Chapter Text
He dreams of her in the darkness. Between the long and gruelling sessions with the Aurors who drip Veritaserum down his throat and make him spill secrets he’d rather keep buried until he rots away.
They keep him blindfolded and bound, but he can smell when she’s in the room. Out of sight and out of reach, just like he deserves. But he looks towards her when he speaks, even though she never says a word. Never breathes in his direction or strokes his hair away from his forehead like she used to.
“Do you love her?” One of the Aurors asks, and Draco hears Hermione’s sharp intake of breath.
“More than anything,” Draco answers as he tilts his face towards her. “That’s why I kept her safe.”
A rustle of movement. A shift in the air. A door slamming as Hermione leaves the room.
They leave him alone for a long time after that.
Draco wakes to the cell door scraping open. He shifts against the floor, his shoulders aching from another night on the hard stone.
He can smell her – lilacs and rain – and Draco shifts until he’s sitting up on his feet. “Hermione?” There are no other footsteps – no other smells or sounds – it’s just her as she closes the door without saying a word.
Draco licks his lips as fear and excitement swirl around in his stomach. “Hermione?”
“During the battle,” Hermione says softly as she steps closer. Kneels, maybe, because there’s the sound of cloth rustling and her voice sounds nearer, “I saw you cast the spell.”
Draco hisses in a breath. His heart scratches at the cage of his ribs. “What?”
“The last thing I saw was a flash of silver.” Hermione touches her fingertips to his cheek and Draco flinches before leaning into her touch. “And I was so scared, Draco. I was surrounded and I couldn’t see and you were so far away.”
“But I saved you,” Draco whispers. “I protected you.” He’d stained his hands red to keep her blood from flowing like the rivers he’d drowned in. He creeps forward on his knees, nuzzling his cheek to her hand. “I kept you alive.”
“You kept me alive,” Hermione agrees. She traces his bottom lip with her thumb, gentle and soft. “The healers at St Mungo’s restored my eyes, Draco.”
He shivers as her fingernails dig into his skin. Presses himself into the pain of it.
“They said that whoever tore my vision away could have fixed my eyesight with a flick of their wand. But it took them weeks.” Her voice is low and angry and Draco’s trembling against her because he craves it, craves her violence against his body, craves her harsh words slicing through him like nails through skin. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because,” Draco whispers. “I didn’t-“ He swallows. There’s no Veritaserum on his tongue to coat his words in the truth, but he answers honestly all the same. “I didn’t want you to look at me with hatred. Or disgust.”
Hermione blows out a sigh that caresses his face like her hand. “They want to execute you.” She’s leaning forward – her knees are bumping against his – and her arm brushes against his shoulder as she reaches behind him.
“Do you?” Draco asks, suddenly very still and aware of her movements. Both her hands are behind his head, twisting and shifting the blindfold. Tearing it free.
After so long in the darkness he knows to keep his eyes closed. To let the backs of them adjust to the faint grey light. Hermione’s hand slides around to cup his face again, her thumb idly stroking against his cheekbone as Draco slowly flutters his eyes open.
Hermione’s eyes are silver. Draco blinks in the scant light – a faint glow more than anything – long and slow blinks as his eyes adjust and he can open them without wincing in pain.
Still silver. Still watching him. Still no hatred or disgust.
“No,” Hermione says softly, and there’s something gentle in her expression as she smiles faintly. “I don’t.”
“Why?” Draco breathes. He feels as though he's still dreaming.
“Because you kept me alive.” Hermione tilts her head slightly. “And safe. So now it’s my turn.”
She kisses his forehead and then leaves in a rush of lilac-scented air.
Draco is not granted freedom. He is granted permission to live under Hermione Granger’s half-blind yet watchful gaze. His Manor is given over – his possessions – his body – his soul.
She already has his heart.
He’s slightly disappointed she doesn’t put a collar around his neck just to mark him for the world to see. One night he brings it up and she laughs and strokes a finger against his throat.
“Is that what you want?” She asks, and there’s something in her eyes that makes Draco’s spine feel as though she’s run her fingernail down his skin.
“I want to be yours,” Draco says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her exposed shoulder. “Always.”
“You already are,” Hermione says softly as she lazily runs her fingers through his hair. “I’ll collar you in a different way, Draco.” She kisses him and distracts him so thoroughly that he almost forgets ever asking.
The wedding rings are as silver as her eyes, as silver as the unicorn hair she’d taken from his broken wand. Her friends – the few that remain – ask her a dozen times if she’s sure until she threatens to cast Silencing Charms on them.
It snows during the ceremony, soft white flakes that cling to her dark hair and white dress and make her seem as though she’s glittering and iridescent. Draco forgets how to breathe a dozen times over as she looks at him with pale eyes that sparkle with love.
She’s his. And he’s hers.
Forever.