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Last Christmas

Summary:

He is a selfish, impatient man, and this is his first and only Christmas without her.

Notes:

I will apologize for this in advance since I cried while I wrote it. Happy Christmas! Thank you so much for @Extremewritersblock for being my beta for this work. Please, mind the tags. This is NOT a. traditional HEA, but could be seen as a bittersweet ending.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Stepping into their flat was like stepping into a memorial. It was a shrine to the last seven years of their lives together. It was a beautiful mixture of muggle and magical. It was a testimony for growth. Their home was the blend of Gryffindor and Slytherin, pureblood and muggle-born. He had built his future here, but now it was only a building, a casket for his life. 

Draco looks to the crimson tufted sofa expecting to see her curled under her frayed emerald knitted throw that had been a wedding present from Molly Weasley. He expects to see her immersed in her favorite Jane Austin novel, Persuasion, with her chestnut hair wild around her face. He wants to hear her continuously insist that it is better than Pride and Prejudice . He longs to see her brow furrowing as she reads, to watch as she pulls her lip between her teeth when her emotions flair at the words. He wants to watch as her head raises at his entrance and to see her chocolate eyes brighten with recognition.

Instead , Persuasion and its worn spine sits on her end table, on her side of the couch where she had left it after her morning read. The knitted throw is on the armrest where she had left it unfolded after she’d realized she had taken too long drinking her tea. He wants to hear her explain how she had to dash through the floo in haste after realizing she was late for her shift at St. Mungo’s. 

Her orange beast, Crookshanks, meows at him from in front of the fire, his golden eyes wide in the reflection of the dancing flames. He expects her to scold him for not speaking to their cat, for insisting on calling him “ Cranky ” instead of “ Crooks ”. Draco expects small hands to grab his face, pulling him to her and to hear her sigh into his mouth as soft lips graze his. 

“I missed you, love. How was your day?”  

Draco stands frozen, unable to move, unable to grieve, his chest is full with the gravity of her absence. He sees her in everything. She has touched every part of his life, she has imprinted herself on his soul and now his magic longs for her. Emptiness has crept into the spaces that her life once filled. 

He can hear carolers outside, how can they sing when she isn’t here?  

The lights are dimmer without her glow, she was the light of his world.  

There is no reason to celebrate when her beautiful voice isn’t here reminding him to “smile more, love? For me?”.  

As if he wouldn’t have given her the world.   

He is afraid to move, what if he disturbs something?  

How can he sleep in their bed where he had loved every inch of her beautiful skin and worshiped her body among the sheets? So many nights of clinging to one another, whispering promises of forever, feeling their magic sing as he moved within her.  

He can’t sleep on the couch, he can’t move her throw, he can’t risk it.  

What will he do when the scent of her perfume fades?

How was he to know that the chaste kiss he gave her forehead would be his last? Or how was he to know that the night of the nineteenth would be the last time he would hold her tight against his chest, bathing in the afterglow of their love? 

He moves to the chair, a safe option, a chair that she avoided. He can see their pictures hanging on the walls. Their wedding day plays as an endless loop of dancing and smiles as he twirls her around and around. Pictures of him with her and her muggle parents, still and unmoving but joyous just the same. Pictures of their travels, achievements, galas; these were their moments. 

Cranky comes to sit at his feet, twining himself around his ankles in comfort and solidarity. Draco knows he misses her too.

***

He wakes to realize that she isn’t there. There are no soft kisses along his jaw, no soft hands tracing the scars on his chest, no whispers of pride as she peppers kisses along his faded Dark Mark. There are no reminders that he is a better man, no “ I love you, Happy Christmas, my love ”. His hands are not buried within her locks as they make lazy love as they had done every Sunday morning since 1999. There is no more of them- only Draco remains, his family is broken. 

It is the first Christmas in seven years that Draco spends alone. The tree isn’t lit, there is no peppermint tea or holiday picture shows on the telly. He is met with silence and Draco’s ache for her sings louder. 

In the night, Cranky has moved into his lap and Draco places a hand on the small beast’s head in a gesture of thanks. His neck is sore from sleeping upright, but the discomfort is miniscule to the pain in his chest. It is as if his soul has been split. He knows he needs to move, needs to live, as that is what she would want, but there is no living without her here. His memories of her are now his home.

Draco looks at their tree. The pine that she insisted they decorate without magic. It was an argument that they had every Christmas, but one that he had cherished. Her unopened gifts are stacked under the tree because he can’t return them. Just as he can’t bring himself to open his presents from her because she isn’t here to tell him hints about what she has bought as he undoes the paper. She’s not here to explain how to use the new muggle gadget she has procured for him. She isn’t here to insist that he wear a tacky sweater to her family’s Christmas dinner. She just isn’t here and Draco can’t accept that.

Cruel people exist, Draco knows that for certain, as he was once a cruel boy, but she made the world golden. Why would someone take that from him? Why would someone take her from the world?

***

Harry calls to tell him that he should still go see her parents, that they are his family too and that Hermione would want them together for Christmas. Draco stands on their stoop but cannot bring himself to knock knowing that they are grieving their daughter, too. Draco is not ready to see them again, not after the funeral. Bile burns in his throat and he fights the urge to vomit as he apparates to the small burial plot.

She is resting at her favorite place on the Manor grounds, it was where he had asked her to marry him. It is tranquil and the view from the hill oversees the rose gardens. It was the only place she loved there. Snow is falling around him as he walks to her headstone, stopping in front of it before sitting down in the snow.

Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy

Born: September 19th , 1979

Died: December 20th , 2006

Beloved Wife, Daughter and Friend.

Cunning and courageous. Most loving, most beloved. She was beautiful, graceful and kind and will not be forgotten.

“You promised me forever, Granger.” He doesn’t try to stop the tears that are falling from his eyes as he reaches out one slender hand to trace her name. The limestone is cold under the pads of his fingers but he doesn’t mind as he lingers longingly on ‘Granger’. 

“I am a selfish bastard; how could you leave me and expect me to be okay?” His voice is thick with emotion. It hurts to speak, his throat is raw from the lack of use. It is the first time he has spoken more than the words “ okay ” or “ no” in days. 

He sits, arms draped over his legs as he just watches her headstone, expecting her to jump up from behind and yell “BOO! ”. He used to get so annoyed when she would jump scare him around their flat. He would curse, 

“For fucks sake Hermione! I could have hexed you! ” 

She would giggle in bliss, her brown eyes crinkling in the corners, as she would say, 

“You are precious when you are angry.” 

Draco would scoff at her behavior and then proceed to tackle her, pin her to the nearest surface and punish her with his lips, tongue and fingers. But who was he kidding, it was never really retribution. 

The pain of knowing that she was once here is suffocating. He can’t breathe as his gaze narrows on the date: December 20th . It has been five days, five days of hell. Internally he is screaming, the pain is worse than any Cruciatus he has endured. She was all he had, and being surrounded by silence allows his mind to wander to dangerous depths. 

He continues to sit. Snow is clinging to his hair; his tears have turned to crystals on his lashes. His nerves are on fire in response to the cold, but Draco doesn’t mind. The actuality is that the world is still moving despite her death. Of her twenty-seven years of life, Draco had only had her for seven. Seven selfish years he coveted her love and now he will have to go on remembering her for longer than he had her .

They had spent last Christmas with her parents and Cranky in Paris. It was marvelous, full of cheer and merriment. His life had purpose then. It was when they had decided that they wanted to start a family. He had brought in the new year with her in his arms with visions of the next Christmas being filled with a blonde, curly haired child. 

Now he sits by her gravesite. 

“I miss you so fucking much Hermione.” His whisper is a broken prayer.

Draco fails to notice when the burning of his flesh goes numb. He can only think that it is fitting, that emotionally and physically he is finally numb. He knows that his grief is a result of his love for her, but she was always the strongest of the pair. He knows he cannot weather this turmoil he has found himself in.

He was logical. Before leaving his flat, he had penned Theo, knowing that he was with Blaise and wouldn’t receive the owl until much later. He told him he was going to see Hermione and to please check on Cranky. Draco knows Theo is smart, he will understand.

He moves stiffly as he takes the large vial of dreamless sleep from his jacket. He studies it, twisting it in his hand.

His hearing is filled with static as he uncorks it and drinks the vial in one swallow. Six years ago, Draco had soul-bonded his magic to Hermione’s in a small wedding in her parent’s backyard. He had promised her then that he would always come for her, in this life or the next. 

He is a selfish, impatient man, and this is his first and only Christmas without her. Draco lays in front of her headstone, reaching his hand out once more to touch her name. He feels the call of sleep and he answers it, allowing it to pull him under as the cold permanently settles into his bones.

** 

It’s a whisper, but it's hers , “ Draco, my love?”



Notes:

I am sorry. 😢