Veela Love

Chapter Forty: Years One Through Three Without Her

Draco graduated top of the class, what with Hermione not there. His friends all clapped him on the back, but none of them smiled. Overall, it was a sober affair – tears rolled down all their cheeks, and not from joy. They all felt what or who was missing.

After the ceremony was over, they all piled into Hermione's hospital room, determined to celebrate with all their loved ones. Draco sat next to Hermione, resignation filling his breast, as he stared at her, tracing her delicate features with his eyes.

"Here you go, mate," Harry said, shoving a glass filled with fire whiskey into his hands. "If anyone needs this, it's you."

Draco stared at the glass, then downed it all in one go. Through numb lips, he asked, "Do you think this will ever get easier?"

Harry was silent for a moment before admitting, "No, I don't."

"That's what I thought." Draco laid his head on the bed, staring up at his best friend.

A week after graduation, Draco informed his mother he was leaving and didn't know what he'd return. She didn't ask for details, just reminded him he had to be back roughly once every two weeks to see Hermione and fulfill the bond. He nodded curtly and left.

When he arrived in Australia, he didn't know what to do. As it was only 9 am there, he decided to go to a coffee shop. After ordering, he sat down on the patio, completely numb. The realization that he didn't even know Hermione's parents' names, let alone what they looked like now, came as a crushing blow to him. He realized he hadn't thought this through.

Unsure how long he was going to stay there, he rented a furnished flat above a potions shop for the time being.

At the two-week mark, he started to feel sick, his signal to return to Hermione. He pushed his body as far as it would go before he went back.

He'd had no one to speak to during his trip, and his voice was rusty from disuse. He had to clear his throat several times before he could talk to Hermione.

"I'm looking, love. I don't know what I'm doing without you, but I'm trying. They deserve the option to know you if they want. I promise you'll find them."

It took him two years of wandering to find them, and even then, it was only by a stroke of luck.

His usual coffee shop was closed, so he visited the one-two blocks over. Sitting in the sunshine made Draco almost feel warm, almost feel something, really. There was a cavernous space inside of him where Hermione had always been.

And then Draco saw a ghost sitting down next to him. He blinked. No, it wasn't Hermione. It was an older woman who looked just like her. And then the woman laughed, and it hit Draco like a fist. They shared a laugh even.

On instinct, Draco turned in his seat to face the couple. "Pardon, but you two seem so familiar – have we met somewhere?"

Her father blinked at him, his eyes glazing over for just a moment. "No, I don't believe so. We don't know any British blokes, do we, Monica?"

"No, Wendell. But you're welcome to join us if you'd like. Breakfast is always better spent together."

Draco smiled graciously. He could charm – he was an expert in it.

Monica and Wendell struck up an unlikely friendship with the posh Brit, which is how Draco found himself sitting in their living room one evening, several cups of whiskey already downed.

Wendell took a long sip from his own cup. "So Draco, you never told us why you're here."

Draco stared into the depths of his cup, his gaze slightly out of focus. "I'm running away. And I'm searching for something, so I can fulfill a promise."

"What are you running away from?"

Draco was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, "My fiancée died. I'm running away from her ghost."

Wendell got up and moved over next to Draco. He put an arm around him, and Draco turned into the embrace. So this was what it was like to be hugged by a father. Draco started to cry.

During the two years he had been looking for them, Draco had worked on how to restore their memories. There wasn't a charm for it, so he'd had to invent his own. When the time came, he was ready.

But part of him, the part that cared most for Hermione's parents, wasn't sure it was the right thing to do – to return their memories of a daughter who might as well have been dead.

Once again in Wendell and Monica's living room, several drinks in, Draco turned to Monica. "If you forgot something very important, but it's gone now, would you want to remember it? Or just let it be gone?"

Monica cocked her head to the side. "Well, why was it important in the first place?"

Draco swallowed. "It brought you happiness and love."

"Then I would like to remember."

"I would, too," Wendell voted.

Draco took a deep breath and then raised his wand. "Okay."

Monica looked confused. "Draco, what are –"

He watched the memories return, could see them in their eyes. Hermione's parents turned to look at each other and then at Draco. "Who are you, and where is Hermione?"

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You better sit down, both of you." They sat, and Draco explained what had happened.

By the end, Monica – Jean – was crying on her husband's shoulder.

"You can take us to her?"

"Give me a few hours to get everything sorted out, and then I'll retrieve you two."

It took less time than he expected, and before he knew it, they were back in London, entering through the visitor's entrance of St. Mungos. Draco reminded himself that the granger's probably needed a checkup while they were here.

He led the way to her room. He knew the path by heart – he could walk it with his eyes closed.

"You can't touch her," he reminded them. They nodded.

Draco let them have their time with their daughter. Finally, Mr. Granger poked his head out of the room. His eyes were red and bloodshot from crying. "Draco, come here, please."

Rising Draco stretched his lean frame before entering the room. It never got easier. His grief always doubled when he was in that room.

He gazed down at Hermione. She was still so beautiful. He spoke as he looked at her. "I'm so sorry that she has to be like this to keep me alive. If there was any other way, I'd let her go. It's not fair to her."

Jean jumped up from her chair and ran to Draco, engulfing him in a hug. "Draco, dear, don't say that. Hermione wouldn't want you to die. Besides, you're the only piece of her we have left. You might as well be our son."

Draco broke down at her words. Why was living so damn painful?