The War | The Sister Book #4 | Harry Potter Fanfiction

The Nineteen Years That Followed

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I miscarried two days after the war ended. 

The doctors blamed the shock. Draco argued it was his fault but I told him no one could have helped. We were too young, and when we're ready, we can have children. Our baby knew like we did that now was not the time. 

At first, we didn't know what to do with ourselves. We were unsure about the little things, making food, going out in public, shopping. It felt so strange to not need to look over my shoulder. 

I attended every funeral I could.

Daphne's was the hardest. Pansy clung to me as they lowered the love of her life into the ground. I held it together, but upon walking through the door when we returned to the Weasley's, I collapsed into a puddle of tears.

Only nine people attended Rosie's funeral. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. Draco, Pansy, Blaise and I made up most of the guests. Her father thanked us as we left through tears and I cried quietly through the whole thing. 

I'm told her ghost often shows the first years how to get into the kitchens, and that Daphne wanders around the Slytherin girls dorms giving out sex and relationship advice. There are rumours she hides condoms and pads and tampons all over the place in case anyone ever needs them.

Harry and I vouched for Draco in court and got him pardoned for anything he did during the war due to him saving me. His mother was also allowed to go free, and his father too on account of him turning in numerous other Death Eaters to the Ministry. 

Draco and I lived in London for a while in the small townhouse, but quickly we realised we couldn't stay there. Lucious and I were civil, but I found it unbearable to live in a house he owned.

When we were nineteen, Harry told me to take Grimmauld Place if I wanted it. Draco and I did.

I remember standing in the doorway, staring down the hall and telling myself all it needed was paint and a clean. Draco thought I was mad.

The two years that followed were difficult. We cleaned and washed and tore down and rebuilt and painted the grand old townhouse slowly. After enlisting help from various magic wielding builders and repairman we even removed the portrait of Sirius's mother, which was a relief. We put her in the attic.

We painted most of the walls white, repaired the family tree, adding ourselves to it, and pieced together what we both secretly hoped would be a family home for us. We even managed to clear the garden, revealing a lawn and pavement and a few large, gnarled trees. 

We got a television, purely so Draco could watch the Lord of the Rings movies, and with Harry's help integrated a few muggle ideas and appliances into our own home. After three years, it finally felt like a home. 

I worked as a nurse at St Mungo's, and Draco, much to his parent's dismay, began work in the Department of Mysteries. We didn't need the money, exactly, but we needed to be preoccupied. Years of war makes sitting at home unbearable. 

Even now I wake up screaming at the thought of Umbridge's office, or I see the castle on fire, and every time, Draco would pull me to him, shush me, and apologise quietly. I asked him why he did, and he told me,

"I should've tried harder to keep you safe. I didn't."

Sometimes in the summer, we'd visit his parent's in their manor by the sea. Small, compared to their usual home, and often let out to other families, they were strange holidays. We would visit for Christmas dinner and speak of everything but the war.

Narcissa visits every fortnight. She misses her son, and over the years she had more and more reason to.

Draco proposed to me when we were twenty-three.