Chapter Text
March 2000
“Granger? Hermione, love, wake up.”
Draco’s words were the first thing she heard when she woke from a deep sleep, feeling more rested than ever. A sense of tranquility washed over her as she shifted in a soft bed with warm blankets, the first comfort she’d felt in weeks…months? Light sun rays were streaming through the curtains and Hermione sighed — she hadn’t seen the sun in so long. She didn’t know when it was, or the timeline of anything. Hermione reached across the sheets, seeking respite with Draco. He had always been the light amidst her darkness, refuge and safety against the war within her mind.
“Good morning,” Draco whispered as he knelt beside the bed, relief bright in his eyes with a weary smile forming on his lips.
“Hi,” she whispered, clearing her throat. She looked around — everything in the room was unfamiliar — and then she remembered the escape, remembered the Dreamless Sleep , remembered the slight feeling of betrayal before Draco promised her safety. “Where are we?” She asked cautiously.
“Home.”
Hermione inhaled a short breath. She hadn’t had a home, no place to belong for so long, and her heart ached for it.
“I promised you that I would take you somewhere safe. Somewhere you, we, could be free of our past,” he continued, speaking quietly. “We’re in America.”
“America?” Hermione asked in wonder and confusion. “Where?”
“We’re tucked in the Appalachian Mountains in North Carolina. I thought you might like to live here – hidden away with fresh air, but near the coast.”
“That sounds nice,” she said, wishing the window’s curtains were open a bit more so she could see the landscape. She felt anxiety churning in her gut, thoughts racing as she moved to sit up. “But, Draco…what happened? When, I mean…what day is it?”
Draco shifted uncomfortably. “It’s mid-afternoon on the 15th of March. You…you’ve been mostly unconscious for about a week, in and out of sleep. The doctors said your brain needed time to ‘reset’, so to speak, from the trauma. You’ve barely been lucid enough to swallow some nutrient dense potions the Healers prescribed.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. “That means–” she faltered.
“We left England via Portkey in the early morning on the 7th of March, just after the escape from your transport to Azkaban.” He continued, doing the mental maths. “Between your arrest at Glasgow, your trial, and then being sent to Azkaban, you were in the Ministry holding cells for sixty-two days.”
She gasped, clutching her chest as she began to hyperventilate. Over two months of her life she could barely remember. Again . Draco sat on the bed, visibly wanting to be near her.
Glimpses of Dolohov’s bloodied skin, her arrest and forced confinement, the silent days, alone , flashed through her memories, but everything was still all a big blurry haze.
Hermione turned away, curling in on herself, and sobbed. So much of her life had been stolen away, would she ever be able to just live for herself?
Draco stood, reaching a hand out to her before he pulled away. His shoulders sagged, face crumbling with the weight of everything crashing down. “Can I hold you?” He whispered.
She took a deep breath and gathered enough strength to turn over and grab his wrist, pulling him back into the bed with her. He instantly complied, tucking under the covers and holding her close, just like he always did. “Forever,” she choked out, sighing into his touch – sanctuary surrounding her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Hermione, for everything. All of it. I just…I had to get you out, by any means necessary. I hope what I’ve done, the lengths I went through — I hope you haven’t lost your faith or trust in me,” he said into her hair as he held her tightly, though she could barely hear him over the sounds of her heaving sobs.
When her breathing had evened out enough to speak, she whispered, “I trust you with my life, Draco. You’re everything to me. I’m just…so sad.”
“I know, my darling. Me too.” He replied, kissing her head for comfort.
Hermione was quiet for a long time, sniffling every few seconds, until she was about to burst with more questions. “How did they know where I was?”
“I had your map in my pocket.” Draco said quietly, almost ashamed. “When I returned to the Ministry without you, Keeton ordered for my arrest and I was taken in for questioning. During my search, they found the map and realised it was active. I swear to you, I didn’t tell them anything. I was kept in the holding cells until long after they found you.”
“Did they do anything to you?” She asked, begging for him to say no as tears pricked her eyes once more.
“Nothing that you should worry about. Robards intervened before anything too terrible happened.”
Her mind drifted, seeing him strapped to the chair in the depths of the Ministry. Watched him tortured for information that he didn’t have.
Hermione didn’t want to ask any more questions for now, or rather, she didn’t want to hear any more answers. Draco sat with her in silence as she let his steady heartbeat lull her back to sleep.
After an hour or so, Draco left to make her some tea. Hermione laid in the bed, trying to remember everything that had happened – until she decided that she didn’t really care to know. Not now, maybe not ever. Draco had helped her escape into a new life of freedom from her haunting memories and endless suffering. A small flicker of hope warmed her heart — they were free to live together, experiencing love, life, and happiness — away from the Death Eaters, away from triggers of her grief, away from the Ministry .
With that line of thinking, her heart stopped. “Draco!” Hermione shouted, suddenly frantic.
She heard something shatter and listened as his steps thundered up the stairs and he bounded into the room. “What’s wrong?” He asked breathlessly, fear in his piercing grey eyes.
“Your sentencing, after the war,” Hermione choked out, attempting to move to the edge of the bed to hold Draco tightly and never let go. “Ten years as an Auror, or a sentence to Azkaban. They – they’re going to come for you, Draco! I won’t let them take you from me!” She snatched her wand from the bedside table, preparing for a fight.
Draco let out a deep exhale before drawing her into his arms, holding her as she shook from fury and fear. “Shh, it’s alright,” he said, soothing her clenched fist around the slim piece of wood. “I promise you, we’re free, Hermione. No one is going to be looking for us, because we’re both supposed to be dead.”
“What?” Hermione asked, sitting up to use her shirt collar to wipe away her tears.
“Harry somehow caught word about everything and got me out of the holding cells with Robards’ help. We went to the Minister, petitioning your arrest in any way we could, but…he wouldn’t hear any of it.” Draco explained gravely. “Kingsley said that the evidence of your treachery was indisputable and that you would pay for your crimes as the law required. My lawyer, Mr. Bates – try as he might – wasn’t able to do anything.”
Hermione didn’t say a word, only scowled. Kingsley Shacklebolt thought the world was black and white, and that the laws would save everyone to create peace. It wasn’t, and they wouldn’t.
“So, I got to work. I knew I was going to do anything to get you out, and with the help of Harry, Luna, and Theo, we devised a plan. And you, my brilliant witch, helped greatly,” he said with a kiss to her temple.
Hermione strained her neck to look into his eyes, surprised. “Me?”
“My first order of business was to complete the paperwork to name Theo as my sole beneficiary and heir of the Malfoy fortune in case of my untimely death. After looking into your employee records, you named Harry as the inheritor of your Gringotts vault after the war, which made it possible for us to access our funds without the Ministry’s knowledge once we were safe.” Draco continued.
“I was able to secretly correspond with Ron and Emma, who found this home for us. Theo created the illegal Portkey to transport us to their place in New York, and I would apparate us the rest of the way here. After all the remaining little details were sorted, the only thing left to do was get you out and disappear altogether. With a bit of Legilimency amongst some of the other Aurors, I knew your departure date to Azkaban, and well, you know the rest from there,” Draco said. “As far as the Ministry is concerned, I committed suicide after the details of your death were released in the Daily Prophet. Luna had a body double and everything for Harry at Grimmauld Place when the authorities arrived, after you and I made it here. We’re safe,” he whispered.
“We’re safe,” she breathed, wishing she could believe his words. Voldemort, Bellatrix, Dolohov, they were all gone, nothing but a wretched memory. Though the feeling in the pit of her stomach was familiar and she knew it all too well – she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
________
Recovery was a new hell for Hermione to experience. The road was long with so many twists, turns, and bumps. Many times, Hermione nearly lost hope, thinking she would never achieve what she so desperately clung to. The weeks turned into months as she fought for the hope of a new life – safe, loved, happy.
Draco had hired two care teams made up of Muggle doctors and wizarding Healers for her rehabilitation. Even though Draco and Hermione used fraudulent names and altered appearances by transfiguration when anyone visited their home, Draco hired a Muggle attorney to draw up iron-clad non-disclosure agreements and required Unbreakable Vows with the wizarding folk to guarantee their absolute anonymity.
As the summer wore on, Hermione could be found reading a book in her hammock beneath a large shade tree in their back garden between appointments. She couldn’t quite relax, always facing the forest with her wand within reach. Draco would leave her alone to enjoy the warmth of the sun, occasionally bringing her new books and a glass of ice-cold lemonade, or pressing kisses to her temple and whispering that the doctors and Healers were ready for her.
He was there through it all – practising the physical therapy exercises to regain her strength, cooking together to improve her health. Talking with her at night, supporting her through her addiction recovery, comforting her through tearful discussions with Mind Healers and psychiatrists.
Hermione relied on Draco’s unwavering support and love while she tried to find herself and who she was without the war and the aftermath tormenting her.
The turn of the autumn leaves surrounding her home represented a change in her. After so many months and endless challenges, Hermione was finally able to see the change in herself. She could walk miles on the forest paths with Draco, no longer feeling constant agony of her decimated body fighting to regain its hold on survival after months of muscle atrophy and misuse. She could crawl into bed without the ache of wanting to drown in a bottle of Dreamless Sleep to keep the horrors of her past at bay. She could share the deepest parts of herself with Draco and her care team, unafraid of the shame, guilt, and heavy burdens to bear.
Hermione wasn’t alone. Though she had always trusted Draco – first as a partner, a friend, then a companion – it was the first time she was able to be completely open and vulnerable with him. She, too, bore the weight of his pain and suffering, adamant that he wouldn’t be alone in the shadows. Too long had she left him alone.
After the new year, Hermione finally felt well enough to host their friends for a long weekend visit. Once the invitations were sent, Emma and Ron, Harry and Ginny, and Theo and Luna all arrived in the mountains of North Carolina via Portkey. They talked, laughed, cried, danced, and sang, all grateful to spend this life together, the life they deserved to live – free of strife and hardships, torment and ruin.
“What do you want to do with your new life, Hermione?” Harry had asked as they sat next to the fireplace, trapped inside the house from the heavy, drifting snow.
“Nothing. Everything. I finally have the choice to do whatever I want, only for me.” She replied with a deep sigh, the weight of her life as Hermione Granger – Golden Girl, War Heroine, Brightest Witch of Her Age – fell from her shoulders.
“I’m so proud of you, Hermione. You deserve goodness,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“You, too, Harry. Thank you,” she whispered back, leaning her head on his shoulder.
________
Those long months of recovery turned into years, and the weight of it all had become easier to bear. Some days it was so unnoticeable, it was like nothing had ever happened.
She and Draco lived their lives to the absolute fullest – peaceful, just how they wanted. Silent evenings by the fire, noses deep in their books. Volunteering in their local community, visiting their favourite coffee shop on Sunday mornings. Their friends visiting from abroad for the holidays, sharing in the joy of job promotions, engagements, and pregnancy announcements. Anything that Hermione and Draco wanted to do, they did it without hesitation. Life was too short to wait.
Hermione wasn’t surprised at all on the night when Draco brought out a velvet box, a diamond ring tucked neatly into the fabric. Draco wasn’t surprised years later when Hermione brought up the topic of starting their own family.
For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Hermione’s mind was quiet. That silence crept up on her, not noticing the stillness for a long while. Then she realised – she had been sleeping soundlessly, not waking in the night filled with dread and anxiety with the nightmares that had preyed upon her for so long. She walked in the meadows and forests near her home with Draco and their children, admiring the beauty of the trees in the mountain air, while venturing down to the nearby Muggle town without fear gripping her. The shadows were no longer lurking around her, forcing her to grip her wand and glance over her shoulder. The hatred, bitterness, and crazed need for retribution corrupting her soul was gone, that other shoe never came – she was as free as the birds soaring the open skies.
The lingering grief of her losses would find her when she least expected it, and it took her breath away. It happened when she heard a song her mother loved on the radio, or made Mrs. Weasley’s famous Sticky Toffee Pudding without thinking of the recipe, or when her fingers ghosted over the spine of one of her father’s favourite books to read to her. When her daughter inherited her father’s riotous curls, or when her son had her mother’s smile. When the Potter’s twins laughed like their uncles, or Ron’s daughter mothering all of the children like Molly. Over time, that grief had moved from pain, to anger, to sadness, to longing, to quiet acknowledgement. Hermione would forever be saddened by her losses, but the happy memories with her loved ones were so cherished. It was bittersweet – being able to reminisce on their treasured time together without being wholly consumed by their horrific end.
“What’s on your mind, Granger?” Draco would ask in the dark, never letting a night go by without giving her the opportunity to express her emotions – however joyous or darkened they may be.
“All my life, I’ve been fighting. I’m finally at one with the silence.”
Hermione once thought that her revenge was the unfaltering promise in her life. Now, she realized that it was Draco . His love for her was persevering, steadfast in the darkest parts of her life, waiting to help her find the freedom and joy to truly live.
____________________________________________________________________________
May 2024
“Hermione Granger…as I live and breathe,” Gawain Robards said in awe. “Thank you for meeting with me. And you, too, Draco.”
Harry had sent her a letter many months ago, stating that Robards wanted to meet with her and Draco. They agonised over it for weeks, arguing whether or not it was safe to invite him back into their lives, especially with his appointment to Britain’s Minister for Magic. Neither of them were prepared to give up the sanctity of their life together, but in the end, determined that if Robards had ill intentions toward them, they wouldn’t have this time to discuss before the Aurors found them. They’d agreed, inviting Robards to a small cafe in their local village. Emma, Ron, and their children stayed with Hermione and Draco’s children in their heavily warded home up the mountain.
“It’s Granger-Malfoy now, actually,” Hermione smiled in response, looking fondly upon her husband. “When Harry owled to say the new Minister for Magic wanted to see me, even though I’m supposed to be dead, I couldn’t very well decline, could I?”
“I wanted to see you, in person, to relay the news. You’re both free. You’ve officially been pardoned. Your sentences, your arrest warrants, it’s all gone.” He said brightly.
“Oh Minister, thank you,” Hermione replied. “But we’ve been free for twenty years.”
THE END.