Facing Eastward by phlox - Chapter Three

He'd considered waiting for her. If he'd just posted himself in the study and greeted her once she'd returned from his memory, it would have been quick and painless. (Well, it would have been quick, at any rate.) But when he'd thought of her face with pity and castigation intermingled in those brown eyes, he'd been sick. Putting it off seemed to be the only thing to do, the only way he could breathe and hope to find any semblance of rest.

But as night turned into the next day, he wondered when she'd come to him. There wasn't anyone else to talk to here, unless you counted Kreacher, and though Granger probably did, she would surely seek him out sooner or later. In the meantime, Draco came to the conclusion that if he was stuck in this place for the foreseeable future, he might as well take a look around.

On the way to the library every morning, he'd seen a shaft of light peeking through long curtains at the end of the hallway. They kept everything shrouded on that floor, to keep from waking the shrill portrait of the late Lady of the house. Before, his objective was to do his research, and the only light he'd been interested in was what came from the front door and beyond. But now this part of the house drew him, and he parted the dusty curtain to see the back garden through the grimy panes of glass. With a shudder of anticipation, he grasped one of the handles on the double French doors and pushed outside.

It was as grey and overcast as always outside, but it felt like the warmth of the sun was trying to beat its way through to him. He took a deep breath with satisfaction, looking around with curiosity. It was extraordinarily overgrown, but the wildness suited it. As a counter to the dark, staid interior, this had a danger to it, as though nature was daring anyone to even try to contain it.

Draco took a turn about it, feeling like as long as he could take a walk outside in this every day, it wouldn't be too bad living here. As prisons went, it wasn't that unpleasant, and it sure beat Azkaban. If his only crime was inhuman indifference, then he could live with that on his conscience with only the foliage to judge him.

After about an hour of exploring, he sat on one of the crumbling benches, lying back with his legs straight out and crossed, his face pointed skyward. He stayed thus with his eyes closed until he felt Granger's presence. Debating whether or not to just pretend to be asleep, he realized there was nothing for it. She was far too polite to wake him, and she was driving him crazy lingering there clumsily with positively no aptitude for stealth.

"What is it, Granger," he said, opening one eye and turning his head to look at her.

Startled that he'd known she was there, she'd been turning to go when he caught her. There was that odd uncertainty from her again; strange though it looked on her, he found he liked it.

"I don't want to interrupt..." She blushed as he raised an eyebrow and looked around. "Well, would you mind if I sat down?"

He pushed himself to sitting upright and gestured for her to take the seat next to him. She sat stiffly, feet flat, knees together, only turning slightly to hold out a phial containing his memory.

"Thank you for sharing this with me, Draco," she said softly as he took it from her hand. "I wanted to say... I'm sorry. Very sorry for your losses."

This was worse than he'd thought it would be, this conversation. Looking at the swirl of silver in his hand brought to mind all she must have seen. Beyond having to talk about it with her, he was suddenly struck with all she'd know about him from now on. He didn't think he could sit still to hear it right now – maybe in a week or two.

Getting up abruptly, he said, "You're welcome – thank you..." It was awkward, but so was the moment, and he was about to make a hasty departure when she spoke again.

"Draco, I wanted to ask you whether— Before he left, did Harry tell you... about your mum?"

He turned automatically to face her, his stomach twisted with dread. "Yes. I heard all about how her heroism allowed Potter... and would have made it possible for—" He swallowed hard, shook his head, and pushed the rest out in a rush. "I knew she wasn't for the Dark Lord's victory, that she cared only about my safety. Everything would have worked out fine, according to plan, if I hadn't bollocksed everything by stepping forward, by..." Pain, such that he'd been tamping down for days to keep from feeling, reared up within him, threatening to boil over.

"You don't know that," she said soothingly. "There could be any number of things that happened, and there are so many things we don't know." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "For instance, if I'd been there, maybe things... maybe I could have kept things from getting out of control in the Room of Requirement. Maybe if I'd been able to keep Ron from—"

"But that's my point, Granger, don't you see? You know you could have made things better. Maybe one man can make a difference, but only the right man. There are people who are destined for... But when I try to do anything..."

Granger's eyes narrowed, that same calculating look on her face as she said cryptically, "Why do you think Harry showed himself once you were in danger? Why do you think he kept Vol-You-Know-Who from attacking you?"

Draco was taken aback. "What do you mean, 'why?' It's what he does. Potter rides to the rescue, whether you want it or not."

She huffed a bit, pressing her lips together in annoyance she was trying hard to keep at bay. "Then, why do you think You-Know-Who killed Professor Snape? Why would he have a reason to do that?"

"It's what he does," he said darkly. "There isn't anything like 'reason' to any of his actions."

"But there is," she said, before looking away to collect her thoughts. She seemed to be wrestling with something, and it took her a moment to decide to press on. "You asked about You-Know-Who having the Elder Wand. He has it, but he doesn't have full mastery of it. It should be making him invincible. It should be elevating his power far above that of other wizards. But it's not. It's only performing for him as well as his original wand, and while that's impressive, it's not what he was after. It's not what the wand should be doing for him.

"The Elder Wand changes loyalty if its previous Master is defeated. Dumbledore defeated Grindlewald and possessed it until his own death, to be buried with it. You-Know-Who robbed his grave to take it from him, thinking that, plus the fact of Snape's service to him, would make him its Master. But when it didn't perform as he'd hoped, You-Know—"

"Can you not just call him the Dark Lord? You sound like a child when—"

"No, I can not call him that. He is nothing of the sort," she said fiercely.

Draco was shocked and not a little impressed. That Gryffindor bluster had always annoyed him, but he could suddenly see the appeal of never giving in, even when it was just in principle. All things being equal, and with nothing left but that, he guessed it wasn't so silly to cling to. He sighed and gestured for her to continue, not having the vaguest idea why she was telling him all of this.

"As I was saying," she continued with a toss of her hair, "You-Know-Who believed killing Snape, the one who had killed Dumbledore, would make him the Elder Wand's Master."

"But...? He should be then," said Draco with a slight shrug.

Granger smiled, rather deviously. "Only if Snape had been the Master of the wand himself. But before Dumbledore was killed, he'd been Disarmed. He'd been defeated before Snape even arrived." She let the words hang in the air, her hard look pointed.

Draco's head spun, and he shook his head as if to clear it. "But would that mean that... that I...?"

"You were made the Master of the Elder Wand, Draco," she said softly. "But... Harry took your wand when we escaped Malfoy Manor."

It took a second for that to sink in, but when it did, he let loose with a great, full-bellied laugh. Of course. How silly of him to entertain any other notion than Potter's total domination. "What is the point of all of this, Granger?" he said, more harshly than he'd meant.

"The point is... the research I've been doing has been to fully understand all of the Deathly Hallows, how they work, how their power and secrets are passed on. What we don't know for sure, and what I've not been able to find, is whether merely taking the wand of the wizard who is Master of the Elder Wand is enough to do it. We don't know if the Disarming has to be magical... and," she said as tactfully as possible, "we don't know whether there was an element of surrender to Harry getting the wands from you that night."

Considering it honestly, Draco wasn't sure himself. He'd been terrified, he'd known that he had to defend himself and his family, but... he'd also been so tired and ready for it to all be over.

"So what I'm saying is that you could still indeed be the Master of the Elder Wand. Or, Harry could be its Master. The fact that You-Know-Who couldn't attack him properly or end it all in the battle in the Great Hall, and the fact that he had to retreat and has been on the run since... seems to point in that direction." She took a deep breath and stood. "But the fact of the matter is, we don't know."

There was a strange feeling in Draco's chest, an excitement cycling rapidly and repeatedly to cynicism and back. He wished he didn't know about this. He wished he'd known sooner. He wished he and the Elder Wand could have mowed-down the Dark Lord and the lot of the Death Eaters where they stood, only leaving his mum and dad, and that they could have run away. He wished there was still something in this world he wanted enough that could make any of it matter.

But Granger wasn't finished, and as she spoke again, he was pulled back from his reverie.

"Draco. If you wanted to, at any moment, you could walk right out the front door, down those steps, and off into the world beyond. You could run off and find You-Know-Who and try your luck against the Elder Wand. You could find the Order and fight by Harry's side. Or, you could try to take all of the power for your own, and do whatever you want. Because if what the Fidelius requires is faith... all it takes is for you to believe in yourself."

With that, she turned and left him, amidst the wilds of the back garden and the walls fighting to contain it.

oOo

Again, it took him two days to seek her out. They'd kept to their own, private spheres; in a house that big, it wasn't difficult. She'd continued in the library, and Draco, in his new-found haven of the back garden.

Each day, the sky grew darker, the air became more thick and oppressive, and the cold chilled ever more to the bone. Everything felt caught on the side of a cliff, hanging by a rapidly fraying rope. Surely the world could not stay forever on the edge of darkness; there must be forward or back, and the waiting and the buzzing impatience for the inevitable was driving him mad.

Partly to keep him from dwelling on things he could not change (and that was nearly everything), he went to find her, and there she was, sitting at that very same table in the library where he'd left her days ago. As usual, she looked like she'd been expecting him.

"So, you're here to keep guard over me then, is that it?" When her face only twisted in confusion, he continued, "Is it why you were left behind – to keep an eye on me, to keep me from going off and wreaking havoc as the potential Master of the Elder Wand?"

She rolled her eyes, and that was not at all what he'd expected. "I do wish you'd stop ascribing all kinds of wicked motives to everything around you. There are things in this world which have nothing to do with you." She sighed and looked at him directly. "No. I'm not your jailer, your guardian, your nanny or anything like that, Draco."

"Then what are you doing here? Why is one whole third of the sodding Golden Trio not present for what is surely going to be the ultimate battle?"

At that, her eyes darkened and she looked away. He was suddenly extremely intrigued.

"What happened to you anyway?" he asked as he sat down across from her. "Why did you have to leave Hogwarts in the middle of the battle?"

It took a moment for her to turn back to meet his eyes, and when she did, there was a shame in her expression he'd never before seen.

"I was stupid," she began quietly, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Ron and I had to... get something from the Chamber of Secrets." She looked to him when he gasped. "Yes, it exists. We found it second year, and that was where the Basilisk – yes, there really was one of those, too – where the Basilisk was housed and where Harry killed it that same year."

Draco was tired of being surprised and amazed by Potter's exploits. He was doubly annoyed that Granger could recount it all like it was merely routine. What the bloody hell had he been doing second year anyway?

"We needed Basilisk fangs as a sort of weapon, to destroy... something important in the fight against You-Know-Who. Ron and I went down there to get them. It was the venom we needed, which was still on the fangs themselves, and using them worked. It was a brilliant idea."

He waited, but she stopped there, looking off, her gaze haunted. She was startled when he interrupted.

"But?"

"But I was careless. The process of destroying one of these things is difficult. There is very powerful magic trying to keep you from doing so, and it preys on you, attacking your softest spot, your worst fears. I became rather angry, and in finally attacking the thing, I... scratched myself with the fang."

She held out her arm, pushing up her sleeve to show a long, thin line running up her forearm. It was faint and silver, looking as though it would heal eventually to nothing. He reached out to touch it and watched goose bumps raise as he dragged one finger down against it. When she shuddered, he looked up to see her eyeing him strangely. She held his gaze for a long moment before pulling her arm gently back.

He cleared his throat and said lowly, "But Basilisk venom is fatal. Nothing can counteract that but Phoenix tears."

"Yes. A phial of which Madame Pomfrey had on hand in the infirmary. She'd got a steady supply for years from Dumbledore's familiar. It's taken a bit to recuperate, and hence..." She made a sweeping gesture to encompass Grimmauld Place and her tenure there.

"That's it?" he said. She answered with a hard look as if to say that was plenty. "Why haven't you joined them, then? If nothing's keeping you here?"

She blushed and began to busy herself with the papers in front of her. "Oh, I'm just not cut-out for it. I had a chance to prove myself under pressure, and at a crucial moment... I wasn't up to the task."

"Not up to the task?" Draco was floored. Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be foolishly brave and addicted to danger or something? "What, with all the things you did through school? All the times you kept Potter alive?"

Her careless shrug was unconvincing. "I was always best at research. I was never very good at Defense Against the Dark Arts anyway," she said weakly, "and I always had trouble with my Patronus."

His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot skyward. "Merlin, Granger, is there anyone harder on you than you?" At her ironic look, he said, "Oh. Fair point. Don't answer that. What does Potter think about you keeping yourself out of it?"

"He agrees," she said tightly, looking away. "It's best if I just stay here. It's where I can do the most good."

Draco wasn't buying it. He'd seen this girl, this woman, withstand more than most with grace and bravery. She'd been battling against Dark forces for years, his own experiences with it dwarfed in comparison.

"I sincerely doubt that. Potter, Weasel and the rest of them, as foolhardy as they are, know exactly what you're worth. If they told you to stay back, Granger, it was only to protect you. They almost lost you, and they would want to keep that from happening again."

"Yes, but that's just it. They don't trust me to be able to take care of myself, and they think—"

Her voice was thick, her eyes glassy, and Draco experienced a split-second of terror, fearing she was about to break down, but she took a deep breath and got a hold of herself. He regarded her seriously, waiting for her to meet his gaze, and when she did, he gave her that expectant look that demanded her attention. It was effective, he knew; he'd learned it from her.

"If I had a chance to go back... to keep safe the people I lost, I would do it, Granger." A hard, cold ache lodged itself in his chest at the thought, but it was nothing to dwell on.

Something else struck him then: he suddenly didn't think Potter and the rest were so stupid after all. Everyone was the same when someone they love was threatened; they'd do anything, anything to protect them, even risk their anger. Hurt feelings were nothing. They could feel free to resent you all they liked, so long as they were alive to do it.

"I know you would, Draco," she said gently, and he felt a second of discomfort realizing just how well she knew it of him. Then she looked him squarely in the eye, her face completely open and without pretense or defense for the first time. "But it doesn't matter. They did just fine – are doing just fine without me. The end is coming, Draco. I hear it from the Order, from updates I know they're closing in, but more than that... I feel it. I've spent most of my life fighting with Harry and Ron. It's who I am. Without that... I'm not sure what I'll be at the end of all of this."

"You'll be alive, Granger," he said, amazed that she could not see in the mirror what he saw before him. "And since you do everything better than everyone else, I'm betting that will be enough."

oOo

Afterward, he would never be able to pinpoint exactly when or how it began.

One day Granger was just there, taking a turn about the back garden with him, and it was as simple as that. By some unspoken agreement, they'd come to mark the days together, to run out the clock on what was left of this world. Each day's dawn was darker and more foreboding than the last. As merely spectators to the end of all things, each found comfort in the other, and they knew without discussion that the time was near.

That wasn't up for debate; instead, they spoke of anything and everything else.

"You seem to have a fundamental misunderstanding of the function of the position, Granger."

"But its function is counterintuitive. Your whole purpose is to catch it. Why would it make sense for you to just be waiting around, looking for it, when you can't even put your hands on it until—"

"There's strategy involved, you know. We're not just sitting up there doing nothing."

"What strategy? You're just hanging around until enough points have been scored for you to be useful; it's absurd for you to be there at all. Because all of that diving and faking for the Snitch when there isn't even enough points racked up on either side to make any difference is just a distraction."

He took another of the dozen cleansing breaths he'd taken since the beginning of this conversation and reminded himself again that she wasn't trying to be infuriating, astounding though that may be. "Because that's the game, Granger. Those points do matter overall."

"Well, the structure of the game itself makes no sense whatsoever."

"Really. And do you have any suggestions to improve on a game that's endured for over a thousand years?" he said through clenched teeth.

Not that she noticed.

"Yes, actually. I think it makes far more sense if the Seekers and the Snitch enter the game after the Chasers of at least one of the teams have earned at least 200 points, but in the event that each have earned more than..."

She kept talking, but it all got lost in a haze of exasperation. When she finally stopped, he said, "Huh. And what do Potter and Weasley think of these strong feelings you have about Quidditch?"

Suddenly, the Flutterby Bush beside the path commanded all her attention, and her complexion pinked to match its delicate flower.

"Oh, I see," he said, a laugh building inside his chest. "It's all enthusiastic banner-waving and cheering when it comes to them, is it?"

"Well... but you're just so much easier to talk to, Draco," she said with a smirk, a quirk of the brow, and a side-eye that made his laugh bubble up and burst forth whole.

He'd never been able to abide anyone who couldn't abide Quidditch. Of course, this was only really a theory he had, since he didn't think he'd actually ever known anyone who wasn't a fan. He marveled at this as he picked up the dinner plate Kreacher left in his room every evening and went in search of Granger.

From then on, it was only natural that they take their meals together. And everything felt natural after that.

"Have you ever slept with anyone?" she said, her voice echoing in the afternoon air. "I mean sex. 'Slept with someone' is such a silly euphemism – I mean, I've slept with Ron and Harry, plenty of times. But I haven't had sex."

He'd been minding his own business, watching the progress of a Flobberworm in the soil at his feet, when she dropped this on him. He turned to look at her, sitting cross-legged on the bench beside him, and his mouth went dry.

"Don't look so shocked. I'm quite sure sex isn't just a Muggle thing. Though, to be honest, I've heard very little about it in the wizarding world, so I'm not really sure of the culture surrounding it. I should have made more of an effort to talk to my suite-mates," she said, her brow furrowed, apparently contemplating the secrets of the universe and how they could possibly have been revealed by the likes of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, had she only invested the time.

"Why do you ask?" he replied, doing a rather good job of keeping his voice steady.

"Well, I'm not offering, Draco, just curious," she said simply. "And really, if we can't be completely honest with each other here..."

She held out her arms and gave him an expectant look, and he tried in vain to determine if she was just taking the piss.

"No, I don't imagine we're much different here than in the Muggle world regarding... that, but it's not necessarily something one just talks about in mixed company."

She smiled, clearly amused at his reaction. "Since we were telling secrets just the other day—"

"Secrets, which we both swore would go no further," he said sternly, pointing his finger as emphasis. She batted it away.

"I just thought it would be fun to know something that the rumor-mill could never get their hands on. All of the stories about you were just too wild to be true."

He arched a brow, feeling a bit more in control of the conversation now. "I thought you said you never talked to Lavender and Parvati?"

That actually made her blush. "Oh, well... I used to overhear things. It couldn't be helped." She paused, eyes widened, waiting. "Well?"

He leaned toward her and spoke confidentially. "You know Seekers, Granger. They may look useless and like they're not up to anything, but... once they fly into action, that's the game."

She looked dumbstruck for a few seconds before a high-pitched peal of laughter burst forth, sparking a fit. Through giggles, she said, "I don't even know what that means! Does that even mean anything?"

Draco's whole existence had long since become the distance between bouts of Hermione's laughter. Without even noticing, the pain that felt like it burned with every breath had faded to something manageable. It was now something that could be named, owned, lived with.

But it was in the quiet moments, the times where they didn't need to say much at all that he found what peace really was. It was finding comfort in his own skin; finding that just being himself was good enough to share with someone else; finding the treasures in another person which they'll only reveal if you're quiet enough to hear them.

There were no terms in which they could speak of the future, and they did not wish to dwell on the past. The vital present was all they had, and there grew between them a pulsing awareness of each other, a trust that came from shared experience.

One such time, they were on their hands and knees in the dirt, planting flowers in a row along the edge of the path. She'd found the seeds in the kitchen and was determined to put them to use. He'd long since given up arguing the futility of cultivating anything in this untamed space; what he left unsaid was the sheer pointlessness of trying to grow anything when there was no sun to nourish it. Working side-by-side for hours, hands in the dirt the 'Muggle way' at her insistence, he hadn't realized they'd been working in silence until she spoke.

"You are, you know," she said. Her head was down when he looked over, but she raised it and met his gaze with a smile. "Easy to talk to." The blush bloomed on her cheeks, and her eyes kept flicking away from his bashfully, but she battled to hold his gaze. Then she shrugged and went back to her hopeful planting.

And just like that, the hollowed-out space inside him was filled with the warmth of her acceptance. This is what had become of his life, this was his home, and he was content.

oOo

When one day there was a thickness to the air, a vibration calling out to them over the miles, and a message in the stultifying silence, they couldn't pretend anymore.

They were standing against the row of yew hedges looking westward, where the sun was disappearing into a thick, grey haze, hours in advance of the usual summer sunset.

He was the first to break their embargo on reality. "When did you last hear word?"

"Four days ago," she said. She didn't need to elaborate; something was happening, and there was no time for owls. "I let Harry know what we talked about," she said softly but with that jaunty lift to her chin that dared him to be annoyed. "He's prepared for you to join him."

"I think the Ministry might have something to say about that."

She sighed. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you're not a wanted man, Draco." Her expression was sincere though, as she said, "It's known you were forced to do the things you did, and it does mean something that you fought and killed against the other side. There is forgiveness for you, if you want it."

"Forgiveness?" he asked, turning to face her. "And what else?"

"What else do you want?" she asked. "If you're ready, you're free to find out who really is the Master of the Elder Wand."

"Who do you think it is?"

She considered it for a moment. "You-Know-Who is not the Master. I'm sure of it. Between you and Harry..." At this she looked away. "I believe all the Hallows were born out of desire. The legend tells us of the desperation, fear and yearning that led to their creation, and I think they can only respond to those with the same strength of purpose."

He laughed lightly. "Well, then. We seem to be right back where we started."

She turned to him, her look encouraging but filled with understanding. "Draco, if you wanted to – if you believed—"

"I'm through with fighting," he said firmly, and he felt the words even more truly as he spoke. "I don't have anything left to prove." And at last it came not from indifference or emptiness; Draco's soul was finally at ease.

For an age, they stood facing west, as the sky grew darker and the air became stifling in its stillness. The very moment it began, they knew; Draco's hand found Hermione's as they breathed in the sudden breeze that blew through the wilds of the garden.

A streak of black shot across the horizon, pulling the darkness on its way from the clouds and the mist, allowing the reds and oranges of the sunset to peek around its edges. All the Dark forces in the land were gathering, either heading to where their master was making his final stand or abandoning their post in defeat. In the last moments of brightness before the day became dusk, the world hung on the brink of hope.

Draco stepped in front of Hermione, turning his back to the setting sun, his voice low over the rising wind. "What do you believe in, Granger?"

She didn't have to consider her answer. The fullness of her faith was ever-present. "I believe the darkness cannot endure forever. We, all of us – Muggles, wizards – we never stop moving toward tomorrow. And dawn always follows even the darkest night."

"Tomorrow sounds good, Granger." He smiled and kissed her hand. "I can believe in that."

He was towering over her now, looking down into her upturned face, her flushed cheeks, darkened eyes, and that inviting mouth. Reaching out to brush a curl away from her forehead, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her brow. She slid her hand from his, and he was pulling back to look at her when he felt two confident hands on either side of his jaw. Hermione pulled him to her as she lifted on her toes, and warmth exploded in Draco's chest as her lips met his.

A small but noisy part of him couldn't help feeling annoyed, though. He was going to kiss her. But typical Granger, she had to go and ruin it all by being her usual impatient—

Then she opened her mouth under his, a deep sigh coming from her throat, and he stopped caring.

The wind shifted, picking up, blowing away the stale remnants of yesterday. Within minutes, it was howling around them as they clung together, caught in their embrace, stronger together against the elements than they'd ever been alone. The whipping wind preceded a great moaning before the sky opened up, and a hard, driving rain began to fall.

They sought shelter in the house that had been their sanctuary and their prison. Heading for the front parlor and the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced eastward, Draco and Hermione watched through the night as the world was washed clean. Looking expectantly into tomorrow, they saw the very moment when the clouds parted, ushering in the rising sun, bright and insistent against the morning mist.

As they saw life dawn anew on all of the houses of Grimmauld Place, Draco led the way to the front door. The taunts of Wallburga Black rang hollow as they shut the door against her. They stood on the front step, poised on the edge of the world, and the promise of the future lay beyond.

Hands clasped, they descended the stairs and stepped confidently into the sunlight.

~ finis ~