36. I Am the Ocean

Disclaimer: This is the last time I'm going to say it! I don't own Harry Potter!

Note: Chapter title comes from the song "The Ocean" by Dar Williams. Infinite thanks to eilonwy for being the best beta in the world. Much more lavish praise on my LJ. :)

ooo

Epilogue: I Am the Ocean

Draco Malfoy was reclining on the large swing on the back porch of his house, reading a book his wife had recommended. Jokingly, he'd told her he didn't need to read it because he'd already seen the movie. She'd given him one of her looks and said, "Books are better than movies." She was rarely wrong, and this was no exception. He'd started the book the day before and was already two-thirds of the way through it.

He knew he wouldn't be able to finish it that day as it was nearly two in the afternoon and their guests would be arriving at three.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

When he heard his son's voice, his heart swelled to near bursting. He tried to listen to the small voice as it made its way through the house, until he heard the porch door open slowly. He knew his son was looking for him, so he put the book up to hide his face in order to pretend he was reading.

Draco heard the two and a half year old boy trying to sneak up on him to surprise him. It was something he liked to do—sneak up on his parents and try to scare them. Only once had he truly succeeded—young children often think they're much quieter than they truly are—when Hermione was so caught up in a book that she hadn't noticed him creeping on tiptoes through the room, giggling.

When he heard the boy had reached his chair, trying to stifle his giggles, Draco whipped the book away from his face and said, "Boo!"

The boy squealed in utter delight, his face lighting up like a handful of sparklers. Draco grinned and reached down to pick up his son.

"Ook!"

"You want me to read to you?"

The boy nodded.

"Well, let's see what you've got there."

The boy handed Draco a book.

"Looks like Mummy bought you another new book."

The boy nodded, grinning.

"And it's about dragons! How wonderful!"

The boy settled in against Draco's chest, ready to help his father turn the pages. It was a beautiful book, with very detailed pictures of the dragons. As he read, Draco made all the character voices, and tried to help his son understand the harder words—Hermione always tended to buy him books that were slightly beyond his age.

Finally, Draco turned to the last page and said, "The end." He looked down at his son and saw that he was fast asleep. He kissed the top of his head and set the dragon book on a side table. He picked up his own book, but didn't resume reading. Instead he thought about the beautiful boy sleeping on his chest.

ooo

He had shiny, curly, bright blond hair, the perfect mix of his parents, and his eyes were green—like Jane's. His skin was as pale as Draco's but there were a few freckles that dotted his face.

Draco smiled, remembering when the nurse had handed him the boy right after he was born. He'd had black hair then, and blue eyes, but the hair soon fell out and grew back golden. He'd been wrapped tightly in a non-descript blanket and his skin was very red.

"Your son, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco hesitantly accepted the bundle; he looked so fragile! As though he might break with the slightest pressure. When the nurse let go completely, the baby fidgeted for a moment and then settled into position and fell back asleep. When Draco looked at the sleeping baby wrapped in his arms, he fell hopelessly in love. He had no idea anyone could be so completely happy and fulfilled just because of a baby. But he's my baby, he thought. He smiled down at the small person and watched him breathe. Then he looked at his wife, sitting up in her bed. She looked exhausted, but she was smiling dreamily at them.

He smiled at her, thinking that surely this moment was the most beautiful he'd ever seen her. Only experience told him he'd have the same thought the very next day. Draco completely forgot that there were other people in the room.

"Hey, you," he said to Hermione.

"Hey," she said.

Draco walked over to her and handed the baby to her. His baby. Their baby. Hermione took him in her arms and held him as though she'd been holding babies her entire life. She looked so natural, so incredibly happy that Draco felt that his heart would burst, watching her hold their child. Hermione looked radiant despite having just given birth; she was glowing, and he could tell that she had fallen just as hard as he had.

"Hey, little fella," she whispered, moving the blanket so she could get a full view of his face. "I'm your mummy." Draco felt tears prick his eyes. "And that's your daddy. And we are going to love you for the rest of your life."

"Is there a name?" asked the nurse.

Hermione looked at Draco and smiled.

"Steven Anders Malfoy," he said, grinning insanely.

The nurse nodded and scribbled the name on a few documents. "I'll need you both to sign the birth certificate." She presented a grand-looking piece of parchment with their names and Steven's name. "It's a magical document of course," she continued evenly. "Once you sign the birth certificate, it'll be magically sealed. It cannot be altered. Signing it declares for all of posterity that you two are the parents. Should any…disagreements arise, you, Mr. Malfoy, are agreeing to take responsibility for the child regardless of whatever might happen. Should you two separate—Merlin forbid—or the paternity come into question, he is yours."

Draco scowled. "I don't think either of those things will be an issue."

"Of course you don't. But I have to say it. Because it's a magically binding contract."

"Fine, whatever." He looked at Hermione, who was giggling softly. Her smile made his annoyance melt away. He smiled back at her and turned to the nurse. "Where do I sign?"

"Here," she said, pointing to the line above his name.

After he'd signed, he took Steven from Hermione so she could sign. The nurse then muttered a spell and the birth certificate flashed gold.

"All done!" she said cheerily. "I'll give you some time with your baby," she said, and left the room.

Hermione reached out a hand and he met it with his own. She squeezed. "I love you," she said breathily, tears wetting her eyes.

Draco sat down on the bed next to her and returned Steven to her. Then he kissed the side of her head and wrapped his arms around her. "I love you too," he whispered into her hair.

"Isn't he amazing?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, unable to say more. He felt…full. Complete. "You, Granger, are amazing."

She chuckled and looked at him. "I kind of feel amazing right now. And not only because I just had a baby. Just…" she laughed. "Well, because I did all of that!"

He laughed and hugged her. "You did good," he said, watching his son take steady breaths. He felt a sudden sense of amazement realizing that he'd been a part of creating this brand new, perfect life. And just before the door burst open admitting a circus of people, most of them with red hair, he said, "And…I did something good."

ooo

Draco had had to get used to the idea of a lot of people in his life very quickly. When he decided to court Hermione, he found that in a way, it also meant courting the Weasleys. They were like a second family to her, an additional ten people who cared as much about her as he did. He'd proven himself to Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny, but still there remained the rest of the Weasley family.

The first time Hermione took Draco to the Burrow, a few weeks after the War had ended, he requested everyone's attention and handed out apologies, to their immense surprise. He wasn't especially fond of apologizing—didn't really have much experience with it—but he figured the best way to get things out of the awkward stage as quickly as possible was to confront the issues head on.

Draco had wanted to apologize, but at the same time, he hadn't. He wanted the Weasleys to knowhe was sorry, really sorry, for every horrible thing he'd ever said to or about them. He just hated being in the spotlight. But Hermione had strongly encouraged it, and so he did it.

He started with a succinct yet heartfelt apology to the entire family, and then a few individual ones as well: to Ron and then to Charlie. The former had had no idea of Draco's involvement in his injury, and he'd been worried that Ron wouldn't forgive him. Ron had been angry, but once Draco had explained the circumstances completely, he mumbled his forgiveness.

Charlie had been kidnapped by Draco during the early stages of the War to be tortured by the Death Eaters for information. Though Draco hadn't been involved in the actual torture, Charlie still assigned his face to the memory of the event in his mind. One night, four months after the War ended, Charlie overheard Draco tell Hermione he loved her. And from then on, he made an effort to get to know Draco.

Fred and George called him Potions for some reason, and almost every time, Hermione giggled hysterically.

It wasn't only that he had to get used to the Weasleys; he also had to come to terms with all those people who'd cared about Hermione for so long suddenly caring about him. Truly caring. And it went beyond his relationship with Hermione. The bond he'd forged with Harry would never be broken, and Harry was part of the Weasleys, so Draco had to be too.

After Draco had relayed his apologies on his first visit, he'd very quickly needed to leave. It was… too much, too fast. There had been a lot of emotion involved in his apology, and then the entire lot of them seemed to want to make up for the ten years they'd known Draco but had basically hated him. He could only take so much of being surrounded by noise and people and very quickly he'd exceeded his limits.

Each successive visit lasted a bit longer, until he could finally spend an entire day at the Burrow and keep his wits and his nerves about him the entire time.

In pleasant contrast, he enjoyed spending time with Hermione and her parents because things were much calmer and quieter. As their house had been sold, they had nowhere to go after leaving the island. Draco had promised he would buy them a house anywhere they wished. After a surprisingly short period of discussion and contemplation, the Grangers had asked for a modest flat in the middle of London. After being alone on an island—a beautiful, tropical, yet isolated and empty island—they wanted to be in the middle of people.

They'd had a difficult time getting their deaths legally "reversed," but in the end, Hermione cast a few spells to speed the process along. In Muggle courts, I assume. Mistaken identity was the final ruling, coupled with the Grangers' spur-of-the-moment decision to move to a foreign country, forsaking all of their belongings and worldly goods. It turned out to be great fun—of the kind Draco would be happy never to experience again.

ooo

A strong, cool breeze blew from the sea, ruffling Draco's and Steven's hair. Draco put a hand on his son's arm; it felt cool. He Summoned a blanket from across the porch and covered them both with it.

The porch swing was his favorite place in the entire world. After tucking Hermione in every night for six months, it already held a special significance in his mind.

Then six months after the War ended, after a long, long day at the Ministry, where he'd gone to finally get his wand back, Draco returned to the Edge. He was late; Hermione was supposed to meet him and they were going to celebrate his return to the magical world. But he'd had to go to three separate offices—didn't they know he was coming?—see five different people—he'd had an appointment—before finally being told that the first person he'd seen was the right person after all. He nearly broke his parole right then.

She was supposed to arrive at six and it was nearly seven; he felt awful, but there was nothing he could have done.

The house was dark when he entered but he knew she was there. Her bag and jumper were on his sofa. He called for her, but she didn't answer, so he looked in all the rooms, to no avail. He shook his head, realizing where she must have been, and scolded himself for not going there first thing.

She was asleep on the swing, wrapped in a blanket, her hair fluttering gently in the breeze. He just stared at her because he finally could and his heart had clenched painfully in his chest. He loved her more than anything.

He moved toward her, torn between waking her and letting her sleep. The boards of the porch creaked and she stirred, smiling up at him.

"Hey," she said sleepily.

"Hey," he returned, squatting beside the swing to be at eye level with her.

Hermione held out her hand and he took it. "I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"Don't be."

Then she pulled his hand toward her, and when she could pull no more, she grabbed his arm and pulled.

"What are you doing?" he asked, grinning.

"Come here."

She pulled his hand toward her, and he grinned widely at her. Only she could get those smiles out of him—the big, goofy ones where he knew he looked stupid but didn't care. Carefully, he climbed onto the swing, settling himself between her and the back of the swing. He was never more thankful than at that moment that he'd decided to put in a large swing.

"Are you tired?" she asked when he was comfortably situated behind her, his chest to her back, his arms wrapped around her.

He chuckled. "Not really."

"Can we just…go out in a bit?"

"Of course, whatever you want."

"Good," she said, yawning. "I really miss sleeping out here. Best sleep in my life."

Draco couldn't believe how quickly she fell asleep, but he wasn't complaining. The feel of her in his arms was too incredible to ruin with thinking. He drifted off too, surprisingly worn from his outing to the Ministry.

When he woke up, the stars were out and Hermione was looking at him, smiling sweetly.

"What?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

She chuckled. "Nothing. I think it's too late for dinner."

"Nonsense," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "We can go anywhere in the world for dinner."

"True." Hermione stretched and then brought her hand to his face. She traced a finger along his face. "You have a sleep line."

"Is that so?"

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he said without a moment's delay.

"Good. I'm hungry."

ooo

Draco had collected his mother from Azkaban two days after he'd been released and taken her to the Edge, where she stayed a couple of days while they discussed where she wanted to go. In the end, she'd chosen the house in Oxfordshire, and Draco had set up as many protective wards and spells as he knew.

Five months later, he took Hermione to officially meet Narcissa.

"Why are you so nervous?" he asked as they stood on the doorstep of her house. "You've met my mother before."

"Yes, but…those were completely different circumstances! It was on my terms, if you will. It was at the Ministry, your mother was in custody…now I'm going to her house. And…" she trailed off and looked at him.

"And what?"

"Well…I'm with you now."

"Don't worry, Hermione. Please," Draco said. "What happens today won't change anything, you know that." He tried to sound as reassuring as possible, confident and unfazed. Truthfully, he thought he might be more nervous than Hermione. He had never—ever—brought a girl to meet his parents. He'd never even told his mum he liked any girl, and today he planned to really tell her about Hermione. Whatever her reaction, Draco meant what he had said—nothing between him and Hermione would change. And he suspected his mother knew the truth, but didn't let on.

Whenever Draco talked about his life on his visits to see his mother, he would mention Hermione. Narcissa would inquire as to her general well being, but the electricity in the air always put him slightly on edge. Though he readily admitted he might have been imagining things.

Hermione was, regardless of his own feelings on the subject, Muggleborn. He'd never seen any evidence to suggest that his mother was anything other than the typical, prejudiced pureblood like his father, and he truly had no idea how she would react. Above all, he worried she might think Hermione wasn't good enough for him, which he found laughable.

To tell his mother that he was in love with a Muggleborn, to perhaps insinuate in some way that he wanted to spend his life with her…was daunting at the very least.

"Did you knock?" Hermione asked.

"I—oh. No."

She shifted her weight. "Well, please do. The sooner this starts, the sooner it's over."

Draco nodded, took a deep breath, and knocked.

Hermione grabbed his hand and held it tightly as they waited, then dropped it when they heard footsteps approaching.

Narcissa opened the door wide. She wore a set of long, pale blue robes that seemed to have strands of silver running through them. Her long, blonde hair fell halfway down her back, the strands around her face held back with a clip that matched her robes.

She looked at Draco, then at Hermione, then back to her son. "Good afternoon, Draco."

"Mother," he said cordially. "You're looking well."

Narcissa smiled. "As are you." She turned then to Hermione. "Miss Granger. We meet again."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione said, smiling nervously.

Narcissa's gaze traveled down Hermione then back to her face before she returned her attention to Draco. "I am so pleased you've come for tea. Please, come in." She stepped out of the way to allow Draco and Hermione to enter the house, which they did.

"Third door on the right, Draco," Narcissa said. "I will join you momentarily."

Draco and Hermione walked silently down the long, exquisitely furnished hallway. When they reached the right room, Draco opened the door and motioned for Hermione to enter.

The room had pale yellow wallpaper and 19th century furniture, including a piano. Hermione felt as though she'd stepped into a scene from Pride and Prejudice, and had to restrain a giggle. Draco guided her to a chaise lounge.

Hermione had just sat down when Narcissa returned. Draco remained standing until his mother had seated herself across from the chaise in a very ornate armchair. A coffee table between the chair and the chaise held a three-tier tray with the usual accoutrements of high tea.

Draco could feel Hermione's anxiety return full-force and silently willed her to relax.

"How do you take your tea, Miss Granger?" Narcissa asked politely.

"With one lump of sugar, please."

Narcissa looked at Draco. "I'll take two lumps, please."

Draco cracked a small smile for his mother, then stood and went to the sideboard to make tea for the two women. It was part of Narcissa's power play—though what she hoped to accomplish Draco couldn't imagine, except perhaps to intimidate Hermione. It would now feel to her as though Draco weren't in the room, even if just for a moment.

"So, Miss Granger. I've heard…quite a bit about you and the work you did from Draco since my release from prison. Though…not quite everything, I'm sure. He's very careful about what he gives away through his words."

"How has your time been since prison?" Hermione asked. Draco grinned; she hadn't taken the bait. "Did they treat you well while you were there? The guards were awful to Draco."

Narcissa shrugged. "Well enough. Since my release, I've had to get used to…so many new things. I'm still working on a few things."

Draco felt her eyes on him and he turned from the sideboard with two cups of tea. He crossed the room and handed first Hermione, then Narcissa, her tea. Then he went to prepare his own.

"It was an incredible shock to be told I had three days to clear out of the home I had lived in for nearly twenty-five years."

Draco quickly finished his tea and returned to sit beside Hermione.

"I can't even imagine," Hermione said, sipping casually from her cup. "How did you feel when you learned about Draco? About what he'd done?"

Draco nearly spat out his tea. He looked at Hermione sharply; she was looking at Narcissa, her eyes slightly challenging.

Narcissa took a very deliberate drink from her cup, then set it on the table. "Right to it, then," she said, her eyes shining as well.

Draco was at a complete loss. The mood in the room suddenly felt hostile. Hermione wanted to know how Narcissa felt about his turn, which he could only assume she thought would give her some indication of how Narcissa might feel about her. He couldn't think of a single thing to say to in some way derail the conversation.

Narcissa looked at him. "As I told you once, Miss Granger, I had observed changes in my son."

He looked away.

Narcissa continued. "I knew something was different, but I didn't know what. His own explanation seemed on first glance to be acceptable—that he'd truly bought in to the Dark Lord's propaganda."

Draco stood and went to a window, feeling suddenly quite uncomfortable. He didn't talk, as a general rule; he was only just starting to open up completely to Hermione. Sitting and listening to his mother analyze his actions, and speculate on them, was more than he'd anticipated.

"Draco?" his mother called.

"Go on," he said, very much against his will. But he realized this had to happen at some point, this battle between the two most important women in his life, and the sooner the better.

"The relationship between my son and my husband was most telling," Narcissa continued. "If Draco had truly bought into the Dark Lord's belief system, Lucius would have been pleased. Truly pleased. Draco would have taken his place in the Dark Lord's ranks, and we would have been one happy family.

"But Draco wanted more than to be a mere soldier. One thing you must know in order to understand my son is that he never fully bought what Lucius told him."

Draco felt warmth spread through him and his palms started to sweat. He examined the window intently, paying particular attention to the locking mechanism and the height of the sill from the ground outside. It looked safe enough to escape through, should he feel the need.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Hermione asked slowly. "I have always been under the impression he completely embraced the lifestyle into which he was born."

"To some extent, that is true. Draco believed what we told him of the world, as all children do. He accepted his father's beliefs in the same way all children would—simply because they were Lucius' beliefs. One thing you must realize, because I know for a fact you are a very bright witch, is that one cannot simply coast through life, clinging to your parents' beliefs. At some point, every child must either fully embrace the life they were raised to live for himself, or reject it in favor of an alternative.

"Take, for example, my own family. I am quite sure you know of the allegiances of some of them."

"Sirius and Andromeda, you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, most notably. They were raised in a certain environment, but when faced with a choice, even when not explicitly given, they rejected what they'd been taught all their lives. Even Regulus had a crisis of conscience before he died.

"Draco was every bit the perfect, pureblooded son until the time came for him to either embrace or reject the ideals behind pureblood superiority. Unfortunately, this test coincided with the task he was given by the Dark Lord."

"So…" Hermione started. "What, exactly, did he never buy into?"

"Most of it," Narcissa said. "The purity of blood, the superiority of blood—"

"That isn't entirely true, Mother," Draco interrupted quietly, not turning around.

"Oh?" Narcissa said, appearing surprised.

"I suppose you were right; I did what Father would have wanted. I accepted what he told me because that was what I was supposed to do. But I assure you, up until my…test, as you put it, I wholeheartedly embraced his ideals. I welcomed them; it was easy. I took the easy route. Believing what Father said was easy."

"Oh," said Narcissa softly.

Draco returned to look out the window. "I'm sorry to ruin your theory about me."

"It's not ruined, Draco. When the time came to act, when the true test was given, it was obvious what was truly inside you."

"Mother," Draco hissed, spinning back around. "I am my father's son."

"Stop being so hard on yourself," Narcissa returned. "You're too quick to assume the worst about yourself."

"But you don't know, Mother. You don't really know what's inside me, it isn't possible."

"I can see through your actions—"

"My actions?" He was nearly shouting now. His mother was trying to make excuses for him, and he refused to let her get away with it. "Should I list my actions for you, Mother? Do I need to remind you of everything I've done? The things you don't know…"

"Just stop it, Draco," Narcissa hissed, standing and crossing her arms. "You've made some bad decisions, but you were also forced into this life. You were raised this way, Draco, and that cannot be discounted."

"But I knew, Mother. I knew it was wrong, every time I picked on someone smaller than me, every time I hexed Potter in the halls."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Every time I called her—" he pointed at Hermione "—a Mudblood. Every time I killed someone."

Narcissa smiled sadly. "Don't you see? I know, son. That's exactly what I'm trying to say."

Draco frowned, frustrated.

"You knew. Do you think for one second Bella thought it was wrong to kill? Do you think she ever thought twice about it? She used to torture squirrels and birds in the backyard; I can assure you she never lost a moment's sleep over what she did to her victims. And Lucius! I can personally account for his lack of conscience. That, Draco, is why you are different."

"I still did—"

"You stopped! Eventually, something changed, and you stopped. You are different, Draco, from all those others—"

"—Mother—"

"And that is why I won't listen to you put yourself down! Do you understand?"

His heart was pounding. Narcissa had never talked to him like this in his life; she'd never really talked about anything of importance with him. So to hear her speak so vehemently about something—about him—was staggering.

Draco only scowled at his mother and turned back to the window.

"To answer your question, Miss Granger, no. I was not truly surprised to learn that my son's allegiance was not to the Dark side. I was, however, quite surprised by what he did about it."

Draco continued scowling.

"And quite proud," she added quietly.

Draco shut his eyes tight and chuckled. To think he'd been worried about Hermione meeting his mother. "You have no room, Mother. I was raised by two parents, not just Lucius. How can you come out now as though you're proud that I did what I did, when all my life you've fed me the same tripe he did?"

"I truly hope over time we can become friends, Draco. Now is certainly not the time for that discussion. Only know that I take partial responsibility for how you turned out."

Draco left the window and joined Hermione, who had been practically silent since she asked her question. He took her hand in his.

"Mother, I wanted you to meet Hermione."

Narcissa quirked an eyebrow and the corner of her lip edged upward in what could only have been the beginnings of a smile. "We've met."

He squeezed Hermione's hand. "Yes, I know, but…" he took a deep breath and looked at his mother. "She wasn't the woman I was in love with then." Draco heard Hermione's breath hitch. He looked at her. "Or were you?"

Hermione looked at him and smiled shyly. "I wouldn't know."

"Was it before or after Valentine's Day?"

"Oh, before, certainly."

"Ah. Then you were the woman I was trying desperately to not admit I'd fallen in love with."

"I see," she said, grinning.

"Well," said Narcissa. "This certainly changes things, doesn't it?"

Draco looked at his mother and couldn't help feeling slightly afraid of what she might say.

Then Narcissa turned the full force of her intense gaze on Hermione. She looked her over completely and finally sighed. "Well, honestly, it's about time."

That was probably the last thing Draco expected to hear. "What?" he asked.

"You've been talking about her since you collected me from Azkaban, Draco."

His jaw dropped.

"You haven't said anything about being in love with her, of course, but you practically shouted it in every other way possible."

Hermione giggled.

Draco clenched his jaw. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Draco. Considering that you have never shown much interest in a young woman before, to have you mention Miss Granger at every possible turn was quite telling."

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy, call me Hermione."

Narcissa again regarded her. "I do hope you'll forgive me for what I said to you when you saw me in Azkaban. It is only these last five months I have felt truly free to be myself—or at least, to freely think about what I believe." She looked at Draco. "I know it's far too little, too late, for me to exercise independent thought, but I am trying."

"Oh, it's…okay," Hermione said.

"You must realize, son, that your father would not have been pleased one bit."

Draco scoffed. "No kidding."

"Surely you must have realized he would have done everything in his power in order to prevent such a thing from happening."

Draco frowned. "Prevent what, exactly?"

"You marrying anyone other than a pureblood, of course."

His first instinct was to quash any idea his mother had that he'd even once considered marrying Hermione, but quickly the truth barreled him over. He did want to marry Hermione, she just didn't know it yet. And while at tea with his mother was not the way he wanted her to find out.

Narcissa continued. "I believe there were precautions put in place at your birth. Lucius called it 'insurance,' if I remember correctly. Unless you marry a pureblood, you'll lose your inheritance."

Draco's jaw dropped and he felt Hermione squeeze his hand. "You're…serious?"

His mother smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid so."

He scowled and looked at Hermione; she was staring directly ahead of her. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms for as long as it took for her to forget what his mother just said. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her none of that mattered, that he didn't mind working to support her, that he didn't care about any of it. That she was all he needed.

He sighed and rubbed his temples with his free hand. This was the most ridiculous conversation he'd ever had, he decided. "Lose everything? What would I lose, Mother? I have all I need."

"You would retain your name. That is all."

"Money?" he asked, incredulous. "You think I really care about that? Do you think, for one second, I would even consider giving her up for money? If you do, then you don't know me one bit."

"Draco, darling. I have no doubt as to your feelings for her, I'm merely warning you of the consequences of entering into such a union."

"We're not even engaged," Hermione snapped.

Narcissa looked at her.

Hermione continued. "This conversation seems premature, don't you think?"

"You can never be too prepared, Miss Granger. I simply want you and my son to have all the facts, in case…" she trailed off and loftily picked up her teacup.

"In case, what?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"Forget I said anything," Narcissa said with a dismissive wave. "I'm sure your intentions are completely honorable."

Draco's eyes widened and he felt Hermione tense. "What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded through clenched jaw.

Narcissa looked briefly at Draco, then back to Hermione. "Absolutely nothing."

"No, I'm not letting that go, with all due respect, Mrs. Malfoy. If you are trying to insinuate, for some reason, that I am only with your son for his money, then I hope he does lose everything, every single knut. Then you'll see exactly how I feel about him and know that his…his financial situation is of the least importance to me."

Hermione sniffled and Draco knew she was furious.

"Here, dear," said Narcissa, handing Hermione a delicate handkerchief. "It doesn't mean he can't marry you, only that he'll receive nothing from his father's estate."

Hermione accepted it and crumpled it in her fist.

Draco looked up sharply and narrowed his eyes. He knew one thing very well about his mother: she chose her words with precision. "What exactly do you mean?"

Narcissa smiled warmly at him. "That naturally, there was a loophole in such a contract, as there always is. You have the entire Black fortune at your command, as the only living male heir. And, should you choose to become part of your father's business, you could demand any salary you wished, up to and including every knut."

He shut his eyes tight and let out a slow breath and shook his head. "Why, Mother, in the name of Merlin, did you feel that was necessary?"

"I do apologize, Draco. My sense of humor hasn't always been widely accepted. Slytherin at heart, you know." She looked at Hermione, now a kind expression on her face. "Forgive me, Hermione. I… have never been good at trusting people. I prefer testing people. Do you think you can forgive me?"

"I would like to hear you say that you believe me—"

Narcissa hushed her before she could finish. "Yes, yes, of course. I know you truly care about my son and that his considerable wealth is of no consequence to you."

"I love him," Hermione said boldly.

Narcissa sighed and looked at Draco. "And bugger it all, I owe your aunt twenty galleons. Meda was completely right, she's absolutely perfect for you," she said.

Draco's heart swelled and he put his arm around Hermione, pulling her close to him. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him and he sunk his hand into her curls. "She's right, you know," he whispered.

Hermione pulled back, smiling magnificently at him.

Narcissa smiled regally. "Well, that's all settled. Would you care to stay for dinner?"

They agreed and ended up having a lovely evening. Narcissa was quite taken with Hermione, apparently had been ever since she and Andromeda had got together and swapped stories, and made every effort to get to know her, even ignoring Draco completely for nearly half an hour as the two women talked about Italy. Then Narcissa informed Draco as he and Hermione were leaving that if he was stupid enough to mess it up, she would disown him.

Draco had turned red. He and Hermione had only been an 'us' for a few months at the time, and even though he was nearly certain he never wanted not to be an 'us' with her, he wasn't quite sure he wanted his mother to know about it. Or maybe he did—maybe he wanted everyone to know it.

ooo

"Draco?" came a voice from inside the house.

Not wanting to shout and alert her to his whereabouts, and likely wake Steven, Draco could only wait for her to find him.

A moment later the porch door opened and he turned to see Hermione poking her head through. "There you are," she said, stepping onto the porch. She stood a few feet away and smiled at the two people on the swing.

"What's up?" he asked quietly.

Hermione came closer and he held out his hand for her to take. "Everyone will be here soon. Are you ready?"

"Yeah…ready as I can be."

She squeezed his hand and awkwardly lowered herself so she was eye level with him. "Okay. Everything's ready—the food, the house… I was just going to grab a book and come out here when I realized it has been entirely too long since I saw you."

Draco smiled. "It's been…what, a couple of hours?"

Hermione grinned. "Yes. Much too long, considering you're here, and I'm here." She kissed him then, careful not to disturb their son.

And Merlin, it was as though they'd never kissed before. It still sent shivers of pleasure coursing through him, tickling his stomach and his nerves, even though they'd been together five years. Well, nearly five years; ten days shy. He'd never, ever forget the date as long as he lived and it wasn't even their wedding anniversary. Without thinking, he reached up to take her face in his hand, longing to touch the soft skin of her cheek, feel her silken curls between his fingers.

Only he'd forgotten about the boy. Steven grunted and flailed his arms, startling Hermione so much that she lost her balance and fell onto her bum.

Draco's eyes widened in alarm even though she'd only fallen a few inches. She was pregnant, after all, though only just six months. But Hermione just laughed so Draco relaxed. She tried to stand up while laughing, and had a bit of a hard time, but she refused Draco's offers of help.

"Let him sleep," she said as she rested from her first attempt.

"But love, you can't get up," he said, trying to appear completely concerned and not let out the chuckle that was building. "He'll go back to sleep, you know how he is."

Hermione glared at him playfully. "I can get up, thank you, and I will. It's not as though I'm due tomorrow. I still have three months to go and I'm not totally incapable."

She tried again. He didn't want to, but he laughed at her plight, at the sight of her, slightly rounded belly exposed, trying to get up. After some effort, she stopped, laughing again, and had to wait until she'd calmed down to try once more. Eventually though, ever the stubborn Gryffindor, she stood.

"I'm exhausted!" she cried.

"I'm sorry, love," he said.

"I'll come collect you in a bit. You'll need to help me get the door."

"Hermione, it's not as though we're expecting the whole of England. It's just a few of our friends."

She started fidgeting with her shirt. "I know, but…this is important. I want everything to go well."

"It will, don't worry. You'll be brilliant, as usual, and I'll be there to make you look even better by messing up everything I possibly can."

She chuckled, and reached for his hand again. "Are you okay, though?"

"Yes, Hermione. It's been five years—it's just a day, like any other day. It's no harder than it was yesterday, no harder than it will be tomorrow. Stop worrying about me."

She nodded and he felt his heart swell. She trusted him, enough to believe him when he told her not to worry about him. It never ceased to make him remember just how much he didn't deserve her.

"Enjoy story time," she said, winking at him and disappearing into the house.

Merlin, he loved her and she was his. She would always be.

Draco was amazed that Steven had completely slept through the noise he and Hermione had made. He ran a hand through the boy's hair and sighed. That day, the day he realized he wanted her forever, really forever, was etched into his brain.

They were walking through a park in Muggle London when it had started to rain. It was only a few months after the War had ended. Three months, but it still felt like his entire life, like the biggest thing in his life. Really, it was. He had cursed, upset that their afternoon would be cut short. After all, he'd planned to take her by the river to throw stones into the water. Big planner, very romantic, he knew.

Hermione had turned to him, grinning, and grabbed his hand, pulling him off the pavement and onto the grass. He had protested, trying everything he could think of to get her to stop dragging him through the now-pouring rain. He was getting drenched, and he really didn't like it. Hermione was soaking wet as well, but smiling ridiculously.

"Granger, stop this!" he said, finally yanking himself free from her grasp. "This – this is insane." She had only continued smiling at him. Then she started twirling, arms outstretched, head tilted up to the sky. He could have watched her all day. Finally, she must have become too dizzy to continue, for she stopped spinning and stumbled a little bit when she tried to walk toward him. He caught her up in his arms and kissed her fiercely in the pouring rain. Then he wrapped her in his arms and slowly twirled with her, the two of them completely lost in where they were at that moment.

They had ended up both getting colds, and crashed at Harry and Ginny's sharing chicken soup – her home remedy of course— watching bad TV movies while their friends waited on them, grumbling all the way.

But he knew.

ooo

And then he told her—four months later. It took him that long to work up the nerve. After the visit with his mother, things just clicked in his head. Hermione wasn't going anywhere, he knew that, but still the idea that she could haunted him.

So he told her he loved her more than anything and thought he was pretty sure he'd want to spend the rest of his life with her. And she had smiled, eyes shining, and said, "Yeah, I know. Me too."

So they went looking—not shopping; he did not shop—for rings. She had said she didn't need anything fancy, so he bought her an antique emerald ring with an intricate pattern on the band. It hadn't cost much at all, but money was never a thing with Hermione and she'd cried when she put it on.

"So, that's it then," he said.

"What it?"

"We're going to, you know, get married now."

"I suppose so," she'd said, smiling up at him.

"Yeah…" he said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. "Reckon we are."

"Are you excited?" she asked tentatively, resting her head against his chest.

He chuckled. "Absolutely, love."

"Me too."

"And slightly terrified."

She chuckled. "Me too."

"Good. At least we're in it together."

He wasn't good at romance, but she didn't seem to mind. She said the little things he did for her meant more than all that fluffy stuff that, in the end, only proved that he'd spent money on her. Though she never seemed to mind it when he did go temporarily insane and bring her a flower from a garden he passed on his way to her flat.

ooo

They got married after a relatively short courtship of ten months at the house where Narcissa lived. Hermione hadn't been too keen on the idea at first, but Narcissa insisted and promised to stay out of the planning, so Hermione reluctantly agreed. Narcissa didn't keep her promise, of course, and together with Andromeda and even Tonks, helped Hermione plan a beautiful, intimate ceremony and celebration. Hermione ended up being grateful for the help, and quickly added Andromeda to her list of favorite people

It had thrown Narcissa into of a spin, as she'd never been involved with anything so small. And Malfoys aren't too familiar with small. But with the help of Jane, Andromeda, Molly and Ginny, everything went without a hitch. Though Andromeda had to keep reminding her sister that small could still be exquisite.

"Think diamonds," she would say whenever Narcissa got flustered.

Draco didn't care too much about the mechanics. To him it was perfect, because he was married to Hermione at the end of it.

The ceremony was held in the rose garden by the fountain. The entire flock of redheaded Weasleys was there, plus Harry of course, and all the Weasleys' various significant others. Hermione's parents were there, and a few friends from school, like Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Luna. Draco didn't invite anyone. Joseph Stephens, the Interrogator who'd released Draco, married them, and when Draco kissed Hermione as his wife, he thought he would never be happier.

But when she told him almost two years later that she was pregnant, he realized he'd been wrong. And then he was wrong again nine months later.

ooo

Another cool breeze swept in from the ocean and Steven stirred again, turning his head to face the opposite direction. Draco gently rubbed his back until his breathing became even once more.

He sighed. Yes, he was happy. And there was a time, a very long time, when he hadn't thought it was possible. He glanced at Steven's peaceful, innocent face. He liked his life—he loved his family. Hermione was the best thing that had ever happened to him and every single day since she'd decided he was worth the risk, he'd made an effort not to take her for granted.

Then they'd had Steven. Hermione came home from the hospital a few days after Steven was born, and both her parents came as well, to stay with them and help out as they could. Draco was beyond grateful for the help, as he had no clue whatsoever what he was doing.

Draco had been overwhelmingly ecstatic at first, but as the days passed, a growing sense of panic settled inside him. He saw to Hermione's needs, learned to change nappies and properly swaddle his son. He was running nearly all day, every day, trying to be as helpful as possible without also getting in the way.

On the morning of the third day, Draco woke before Hermione. They'd been up four times the night before and he wanted her to get as much rest as possible while she could. Steven would be hungry in a matter of minutes, he knew. As quietly as he could, Draco crept out of their room. He poked his head into the room that would one day be Steven's and found his namesake holding him, bouncing ever so slightly and speaking softly to the sleeping baby.

The panic that had been building burst into life. He started sweating and shaking and he felt clammy. He must have made a noise because Steve looked up at him.

"Morning, Draco," he said quietly, smiling. When Draco didn't reply, he looked concerned. "Are you okay? You look ill."

"I—" he started, but it sounded distressed. He shook his head and continued down the hallway. When he reached the stairs, he hurried down them and then nearly ran to get outside. Jane called to him as he dashed through the kitchen but he didn't even slow down.

He ran straight to the edge of the cliff and fell to his knees, fighting the urge to be sick. His breath was ragged and he was no longer warm but shivering. He barely had the presence of mind to Transfigure his robe into a warm cloak.

He was a father. He was a dad.

He had a CHILD for whom he was responsible and not just to clothe and feed. He was supposed to somehow influence his son, mold him to become a man. And Draco wanted him to be a good person, like Hermione. How could he possibly accomplish it?

Draco had never had a good relationship with Lucius and he had no idea how on earth to raise his son. He didn't want to be anything like Lucius, but inevitably, he saw things in himself that were remnants of his father. There were some things Draco didn't mind inheriting from his father: good financial sense, intelligence, a few of the finer Slytherin traits.

But most of his father's traits he never wanted to call his own. Lucius was too hard with him growing up, too cold. Draco had never felt the love from him—his mother either, really—that a parent should have for his child. After seeing Steven, after holding him, Draco couldn't imagine how his father had so easily let him go. He could never.

Lucius had also instilled hatred and anger in Draco from a very young age, teaching him right from the start that certain people were better than others. Only it was more than that—it was that certain people were intrinsically better than others, through no actual merit. It was the whole blood thing—pure versus dirty. Blood you're simply born with, blood that's really no different except in the way people perceived it. As he'd told Hermione before, he'd seen all kinds of blood, and it was all the same.

Lucius had expected perfection from Draco, and never gave any positive feedback when he did something right. He wanted Draco to be like him, to hate and kill and be superior, but when Draco tried, he resented him.

In the end, Draco realized Lucius had never really loved him—he couldn't have; there was no way he would never have treated his own son the way he did. Draco had been something of a novelty, something that was expected of Lucius, as it was expected of all good, pureblood families to produce offspring.

Draco shook his head. Vaguely he realized the Grangers might be concerned about him, but at that moment he couldn't think about that. Steven was fine, he was in good hands. Hermione… well, he wouldn't be gone long. Draco Apparated onto the ledge where he and Harry had spent hundreds of hours training. He sat down and leaned against the cliff wall, wrapping the cloak tightly around him.

He didn't want to be like Lucius, but he didn't know how not to be. And he couldn't go back home until he knew, until he had a plan. Plans were good, and logical, and well-thought.

Draco stayed on the ledge until he felt the sun beating directly on his head and knew he'd better get back to help Hermione.

She, Steve, and Jane were sitting at the table, eating a light lunch and talking quietly. They looked up when he entered.

Steve and Jane resumed their conversation and he sat at the table, feeling awkward. Hermione reached for his hand and squeezed it, giving him a questioning look. He motioned toward the stairs and she nodded.

When they were shut in their room, he told her what had happened, that he had seen Steve with their child and had a kind of panic attack. She listened, worried.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I—not yet. I don't know. I'll be fine, don't worry, but…"

"Don't worry?" she said. "Draco, what am I supposed to do?"

"No, please, I—I will be okay. I just…needed to think."

"Are you finished thinking?"

He bit his lip and grinned at the thought he'd picked up one of her traits. Then his face fell. "No, I don't think so…"

Hermione tapped her foot and looked frantically around the room. "Well, I need a few things from the shop, if you wouldn't mind getting them for me."

Draco frowned. "What kind of store? Diagon Alley? Or the Muggle shops?"

"Both. I was going to ask you to go after lunch… do you mind?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. I'll go after lunch."

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Come back by tonight, okay?"

He blinked and frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

She smiled. "Just—promise me, okay?"

"Okay, I promise."

Hermione hugged him tight. "I love you. Remember that."

Draco pulled her tighter. "I know."

They returned to the kitchen and after lunch, during which he'd tried his very best to appear like his usual self, Hermione asked him to go to Diagon Alley to pick up a few things. He happily agreed and, list in hand, Disapparated.

Quickly Draco went through the list and purchased everything Hermione needed—a few ingredients from the Apothecary, a new book from Flourish and Blotts, and finally a few Muggle baby supplies. He carried the bags through London and tried his best to come up with a solution to his worry, a good solid plan, but his thoughts were scattered.

After walking for over an hour, he stopped in a park and sat on a bench. He stared ahead of him, eyes unseeing, until something caught his eye. A family had brought their dog and were running around playing with it. The father, mother, and two children looked to be having a lot of fun, but then the boy fell and hurt his leg very badly. The boy started crying. Both of his parents went to him, but the boy's father picked him up and carried him out of the park. As Draco watched, they reached a car and the father set him quickly but gently in the backseat.

The mother and daughter arrived with the dog, the mother crying because she was so worried. The father gave her a quick hug, then they all got into the car and drove away, presumably to a hospital.

And that was it, really. The answer, in all its simplicity. Maybe he didn't have to have all the answers; he just had to be there when his child needed him. He had to be the one to carry Steven when he couldn't walk, to wipe away the dirt and tears. He would have to create in his mind a new definition of what a father was.

He'd gone home straightaway, straight to Hermione—she was, at that moment, sitting with her parents, Jane holding Steven—and kissed her over and over and told her how much he loved her and would always be there for her and Steven.

She'd smiled and nodded, then laughed because despite how well the Grangers knew Draco, they were still staring at him in utter shock. Very rarely did Draco express intense feelings or emotions in front of his closest friends, and he'd just done exactly that, with no thought to the consequences.

Instead of turning red, as he normally would have, he simply went to Jane and took his son from her, then sat beside Hermione, smiling to himself.

ooo

But there was something.

There was a small part of him that whispered in his brain sometimes when he was doing something he really enjoyed—playing with Steven, sitting on the porch swing, holding his wife, or walking through London with her and their son, just laughing and talking like normal people. That whisper would tell him that he wasn't finished, that he still had a debt to pay. He wasn't allowed to be this happy. It upset the delicate balance in the world of good and bad. Because he was a bad person and he always would be, no matter what. And bad people didn't deserve to be happy.

Hermione assured him endlessly that he wasn't a bad person, but there were times Draco simply couldn't believe her. He still wrestled with demons over what he'd done in what now seemed like a former life. He still had nightmares where he pictured the faces of those he hurt and killed, every single one. He woke up in cold sweats, sometimes yelling, and Hermione had to calm him down, remind him where he was and that all the bad things were over.

He just wished he truly felt that way, and most of the time he did. There were just times when it really felt too good to be true. Part of him kept waiting for something bad to happen to make it all end. The more time that passed, the more he almost expected it. Whenever he told Hermione how he felt—and it was one subject he didn't bring up often, didn't like to think about—she listened and he really felt like she understood. She'd gone through the deaths of her parents and subsequent difficult time that included trying to kill him.

When things were really good, they could laugh about it.

She didn't try to tell him he was talking rubbish, she never brushed him off. But she did insist that he shouldn't feel that way, even though she understood why he did. She'd remind him of all the good things he'd done, all the people he'd helped since turning from the Dark. It cheered him some, but he could never fully quash the voice that crept into his head at times.

There was something else that plagued his mind whenever he thought about Steven or Hermione's rapidly expanding belly. He'd told Hermione about it for the first time the night before. She was reading in bed when he crawled in next to her, kissing her softly on the cheek. She smiled, still looking at the pages of her book.

Draco held out his hand and she took it automatically, still reading. Draco looked down at the arm attached to the hand she was holding. He frowned and then sighed deeply.

Hermione closed her book and put it away; she knew what a sigh like that meant. She looked at him questioningly. "What is it, Draco?"

He squeezed her hand. "Look."

"At what?"

"Our hands."

Hermione looked.

"What do you see?"

"I see our hands entwined."

"What else?" he pressed. There was no way she would not see it.

"The Dark Mark."

"Right," he said. "The Mark. It will always be there."

"I know," Hermione said quietly. "But I've known that for years, love. What's on your mind?"

He sighed. "I've just been thinking. Steven is getting older; I can actually have a conversation with him." He chuckled. "Granted, it's usually about cereal or juice, but meaning is conveyed."

Hermione nodded.

"Well, someday, I'm going to have to tell Steven what this thing means. And that scares me to my bones. Right now, he just thinks his dad has a cool tattoo. But it won't be like that forever, it can't."

Hermione pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it, then she kissed his wrist, and finally up his arm to where the Mark stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. He stiffened.

"Hermione, don't," he said, and pulled his arm away.

She sighed. "Why? It's a part of you. If you want to ignore it, it will just sneak up from behind and bite you. Ironic, since the Mark is a snake, but that's neither here nor there," she said, trying to get a smile from him.

It didn't work; he didn't feel at all like smiling. "Steven is going to grow up and learn his father was a murderer. A murderer, Hermione. Can you even fathom how that is going to affect him?" Draco sat up and drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. "He's going to go to school, and kids are going to hear his name, and they'll stare, and point, and whisper. 'He's a Malfoy,' they'll say. 'Bad lot, all of them.'"

"No, Draco. That's not true. Everyone knows what you did in the War."

"Yes, well, but not everyone believes it. I know it; I see it in people's eyes. Just the way I remember people looking at my father all my life until he was finally confirmed as a Death Eater. They might accept what the papers have told them about me, but they don't believe I'm truly changed, and why should they? I don't even believe it." He stood up and began pacing. "My father claimed to be good for years, but no one really trusted him. They took his money, sure, but even I heard the whispers as we walked through the street. I see that same look directed at me now and there's not a thing I can do about it."

"Time – "

"No!" he said earnestly. "I'm sorry, but you're wrong. Time will not make things better, it will not make this go away. I could do all kinds of good things for others, but my name will always be a rumor away from being thrown back into the gutter. What kind of life can I give my children when their father is so mistrusted? What am I supposed to do, Hermione?" he asked, stopping suddenly and looking at her. She thought he looked completely lost, and she held out her arms to him. He went to her, and crawled back into bed, and curled up against her.

"Just be the man you know you are, the man you want to be. Lucius was an evil man, and so people continued to look at him that way even though he insisted otherwise. You don't say a word, and Draco, I swear it, people look at you that way less and less every time we're out."

He looked up at her.

"I mean it. If you think I don't notice the way they look at us, you have sorely underestimated me. And the more we are seen, the less people look."

"You—you're just saying that."

She smiled and shook her head. "Would I ever just say something to you? Look at me." He sat up and looked into her eyes. "Would I?"

"No."

"Right. I would never lie to you just to make you feel better. It's been five years, and you've been completely within the law. You married me, a Muggleborn; we have one child, and another on the way. Lucius, even when he was trying to convince the world he was never really on the Dark side, didn't really try very hard. Remember! He used money to sway people's opinions. He was still arrogant and rude and prejudiced.

"Draco, you are none of those things. Anyone who looks with even a slight desire to know the truth will see that you, unlike him, are truly sorry for what you did. It's in the way you carry yourself, as though grateful for every breath you take.

She took his hand and he felt a thousand tiny bubbles explode inside.

"Please, my love. Believe me. You are not your father, you have never been like him. People will see that. They have a lot of hurts to get over first, but they will. And when the time comes to talk to our children, we will. Together. They will know you by then, Draco. It's going to be hard, you're right, but we can get through it. We got through Voldemort, remember?"

He looked into her eyes and for only the thousandth time saw nothing by love and admiration. "Hermione, I love you."

She smiled. "I love you, Mr. Malfoy."

He smiled back, feeling relieved and whole again. His mind then became singularly focused. "Mrs. Malfoy," he said in a low, rumbling voice.

She giggled and he kissed her. For a few hours.

ooo

"Draco, wake up."

He opened his eyes and slowly they focused on Hermione. He grinned at her.

She smiled back and rubbed Steven's back "Time for you two to get up from your nap. It's nearly three and you know Ginny. Always early."

"I can't believe I fell asleep," Draco said, yawning.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "You can't?"

"Er, well…I guess I can."

"Uh-huh. You're all snuggled under a blanket, there's a cool breeze, Steven is sleeping on top of you, making it so you can't really do anything…"

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'll take Steven upstairs and put him in his bed. Would you just get the door if someone knocks?"

"Oh, Hermione no, I'll take him up. You don't need to go up and down those stairs more often than is strictly necessary. Don't over-exert yourself."

She laughed. "Okay, sure. I have been working all day, whereas you have been out here napping."

Draco's eyes widened. "I have not! I helped you all morning, right up to right around two this afternoon. You were playing with Steven as I recall, and I came out here to read. I can't help it that he joined me and then fell asleep."

"I was kidding, love," Hermione said with a chuckle. "You've been wonderful. I'll take him up."

"Hermione, let me. You know you're not supposed to be lifting heavy objects, and a two-year-old certainly qualifies."

She sighed. "Well…okay."

Draco looked at the top of Steven's curly head. "Hey, buddy," he said softly. "I'm gonna take you to your room now." Very carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping child too much, Draco maneuvered into a standing position. He went to Hermione and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "Be right back."

By the time Draco rejoined Hermione, everyone had arrived: Harry and Ginny with their three children, plus Ron and Luna and their daughter. She was the newest of the bunch, only three months old. Hermione was already holding her, cooing and making baby noises.

Everyone looked up when he entered and he nodded. Harry grinned at him and Ginny hugged him.

Every year they gathered on the anniversary of the end of the War to pay tribute to those who had fought, died, and perhaps most importantly, lived. Someone always cooked—this year Hermione and Draco were hosting—and after dinner they would have a kind of ceremony. It was nothing formal, or specific, just a time to think and to remember.

Harry usually said a few words, and the women ended up in tears. Draco listened and had to fight his own set of tears every year. There were things about the last few days before Voldemort died that were still raw, namely his father's death. His face haunted Draco's sleep more often than anyone else.

This year, however, something changed in him while Harry was talking. And he didn't know what it was, or why it happened, but it did. He was going along the usual route, slowly arriving in his mind at the day of his father's death, when he hit a mental roadblock. Something he told his father, about Hermione. That he'd promised her he wouldn't kill again. He'd made that promise and she had never asked it of him, she hadn't even been there when he'd made it.

He realized he'd made the promise to her because he thought he could keep it for her.Because hedidn't want to kill anymore. He hadn't trusted himself to follow through with the promise when placed only on himself, but by linking the promise to Hermione, he believed he could do it.

In the end, he'd actually kept the promise for himself. As much as he loved Hermione, even that wouldn't have been strong enough to keep him from something if he wanted it strongly enough. He had used the idea of a promise to her to get him to do what he truly wanted to do anyway, but it was his own strength, his own resolve by which he followed through.

He didn't kill Lucius. He didn't kill him—he'd chosen not to. Lucius was dead; he'd signed his own death warrant when he accepted the Horcrux. He would have died regardless. It wasn't his fault.

It wasn't his fault.

Harry was in the middle of an anecdote about something that had gone wrong on one of their missions when Draco interrupted.

"Hey!" he said. Harry stopped mid-word, and everyone turned to him. Hermione's eyes were wide.

"What is it, Draco?" Harry asked, a bit concerned.

Then Draco reddened. He'd blurted out without really thinking about what he wanted to say, but he felt compelled to say something.

"I—I just wanted to…to say that I understand something," he said haltingly. Everyone kept watching him, waiting for him to continue. "Why we do this, why we remember. Why we don't just remove the painful memories."

Luna looked at him as though she wasn't surprised in the least that he was talking, which he decided he'd think about later. "What makes you say that?" she asked.

He was still quite warm in the face and really wanted to crawl into a hole, but everyone was still staring at him and he knew he wouldn't be allowed. "I—I mean that we can learn from them, even after we've already learned from them. My…father. He died, and all I've been able to think about is me, how that affected me. Hermione lost her parents for two years, but she lived through it, and I mean really lived. Didn't crawl into a hole and stay there, she kept fighting.

"For years, I – I've placed this huge amount of blame on myself, and…it's not my fault. I thought I'd never be able to get past it."

Draco took a deep breath. "But…I think I just did."

Hermione was beaming at him, tears in her eyes. She quickly handed the baby back to Luna and crossed the room to him, and then hugged him as tightly as her belly would allow. Draco didn't think she'd ever held him so tightly.

And he didn't even care that the room was full of people. He just hugged her back and let all the relief, all of her strength flood through him, cleansing him. He felt light, as the weight that had pressed on him for five years, plus the one that had pressed on him for much longer than that, disappeared.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but finally Hermione whispered, "I love you, Malfoy."

Draco gave her a gentle squeeze and said, "You too, Granger."

She pulled away smiling, her eyes bright but dry. She took his hand in hers and moved to stand beside him.

"Uh, sorry about that Harry," said Draco with a chuckle. "Please, carry on."

Everyone was silent.

"No, I think I'm done, actually. Besides, isn't it about time for dessert?"

ooo

There must have been something about that day, maybe the really delicious food, the new baby on the way, or maybe even Draco's confession, but everyone stayed late into the night. Kids were asleep on any horizontal surface they could find, and the six friends migrated onto the porch to avoid waking them. Finally everyone left in the small hours of the morning.

Draco and Hermione bade them goodbye, and returned to the porch swing. They sat on the swing and Hermione snuggled in Draco's arms.

"That was nice," she said after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah," he agreed, kissing the top of her head.

"I don't think we need to do it anymore, really."

"Why not?" he asked, surprised.

"Well…it seems as though we're all okay now. We've all been healing slowly; you have taken the longest, since you had so much more to mend. But now…I don't know, maybe it's too soon to tell."

Draco considered her comment. He truly felt better than he ever had before, as though he'd truly, finally put all the bad behind him. He still didn't feel good, but he no longer thought of himself as a bad person—he'd been punishing himself for long enough. It was time to really let it all go.

"I'm…okay," he said.

Hermione sat up and they looked at each other. "All the way, okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

She smiled. "Oh, Draco. You've had this…cloud over your head as long as I've known you. Even I couldn't make it go away."

"No, you couldn't. Because…because it was me, it was my past, my life. My wrongs. I had to come to terms with all of it. I couldn't do it for you no matter how much I might have wanted to."

She snuggled back under his arm. "I'm glad, Draco."

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she asked, sounding suddenly sleepy.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you, Draco."

"And you always will. No matter what."

She looked at up him with a slight frown. "No matter what— what do you mean?"

"Please, just say it."

"I always will, no matter what."

"Me too."

"I know," she said.

"I know, I just…needed to tell you again."

"Okay."

"I'm…worried."

"About what, love?"

"That it's just an illusion, this peace I feel right now. How do I know it will last? What if tomorrow, I wake up, and it's gone? And all the pressure is back, and that cloud?"

"Draco, look at me."

He did.

"You know that I love you, and I always will. You might be right; this new feeling might not always be with you. There will probably be times when you have to fight your demons again, but remember! I am here, fighting with you, every day. And when they bully their way into your head again, just remember that together, we can beat them. Even if all I can do is cheer you on, hold you, and love you."

"But…I'm happy, Hermione. Happier than I ever thought possible."

"Draco, No one deserves to be happy, okay? Not even me. You are the most amazing thing to ever happen in my life, and every day I think how lucky I am when I open my eyes and you're right beside me. I don't deserve it; we're just lucky. The moment you start to think you deserve this is the moment you've lost it. Never take it for granted. Just love me, I'll just love you, and we'll be okay."

Draco took a deep breath. "You are amazing, you know that?"

"You've mentioned it," she said with a smile.

"Let's sleep out here tonight, what do you say?"

"You know that's always fine with me."

They both lay down and Draco wrapped her in his arms, breathing her in. "I want to be this forever," he whispered into her hair.

"We will," she said. Then she turned around in his arms so they were facing each other. "It's you and me, Malfoy."

He grinned and kissed her nose and said, "I like our odds."

Then he kissed her for a very long time until Hermione reminded him that they had to be really, really careful, as they were on the swing and she was pregnant.

He smirked, remembering the last time they'd been on the swing—it had gotten quite…feisty. So he suggested they go inside, but Hermione just grinned mischievously and said no, she liked a challenge.

He would battle demons for the rest of his life, and there would be times when they would almost win. But he knew Hermione would be there beside him, and with her help he would beat them, because together they really were something. Something absolutely amazing.

ooo

The End

ooo

Yes, truly this is the end. But there are deleted scenes to look forward to!

And now…reviewers hall of fame! I have been keeping track of my reviews, and I have quite a few people to thank! First of all, thank you to EVERYONE who has reviewed so far. Each and every time I received an email alert, I smiled. In all the reviews I've received to far, I only had one or two people say they didn't like it. I think that's amazing!

Drum roll please…

The One Cherry Award, for 10-14 reviews goes to: AerinAlanna, aerochick06, AlittleLonely, Apathetic Empath 2 (Z, I heart you, my dear), blue artemis, BlueIrishEyes, decembergirl, delyn, Diamonde, FastTimes90, ginnyginny, Girl With A Pen, iamchlorine, jamy21, Jedi Knight Bus, Jester08, librastar, Life Is Truly Great, Markitdownb4itsstruck, mrivera, Natural-181, perfect.manhattan, pobrediabla, queenofthelameos, rosalily, UniTexasWriter11, and untamedspiral.

Two Cherry Award, for 15-19 reviews goes to: brick-red-wall, ChewedGum, Dark Hope Assassin, jitterbug393, moony's number 1, RahNee, snuffles, and spix.

Three Cherry Award, for 20-24 reviews goes to: Ehlonna, eilonwy (There aren't enough WORDS to tell you how much you made this better!), grace, Laendra, Lucifer-the-great-undead, Marionette, oneamsoundstage, Proverbs and Terry Moon.

Four Cherry Award, for 25-29 reviews goes to: adriennelouise, Hotkat144, kazfeist, marauder'sbabe, NotreDamegirlie, slytherinqueen23, Steelo and Your Mom Is My Heart.

And finally, the Island Award, for more than 30 reviews goes to Dizzied, SiriuslyPadfoot'sGal (JKRsunkmyship – didn't know which name you preferred!) and superelle.

I have a surprise for you… Go to my profile page and click the link you find there. It will take you to my LiveJournal, to a post where I posted a thank you gift. I will leave the link up for two weeks.

THANK YOU!