Gifts and Other Misfortunes: The Series

TWO

Draco didn't return to the ministry for weeks. He claimed the maximum amount of vacation days he had been allotted, because he couldn't bring himself to face her at work. Owls appeared at his window to leave letters– he was certain there had been at least twenty five now. Some from Theo and Blaise, then Pansy. But at least fifteen of the letters were addressed from Hermione Granger herself.

He couldn't read them. He didn't open a single one, let alone respond. He was too busy destroying the room and plotting to replace it with something grand. Her library– that was the only thing he could bring himself to put in its place, because God dammit this was her room and who was he to change it?

Construction workers worked around the clock, and aside from his house elves, they were the only living souls he interacted with. He couldn't shower, couldn't sleep. Everything reminded him of her, just like it had before. He threw out the green sheets on his bed and replaced them with black and white ones.

Around two weeks into his sorrowful vacation, he freed his house elves. He handed them each a bag full of galleons and a brand new sock. Topsy, of course, refused to leave. Draco was somewhat thankful for the company. She always made the best pancakes.

When the workers finished the library, Draco paid them far more than he should have, because they had given him back the one piece of his life that he simply couldn't forget. He spent hours inside the room, though the shelves were bare without any books to fill them. It felt like home– the home he'd known long ago. It felt like peace, almost.

It was July 2nd, 1999, when Granger showed up at his door. She didn't even knock before barging into his foyer.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing here?" He gaped, out of breath from running to see who had intruded upon his home.

"I am coming to save you from whatever disintegrating state you are in." She motioned towards him, clearly displeased with the sight in front of her. The sight of him.

"I am not in a state ." Draco huffed. But his clothes– from last week– and his overgrown stubble existed only to prove him wrong.

She took three steps towards him and reached out her hand. "You look as if you haven't slept in three weeks." Her voice was soft. Her eyes were gentle. Her touch was warm, not the cold hand he'd held before.

Draco felt as if he might collapse, because here she was, her hand on his shoulder, in his home– no, their home. He fought back tears. She couldn't be here– shouldn't–

"Malfoy, what the hell is going on?" She whispered, tearing him from his thoughts.

His body moved against his best wishes. He reached to stroke her face and she looked confused, before nuzzling into his hand. He couldn't hold back. This was her– his wife– his lover– his world. And she was real and he couldn't stop himself. "You're really here?"

"Of course I'm here, Malfoy. Someone had to–"

"No. Here. It worked, you're breathing, you're alive."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"In– in another life." He stammered. "You weren't. And it was my fault."

She seemed taken aback by the statement, but something about her expression showed that she believed him. She didn't think he was crazy. "I'm sure it was not your fault, Malfoy."

"I love you." He blurted.

"I– I–"

"You don't have to say anything. I just need you to know." He moved his hand to push her hair behind her ear. "And then I need you to leave."