Inell's Fanfiction Archive

The fading rays of the sun cast the sky in a brilliant tapestry of oranges and reds as darkness slowly took over. It was nearing dusk as Hermione walked along the stone pathway up the hill, her coffee colored eyes surveying her surroundings as she neared the elaborate entrance to her destination. A soft sigh escaped her full lips as her right hand made its way through her thick caramel colored curls, smoothing the wind mussed strands. The wind was cool, goosebumps appearing on her bare arms, the clouds looking very much like rain could be in the near future. It was a crisp but beautiful evening in early autumn, several months having passed since the Final Battle of the Second War Against Voldemort. It was Hermione’s first visit to the memorial and cemetery that had been completed while she was away on her honeymoon, a little over two months before.


Hermione reached the entrance, thankful that she had decided to apparate to the small park at the bottom of the hill and walk up to give herself time to reflect and prepare herself for what awaited her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the warmth of the fading sunlight on her tan flesh as the cool breeze again caused her hair to fall across her pretty face. This time, she just let her hair blow in the wind, knowing it was pointless to attempt to keep it controlled with the wind blowing as it was, especially since it was far windier here at the top of the hill. There was a large marble monument at the entrance to the graveyard, a lovely sculpture that she knew had been commissioned from Italy prior to the last months of fighting. The list of names had been added after the Final Battle, a tribute to all those that had fought on Dumbledore’s side and fallen. A majority of them were buried here in this cemetery, but some had been laid to eternal rest elsewhere or their bodies had never been found, so this monument was a way of recognizing those brave witches and wizards that had willing sacrificed their lives for what they believed.


Hermione moved her hand over the statue, admiring the craftsmanship, her finger tracing over several familiar names. Guilt flashed in her eyes as she read their names, the names of friends and associates that now resided six feet below ground while she was alive and happy. The War had ended several months before, the last battle fought soon after her graduation from Hogwarts, and life was moving on for everyone. Hermione looked away from the memorial, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she looked at the sky. This was why she had not visited the cemetery, why she had constantly found excuses to prevent her from having to think about everything that had happened in her life and the lives of those around her. She was not sorry that she was alive and they were dead, had no desire whatsoever to trade places with anyone at this cemetery, the thought of wishing it had been her had never crossed her mind, and, even now, she realized that she had no regrets.


There were several paths throughout the cemetery, the landscape beautiful and the aroma of sweet-smelling flowers giving the place a calming and restful feel. The paths consisted of multi-colored stones, weaving amongst trees and bushes, past the headstones of those fallen fighters. Hermione had seen the plans when they were being created and had been impressed with the design, having been the one to suggest such a memorial nearly a year ago now. The memorial and cemetery had been brought to life from the design, and she was surprised that it was so lovely. Hermione was familiar with the layout and chose to follow a path that ran to her right, towards the middle of the grounds. She read the names of the fallen as she walked, stopping when she reached a small group of stones all bearing the name of Weasley.


Charlie had been the first Weasley to fall. He had died during a skirmish with Death Eaters near the beginning of her sixth year. Fred had gone next, soon followed by George. Arthur was killed in a raid a few months after the twins had died. By the end of her sixth year, half the Weasleys were dead and Percy had become a Death Eater. Molly had tried to be brave after losing her husband and sons, but she’d been overwhelmed with grief and had never gotten over losing so much in so short a time. Hermione looked at the headstone for the woman that had been like a mother to her, a tear silently falling from her left eye. She was thankful that Molly had died early, during her seventh year at Hogwarts, not living long enough to see the end of the War, not having to bury another son. Hermione’s eyes focused on Ron’s name, another tear falling down her cheek before she looked away. Guilt again flashed in her eyes, her hands moving over her arms as the wind chilled her.


She moved away from the Weasley plot, continuing to read the names on tombstones. She was able to recall images of schoolmates or associates when she read the names, feeling nothing more than nostalgic remembrance as she walked past. Finally, she reached her true destination. Her steps grew smaller, her body tensing, her eyes flashing with a variety of emotions. This was why she was here, why she had come to the memorial and forced herself to think of the lives lost during the War, why she had stood at Molly and Ron’s tombstones and silently cried. Her husband had insisted she come here, believing she needed to do this so she could put it behind her and focus on their future together. She was extremely happy, loved her husband with a depth and passion that was reciprocated, but she knew he was right.


Hermione moved forward, her hand moving over the cold stone as she traced the name Harry Potter. She closed her eyes, easily recalling that night two weeks after graduation. The Final Battle had taken place a few days prior, though no one knew that had actually been the Final Battle. There had been more casualties than any other battle, but the number of dead was relatively low. There had been dozens of battles fought against Voldemort and numerous lives had been lost, but that number had never reached the triple digits. Harry was exhausted, looking decades older than his eighteen years, his eyes sad and hopeless. She’d gone to him and asked him to walk with her. He’d looked into her eyes and slowly smiled, a brief smile that hinted at the boy he had once been. They’d walked together, talking about nothing in particular. She’d hesitated just once, looking at him and wondering if she could actually do it, and then he’d done the most amazing thing. He’d given her a crooked smile she’d not seen since Sirius had died, his green eyes looking deep into hers as he told her that he was tired, so tired, and that he just wanted it to be over. He’d hugged her then, whispering against her hair that he loved her and hoped she would be happy. He’d then taken her hand and squeezed it, letting her know that he was ready and didn’t blame her.


She’d not cried a single tear as she had led her friend to his death. She had not cried as he had released her hand to face Voldemort. She had not cried when she felt the comforting embrace of her lover as he moved behind her and watched Harry fight the true final battle. She had not cried as she had watched Harry fall, her eyes catching his, watching as he whispered three words she had never expected, didn’t deserve, to hear, I forgive you. She had not cried as Draco had tightened his hold on her and kissed her softly. She had not cried when Voldemort had given his blessing for her marriage to Draco, as per their deal. The life of her best friend and an end to the War for the opportunity to become Hermione Malfoy and have a position of power in the new regime. She and Draco were married in August, taking a honeymoon and staying for a month on an island Lucius owned in Caribbean. She loved Draco, had loved him since they had become involved during sixth year, and knew she would gladly do everything again for a chance to be his.


Having no regrets did not make her feel any less guilty for betraying her best friend, for handing him over to Voldemort in exchange for a wedding ring and a very happy life. Even if Harry forgave her, even if he had chosen to face Voldemort alone knowing it would be certain death, she still felt responsible and knew that she was partially to blame. Had he been angry with her, had he yelled and fought and cursed her, she would be able to move on, she would be able to accept his death and the part she had played. By forgiving her, he had complicated things. She hit the top of his tombstone, cursing him for forgiving her, tears freely falling as continued to hit the cold stone. He was supposed to hate her, damn it. It was easier if he hated her. She didn’t know what to do with his forgiveness, knowing she did not deserve it. She had betrayed the Order, had taken the Dark Mark during her seventh year, had carried on a secret affair with Draco from the end of sixth year, had no regrets about any of her actions, how could he forgive her? Had it come to it, she would have killed him herself if it meant an end to the War and receiving approval to wed Draco. It didn’t matter that Draco had planned to marry her with or without Voldemort’s approval, she still would have killed Harry just to end the War.


She was still hitting the stone when she felt a familiar hand catch her arm. She continued to cry when arms embraced her, her husband’s soothing voice in her ear, “Let it go, Hermione.”


“He forgave me, Draco,” she whispered as she cried.


“It’s okay, baby,” he brushed his lips against her neck, hating to see her suffer like this. It was necessary, though. She had to get over Potter and deal with her remorse or it would quietly eat away at her.


“It hurts,” Hermione said so softly he almost didn’t hear it.


Draco decided not to say anything because he honestly wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t make things worse. He had hated Potter and didn’t care at all that the bastard was dead and buried. Voldemort had been going to win, that was obvious to everyone after Dumbledore was killed before graduation, so Potter’s death wasn’t a question of *if* it had been a question of *when*. Potter had to have known that he was doing to die and that the longer he was alive, the more people would die in pointless battles. Personally, Draco was glad Potter had forgiven Hermione because he knew her well enough to know that, even if she had no qualms about her choices, it would help her move past it all. He loved her far more than he’d imagined ever loving another person, but he was also selfish and was ready to put the War behind them and begin their married lives together. They couldn’t very well move on if she hadn’t mourned properly for her annoying friend.


Hermione raised her head and looked at Draco, staring into his slate gray eyes as she whispered, “Make it go away.”


Draco arched a brow, not entirely following her. Had he missed something when he’d been nuzzling her neck? He looked into her dark brown eyes and saw yearning, despair, need and desire.


“Make me feel again, Draco,” she urged before his lips claimed hers. The remorse and guilt faded as she kissed him, her mind coming to terms with the fact that Harry did not blame her and that she needed to stop blaming herself, that she had to deal with the idea that he’d forgiven her and stop feeling guilty during those quiet moments of reflection. All thought left her mind as Draco pulled her against him, his hand squeezing her arse as their tongues fought for dominance. She pulled back from the kiss, her eyes shining with tears and now lust as she huskily said, “Not here, not in front of Harry.”


“If you’re finished here, we’ll go home,” Draco muttered, his cock hardening even more when she squirmed against him. He still wasn’t entirely sure how they had gone from her crying over Potter dying to her wanting to shag, but he honestly didn’t care. He’d wanted her to get past any guilt or grief she had for Potter because he’d occasionally seen the shadows in her eyes when she’d drift off into thought and knew she was feeling guilty despite her honest assurances she had no regrets making the deal with Voldemort and finally ending the War. He wanted her to be happy, wanted her to smile and smirk and laugh, not dwell on misgivings because Potter forgave her and she felt that she wasn’t forgivable. It was just like Hermione to over think such things so it was up to him to help her get over it. He’d followed her into the cemetery, giving her time alone with her thoughts, but he’d not been able to simply stand there when she’d started crying. He hated seeing her unhappy and upset so he’d moved forward and held her, letting her know he was there for her. His lips curved into a smile as he looked into his wife’s eyes, his gray eyes softening with love and affection as he looked at her.


“Need you now,” she said as she kissed him, pushing him against a tree not far from Harry’s grave. She knew this was wrong on so many levels but she needed him, needed to feel him, to feel alive, to feel him inside her. She was thankful that Voldemort had listened to her suggestions about the landscape for the memorial, also grateful that he had liked the idea of creating this memorial for those that died, even though they’d fought against him. He might be extremely powerful and somewhat frightening, but he was brilliant and did seem to want to do his best for the wizarding community. Thankfully, he’d altered his views of muggleborns over the last two years and was much more tolerant, instead focusing his energy on rebuilding the Ministry and creating a strong Wizarding community instead of random muggle killing.


Hermione wasn’t interested in foreplay or taking things slow. She wanted it a little rough and she wanted it now. Draco seemed to read her mind, growling softly and reversing their positions. She found herself pushing against the tree, his hands ripping her robe open and pushing her skirt up. She’d not worn knickers, his fingers finding her wet and ready. Kissing Draco never failed to get her wet, his fingers delving into her and making her even wetter. Her hands worked on unfastening his robe, finding the zipper of his trousers and unfastening it. He groaned when her hand stroked his hard cock, pumping him and getting him ready for her. She felt a drop of water and broke the kiss, looking at the sky and feeling raindrops on her face. A smile crossed her pretty face and she squeezed Draco’s cock. His hand moved from between her legs, moving behind her and lifting her, her legs going around his waist, her hands moving him into her. He thrust forward, sending her against the tree roughly, his cock burying itself in her completely. She gasped from pleasure, his mouth on her neck, nibbling and sucking her flesh as he began to fuck her. Her fingers tangled in his pale blond hair, pulling his head back so she could kiss him. The rain began to fall more earnestly, soaking them, their bodies moving together as they roughly fucked against the tree.


Hermione felt the tension building, her muscles tightening around Draco as she rode him, the bark of the tree rough against her back. She’d have to get a new robe, the buttons scattered all over the grounds and the tree rubbing a hole in it, maybe she’d try that new place Ginny had mentioned during dinner last week. She stopped thinking about shopping and turned her focus back to her gorgeous husband who was giving her the fuck she desperately needed. She didn’t think about Harry, Voldemort, the War, Hogwarts, nothing except Draco and the way he felt inside her and the way his eyes softened with love when he looked at her and the way he smirked when he was winning an argument and the way he held her as they slept and the way he sheepishly smiled when she was winning an argument and the way he tasted and felt and how much she loved him. She came with a whimper, Draco’s name on her lips before she kissed him, their tongues mating. He thrust deeply into her three times before he groaned and came, his seed mixing with her own release.


Hermione finally broke their kiss, giving him a loving smile as she unwrapped her legs from his waist and slid into a standing position. She brushed her lips against his gently and said, “Thank you,” before she smoothed out her clothes.


“Anytime,” Draco drawled lazily, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk as he tucked his cock back into his pants and fastened them before buttoning his robe.


Hermione rolled her eyes at his arrogant attitude, one of many things she loved about him, before she walked back to Harry’s grave. Instead of hitting it, she moved her hand over the top and finally just whispered, “I’m sorry, Harry,” before she turned and walked towards Draco, who was leaning against the tree and looking incredibly sexy. Hermione smiled as she took the hand he offered her and said, “I’m ready to go home, Draco.”

***THE END***