips like they were water and she'd been thirsty for years.

She loved him and he loved her. Finally.