Narcissa Black Malfoy passed away quietly at 1:23 a.m.
Draco held her hand the entire night, leaving only once at the urging of Hermione, when she heard his stomach roar loudly. He found a bag of crisps lying abandoned on a nearby trolley, which he had stolen before returning to his mother's room. Hermione had taken his place, kneeling by Narcissa's bed and holding her hand. "You don't have to worry, Narcissa. I'm going to take care of him, I promise you," she was saying in a low tone.
It was quiet, and peaceful. She did not suffer. She simply closed her eyes and slipped away.
Draco allowed her palm to grow freezing and stiff in his hands before he finally pulled away. "I want to go home," he said to Hermione in dull voice.
She nodded, slipping her arms around his midsection and pulling him into her. "Okay," she said softly. "Healer Wilson asked me to send him a message when—when—" Hermione gulped, rage flickering in her eyes. "Let me just send a Patronus.
Draco sagged against her. "Okay."
Hermione took several steps forward and pulled her wand from the band of her leggings. "Expecto Patronum!" she cried. Something massive shot from the tip of Hermione's wand, and her eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't an otter—not even close.
Instead, it was a female Norwegian Ridgeback, flapping her wings and waiting for Hermione's message. Hermione looked entirely taken aback as she stared at the dragon. The dragon snorted, growing impatient. Hermione shook her head faintly, gathering her wits. "Expecto Loquere," she said finally. "Find Healer Wilson. Tell him that—that she's gone. Draco and I are going home—please send all requests and inquiries to me, Hermione Granger, from now on."
Having received her message, the dragon disappeared. Beside him, Hermione laughed bitterly. "I shouldn't be so surprised, I suppose," she mused.
Draco said nothing. He didn't have the energy necessary to feel surprised, or even remotely interested. "Home," he repeated.
Hermione stared at him for a minute before nodding and taking his hand, leading him from the room and away from St. Mungo's for what was to be the last time. There was no one out on the streets, so Hermione didn't even lead him to the alleyway, simply apparating them away as soon as the door of St. Mungo's closed behind them.
Arriving back at the flat, Draco dropped Hermione's hand and immediately headed for the kitchen where he pulled the bottle of firewhiskey from the cabinet without a second thought.
"Draco—" Hermione said gently, her fingers grazing his shoulder blade.
Draco ignored her, pulling down a glass as well.
"Draco," she said again, more urgently.
Draco poured a large tumbler of the amber liquid before he finally turned to face Hermione. Her eyes were tense and worried as she stared at him. Her fingers reached for the glass of firewhiskey, but Draco pulled away, letting out a deep sigh. "Hermione," he said quietly, his voice breaking. "I've just had a really horrible day and I just need a glass of firewhiskey." He felt as if he were on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces all over the floor. "Can you just—can you just let me have this and leave me be." His voice wavered.
Hermione looked like she wanted to argue for just the briefest moment before she nodded and pulled her own glass down from the cabinet, pouring a small amount for herself and taking a sip. "I won't leave you alone, though," she said quietly. "Not tonight."
Draco sighed. He should have expected as much. Glass of firewhiskey in hand, he slid down the counter until he was seated on the floor of the kitchen. He pulled his knees into his chest. Hermione followed him down, placing a comforting palm on his knee. He took a gulp of firewhiskey and set the glass on the floor beside him. He looked away from Hermione, who squeezed his knee.
Hermione didn't attempt to speak, and for that he was grateful. He was afraid if he had to speak, he would cry, and he desperately didn't want to cry, because crying would make it real. He didn't want it to be real. He gulped and brought the glass of firewhiskey back to his lips. Hermione covered his hand with hers and rested her head against his shoulder. Draco resisted her comfort for only the briefest of moments before he turned back towards her and rested his cheek against the top of her head. "When did it change?" he asked after several minutes, curiosity suddenly getting the best of him. "Your Patronus."
"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't cast it very often. Tonight was the first time it's ever—not been an otter."
Draco nodded, falling silent. He had more questions, but his mind was hazy with grief and alcohol.
"I'd read about them changing before—Patronuses. But I've never known anyone's who did—I—I thought it was extremely rare," Hermione continued. "But it's you and me—and I shouldn't be all that surprised."
He drained the glass of firewhiskey before once more reaching for the bottle on the counter. Hermione eyed him warily but didn't say anything. He poured himself a fresh glass and topped off her own drink before setting the bottle between them on the floor. "You and me," he said quietly after a moment. "You and me."
Draco was drunk already, and he wasn't even close to done.
"Yeah, you and me," Hermione replied.
"We're different, aren't we?" he asked sluggishly, his tongue thick in his mouth. "Not like everyone else."
"No," she agreed. "Not like everyone else." Hermione twined their fingers together. "Draco—"
"I don't want to talk about it," Draco said immediately.
"I know, I know. I just—I'm here, okay? I'm here. I'll always be here."
Draco finished his second glass of firewhiskey in one gulp and immediately burst into tears. Hermione pulled him into her arms, squeezing him tightly. "My mum—Hermione—my mum," he sobbed.
"I know," she said, stroking his hair. "I know."
"How could—? How could she—? She was fine," Draco cried.
Hermione rocked him in her arms soothingly. "I know, Draco."
He cried harder. He couldn't stop. He was breaking. He was shattering. Splintering until there was nothing left of him. His mother was gone. Dead. Dead and lying alone in a hospital bed. "My mum is gone, Hermione," he sobbed against her shoulder.
"I know, I know. I'm here—I've got you," she replied.
"I never—I never thought—I knew it was bad," he gasped. "I knew—but I never thought—"
"Draco," she quietly, running her hand across his cheek. "Draco, listen to me."
He sniffled and looked up at her. "Okay," he said quietly.
"I don't think she was ever okay. Her mind was a mess, and I'm not entirely sure why. I—I think she came back to say goodbye to you, Draco. When she realized you'd found me—I think she came back. Just for a little bit."
Draco pushed her away. "No," he said coldly. "That stupid Healer fucked up her care—how could he miss her brain deteriorating like that? I'm suing him. I'm suing the entire hospital. She was fine."
Hermione nodded. "You should," she said gently. "But I don't think—"
"Don't," Draco interrupted coldly. "I said I didn't want to talk about it."
"Okay," she agreed. "What do you need me to do?"
He sighed heavily. "I just want to get drunk on the floor and forget."
Hermione sighed, holding out her tumbler. "If you're determined to get drunk, I might as well, too. More, I'm falling behind you," she said as he poured the liquid into her glass.
"You can't drink this much," he objected.
"I know," she replied. "You'll have to take me to bed before you get absolutely smashed."
"Sneaky," Draco mused, facing her fully. "My lovely witch," he said, stroking her jaw. "My dragon."
Hermione kissed him then. Just a gentle kiss, chaste. "Yours." She gulped, seemingly deep in thought. After a few moments, she spoke again, tentatively. "She told me to take care of you—when she was gone. Made me promise. I promised."
A goodbye. She had been saying goodbye.
Draco was cold again. He rose unsteadily, faltering against the cabinets and almost falling on his arse. Hermione wavered as she rose but maintained her balance. She offered him her hand and pulled him up. "Bed?" she suggested.
"Yeah," he agreed.
They fell into bed fully clothed, and Hermione pulled the comforter up over them. She held him tightly as he cried into his pillow until he fell into a fitful sleep. He tossed and turned. Nightmares of cockroaches, Dementors, Azkaban, Nagini, and the Dark Lord. At one point, just as he was about to fall back asleep, he found that he was falling from a great height and he jerked awake in bed, horrified. Hermione was there in an instant, checking him for injury. "Are you okay?"
"A nightmare," he said quietly, shuddering against the pillow. "I'm okay."
"Do you need anything?" she asked. "Glass of water? Some tea? Dreamless Sleep?"
You," he said quietly, rolling so that he was on top of her. "I need you."
Sex with Hermione had always been different—more intense. It wasn't just a physical need for her. He didn't just want to see her naked—he didn't just want to fuck her. He wanted to hold her and touch her and make her feel good. He wanted her in his arms, because she belonged there. He wanted to be inside of her because he simply could not get close enough otherwise.
Hermione's eyes searched his briefly before she nodded and they divested themselves of their clothes. Draco slid into her with a stifled groan and dropped his head down to her shoulder. They moved together slowly. It wasn't passion, or lust, or romance. It was comfort. It was caring. It was love. She held him tightly to her, tighter than he'd ever been held before, her arms wrapped around his back and her legs wrapped around his waist. She kissed his forehead, his cheek, his nose where he rested against her shoulder, murmuring sweetly to him. "I've got you, Draco. I'm here. I'm yours."
He'd made love to Hermione a hundred different ways, but it had never been quite like this. Sex had never been quite like this. Hermione's fingertips swirled patterns across the expanse of his back, sending shivers up his spine as he thrust into her slowly. Everything else disappeared—it was just him and Hermione, her fingers, her murmurs, her breaths against his skin. Draco raised his head to kiss her, and he was met with Hermione's searing look of adoration. He loved it when she looked at him like this—like she'd never love anyone as much as she loved him. Draco dropped his lips to her, pressing their lips together into a frenzied kiss. Hermione's hands left his back and tangled in his hair, holding his face in place.
Draco shattered against her lips and collapsed on top of her, burying his face once more in her shoulder. Hermione's fingers loosened in his hair and returned to wrap around his back, holding him against her. Draco fell forward, his arms framing her head as he panted against her neck. "I've got you, Draco," she repeated. "I've got you."
"Thank you," he murmured.
Hermione started gently massaging the muscles in his back. "Sleep now," Hermione whispered. "I've got you."
Draco nodded and closed his eyes, soothed by Hermione's ministrations on his back.
When Draco awoke again, light was streaming through the windows of the bedroom and he was still nestled firmly between Hermione's legs. He had slipped out of her at some point during the night, but beyond that, he had not moved much. Draco felt fingers slipping into his hair, the nails gently scratching at his scalp. He raised his head to look at Hermione and found her watching him with a tense expression. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked, rolling off of her—he was certain he had been crushing her.
Hermione settled into his side, resting her head on his chest before glancing up at him. "No. I wanted to stay awake, in case you woke up—if—" she bit her lip and glanced down to his chest.
Suddenly, the events of the previous night rushed back to him. The reason he had slept atop Hermione—the reason he had needed her so badly—the reason—
He gulped. "Right," he said weakly, squeezing Hermione inadvertently. Instantly, he wished he hadn't left the safety of her arms.
Hermione seemed to sense this as she crawled over him, laying her whole body atop his chest. She pushed a strand of hair from his forehead and rested her hand against his cheek. "I'm here," she said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."
"She's dead, isn't she?" Draco asked dumbly.
Hermione nodded. "Yes," she replied quietly. "I'm so sorry, Draco."
Unwittingly, he felt the tears begin to well in his eyes and he turned away from her as a tear fell down his face. "I'll have to make arrangements, I suppose," he said.
Against him, Hermione shook her head. "No. I'll handle all of that. I don't want you worrying about any of it."
"Hermione—"
"I told you I would take of her, and I told her I would take care of you. So, I will take care of it," she replied fiercely.
There was no point in arguing with Hermione, he knew. Truthfully, he was too tired to do so. Draco closed his eyes and squeezed, hoping if that if he wished hard enough, everything would disappear, and he'd wake from the nightmare he was trapped in.
Hermione's fingers grounded him as they stroked lightly at his jaw. "Whatever you need, Draco. I'm here," she said gently.
"What about the shop?" Draco asked, his eyes still closed tightly.
"You're more important." Draco's mouth quirked into a facsimile of a smile at that. Hermione kissed the corner of his mouth.
"I think—" he began, his tongue thick in mouth. "I think—you were right. I think she came back. To say goodbye," Draco admitted. "I think she just wanted to say goodbye. I guess—I guess I'm glad we got to say goodbye."
Hermione squeezed him tighter. "Me, too," she replied quietly. "And I'm glad I got to meet her—the way you knew her."
"We have to go to Azkaban," he continued tonelessly.
Hermione's head shot up, eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "Are you insane?" she seethed.
"I have to tell my father," he replied.
"I'll tell him. I told you—I don't want you there."
Draco laughed bitterly. "He's unlikely to believe you. Besides, the news should come from me. My father is a lot of things, but he did love my mother. I have to be the one to tell him."
Hermione furrowed her brows for a moment, as if she were remembering something. "I want to come with you."
"I want you with me," he replied. "I want you with me the whole time, if you can."
Hermione stilled as she watched him. "Even with—?"
Draco nodded. "Yes. This is the last time I will ever visit him. I was determined that my last visit would be the last—but—well—at any rate. I want him to know. I want him to know about you, and I want him to know that she adored you. I want him to know."
Hermione swallowed nervously before nodding. "All right," she agreed quietly. "Just—tell me when, and we'll go—"
"Now. I want to go now," he interrupted.
"Draco—"
"This can't wait, Hermione," Draco replied in a dead voice.
"Okay."
Hermione rolled off of him and stood at the edge of the bed, offering him her hands. Draco took them and she pulled him out bed until he was standing and towering over her. He took her face in his hands and tilted her chin up gently to look at him. "Thank you, Hermione. For everything you've done for me."
"I'd do anything for you," she said softly.
He gave her a tired smile that did not reach his eyes.
Hermione replied with her own false smile. "Come on, let's get dressed."
Neither one of them seemed very interested in what they were wearing, and Hermione seemed content to make the journey to Azkaban in a pair of flannel pajama plants until Draco pointed it out. She gave a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle before changing into the same pair of leggings she had worn the day before.
When they left the flat, Hermione apparated them to the dock at the North Sea to wait for the ferry. As they seated themselves at the edge of the dock, Draco glanced towards Hermione, who was pale and shivering. "You didn't bring a coat," he pointed out tonelessly.
"I forgot," she said quietly.
Draco removed his own coat and wrapped it around Hermione's shoulders, pulling her into him.
He had always enjoyed the cold. He closed his eyes as the breeze ripped through his thin t-shirt and pebbled the flesh on his chest. He shivered and Hermione wrapped her arms around his midsection. "Well, I don't want you to freeze," she protested.
"Better me than you," Draco replied icily.
Hermione huffed and rested her head on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
"Peachy," he replied shortly. She flinched and Draco softened. "I'm sorry—it's just easier right now," he said quietly.
"I know," Hermione replied. "But just remember that I see through your façade, Draco. You don't have to hide from me."
He nodded. "I know. I'm just preparing."
The ferry appeared in the distance and Hermione gripped his hand, but he found that he was too exhausted to be anxious. He squeezed back. He was grateful for her.
When the ferry finally arrived, there were several steps were rotted through and missing. Draco couldn't help but flash a half-hearted smile at Hermione, who merely rolled her eyes before allowing him to gather her into his arms and lift her onto the ferry. When he set her back down, Hermione's fingers shot out immediately, clasping his own tightly. She pulled him to the bow of the ferry, never relinquishing her hold on his hand. "Are you okay?" Hermione repeated.
Draco nodded, staring out into the vast expanse of the North Sea. "I'm too tired to be anxious, Hermione," he replied quietly.
"Draco," she began hesitantly, and he looked down at her. "What—do you think—? What will it be like? The island? Will it be like last time—?"
"I don't know, Hermione. I don't think it will be as bad as last time. It'll be a shock when we first step onto the ground—but once we get into the main building, I'm usually all right," Draco answered. "It's manageable as long as—as long as it's not a cell. There's more magic there, I think." He gulped.
Hermione nodded faintly, staring up at him with a worried expression. "If it's bad, Draco, I'll be taking you right back to the ferry and I will go alone," she warned. "And don't forget—your Patronus."
"Right," Draco replied weakly.
Azkaban loomed in the distance, and despite his exhaustion, Draco felt the familiar twist of anxiety in his belly. It was fainter—muted, but it was there. He gripped Hermione's hand a bit tighter, and she squeezed in response. "I'm right here," she said quietly.
As soon as his feet hit the shore, Draco instantly had the wind brutally knocked out of him. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. His spine prickled and he felt a despairing coldness descend upon him.
You're dead, you should be dead. She's dead, she's DEAD. Everyone you love is dead.
Draco retched violently into the sand. His mind was moving sluggishly, but he grappled for his wand. "Expecto Patronum," he said weakly. A few sparks shot from his wand, but not his peacock.
Die.
DIE
"Expecto Patronum!" shouted a voice in the distance. There was a bright white light and suddenly, a Norwegian Ridgeback appeared in the sky, snow white and glimmering.
The coldness left him, and his breath rushed back to him. Draco gulped in great mouthfuls of breath. His strength returned and he pushed himself up from the ground and back to standing. He turned around and found Hermione standing just at the edge of the shore, her wand raised steadily in front of her and her expression murderous.
She'd fought in a war—how had he forgotten that? She'd help defeat the most powerful Dark wizard the world had ever seen as a teenager and somehow he'd allowed himself to forget. This Hermione, the one who was standing on the edge of the shore with such a fierce expression stood in stark contrast to the one who wrapped him in her arms and kissed him gently because he was hurting. This was the Hermione who'd fought in a war. She terrified him and enthralled him.
The dragon flew in a circle above him, the flapping of its wings creating a breeze strong enough to tousle his hair. It gave a low roar before flying off towards the prison, where it perched on the towered turrets, eyeing them. The dragon snorted and twin puffs of glimmering flame emerged from its nostrils.
A dragon.
The Dragon.
Hermione watched the dragon for a few moments, a look of surprise on her face, before her eyes shot to Draco and she ran to him. "Are you okay?" she asked as she ran her hands down his chest. "Are you okay?"
Draco nodded. "I'm okay, thanks to—that," he replied motioning to the dragon.
"Should we go back?" she asked urgently, even as she intertwined their fingers and pulled him backwards toward the ferry.
Draco didn't move. "Hermione," he replied softly. "I'm fine—your Patronus. As soon as you cast it, everything went away. I'm okay. I need to see my father."
Hermione looked hesitant, and she appeared to briefly argue with herself before she nodded tightly and tightened her hold on his fingers so hard he was afraid his bones would snap. "Okay," she said, heading once more toward the prison.
With the dragon waiting patiently on the turret, Draco and Hermione were able to reach the main entrance of the prison without incident. Hermione stopped and stared up her Patronus with a quirked eyebrow. "I'm—I'm not sure what do with it. I've never seen one act like that," she said.
Draco shrugged. "It's like mine. It does what it wants. Just leave it be."
Hermione huffed. "It's not sentient."
It was Draco's turn to quirk an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? Mine apparated Potter to our front door."
"Interesting," she replied thoughtfully, still staring up at the dragon.
"Hermione," Draco said, gesturing towards the prison.
"Right!" Leaving the dragon alone, Hermione led him the doors of Azkaban and towards the front desk. Her voice was trembling when she spoke to the guard sitting there. "We're here to see prisoner 131234. Lucius Malfoy."
The guard nodded. "Wait here."
When Draco looked down, he found Hermione studying him with a curious expression. "What?" he asked quietly.
"Just checking you is all," she answered softly.
He gave her a half-smile and pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'm okay," Draco assured her.
"I'm nervous," she admitted.
Draco stilled. He had asked her to come to Azkaban. To meet Lucius. To tell him that his mother had died. Suddenly, he realized he was asking her for too much. Much too much. "Hermione," he began. "You—You don't have to—I shouldn't have asked. You stay out here."
"No," she said fiercely. "I want to be with you."
In an instant, she was that ferocious witch casting a dragon Patronus on the border of the North Sea.
"Hermione—" he began again.
"Shush. He can say whatever he likes to me—it's you I'm worried about," Hermione interrupted.
His witch.
His Dragon.
"Visitors for Lucius Malfoy?" Another guard had appeared in the hall to their right. Draco nodded and the guard motioned for them to follow him.
Draco gripped Hermione's hand, firmly locking their fingers together, and followed the guard down the hallway that he was so familiar with. They were led by several closed and magically sealed doors, until they were met with an open one. The guard ushered them inside before closing it without a word.
The room was familiar. The only difference he could make out was there were two chairs on their side of the room instead of just the one. That, and Hermione gripping his hand tightly. "Should we sit?" she asked awkwardly.
Draco nodded stiffly but didn't move until Hermione pulled him forward. He lowered himself down into the chair and pulled Hermione's hand into his lap, stroking her thumb lightly. "I love you," he said quietly, staring down at their clasped hands. "If he says—anything. Just—I love you."
"I know, Draco."
They only had to wait a few minutes before the door on the other side of the room was opened and Lucius was being pushed inside. His long, loose hair fell into his eyes, and when he straightened and pushed the blonde strands behind his ears, Draco could see that his face was set into a smirk as he stared after the guard. "Bastard," he sniffed, before turning. "Son, to what do I owe this—" Lucius froze as his gaze landed on Hermione. His face twisted into a cruel smile. "Well, well. This is most interesting," Lucius continued as he took his seat and pressed his hands together on top of the table.
"Father," Draco greeted, even as he felt his voice wave. "Good to see you. I believe you remember Hermione Granger."
Lucius studied Hermione with a vicious expression. "I do," he said shortly. "What is she doing here, son?"
Draco gulped. "I've come with some news, Father. I asked Hermione to come with me."
"News?" Lucius replied coldly, his face twisting. "Is the news that my son has sullied himself with a Mudblood?"
Draco was on his feet before he could even think, his fists slamming down onto the cold metal table. "Don't you ever call her that!" he shouted, glaring at his father. He was going to reach right through the barrier and strangle his father even if he mangled himself in the process—
Hermione's fingers ghosted against his forearm. He had dropped her hand. "Draco, don't," she said softly. "That's not why we're here. It's okay."
Draco nodded, sitting back down and taking Hermione's hand once more. He forced a swallow. Lucius' face was hard and cold, reddened with rage. His eyes glinted like daggers. "So it's true then?" he asked, his tone icy.
"Hermione is my girlfriend, Father," Draco replied, forcing himself to remain calm.
Lucius sneered. "Disgusting," he said, removing his hand from the table as if he couldn't bear to touch it any longer.
Beside him, Hermione flinched.
Draco tightened his hold on Hermione's hand, gulping back his rage. "As I said, Father. I have come with news."
Lucius continued to glare at Hermione. "What is it?" he asked in a clipped tone.
"Father, will you please look at me?" Draco asked, his tone icy.
Luicus' eyes darted from Hermione to Draco. "What is it?" he snarled.
Draco sighed deeply, and he felt Hermione squeeze his hand. "Father, as you know, I'd placed Mother in St. Mungo's a few months ago…her condition—well, it never improved, not really," he said morosely, choosing to forego Narcissa's brief period of lucidity. "She—she had a stroke—"
"Is she all right?" Lucius asked urgently. "She's all right, isn't she?"
Draco stared at his father for a long moment before shaking his head. "No, Father. She died last night," he replied.
Lucius froze as he stared at Draco, then his eyes narrowed. "You're lying," he accused. "You and the Mudblood are here to provoke me, then?"
"No, Father," Draco replied, nearly choking on his words. "Mum died last night."
Draco rarely called his mother 'mum' and never in front of his father. Lucius' eyes widened. "No," he said quietly. "No."
"I'm sorry," Draco said, looking down at Hermione's palm. He felt tears well in the corners of his eyes.
There was a loud clatter as Lucius stood so forcefully that his chair was knocked back against the floor. Hermione jumped out of her own chair, surprised, and Draco immediately stepped in front of her. "You killed her," Lucius snarled. "You and the Mudblood—you said she was making potions for her. She poisoned 'Cissa!"
"I didn't!" Hermione cried. "I wouldn't!"
"Shut up, Mudblood!"
"Sit down and shut up, Father," Draco said coldly. "How many times have I warned you not to use that word? How many fucking times? And to her, no less," he continued, motioning to Hermione. "That, Father, is the woman I love. And would you like to know something else? She met Mother before she died—and Mother adored her." Draco paused, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefingers—a gesture oddly reminiscent of Potter. Draco exhaled heavily. "Mother gave me something to give to you. If you don't calm yourself and sit down, you will never see it."
Lucius seemed ready to explode argue, his face red and splotchy and full of rage, before he sat down and closed his eyes for a moment. "What is it, Draco?" he asked, sitting even as he trembled violently, gripping the table. His eyes shone with wetness even as he continued to glare at Hermione.
"We will need to make arrangements—for—arrangements. I don't know where her will is," Draco replied.
Lucius stared at him in disbelief. "She's dead and all you care about is her will?" he asked, slamming an open palm down on the table. Hermione flinched and shrunk backwards.
"Of course not!" Draco seethed. "Of course not—of course that's not all I care about—" his voice broke, and he felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder. "My mum is dead, Lucius, and I just—" he was on the verge of tears himself.
"In my office. The bottom drawer of the desk—there is a false bottom. It is warded—it requires Malfoy blood. Both of our wills are beneath it, as well as several of the most valuable family heirlooms," Lucius replied tonelessly, his eyes dropping to his lap as a single tear streamed down his cheek.
Draco nodded, reaching a hand into his coat to fish the envelop his mother had given to him, before he realized Hermione was still wearing his coat. He turned towards her. "The inside right pocket," he requested.
Hermione reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the envelope, handing it to Draco. Draco slid it across the table until it was just touching the magical barrier, and then pushed. The envelope slid through. "She asked me to give you that," he said, before wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulling her close. "This is the last time I will come here."
"Draco, wait," Lucius called, his voice sad.
Draco turned. "Yes?"
"Did she suffer?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Draco replied coldly. "Not when she died, no. That was peaceful—Hermione and I stayed by her side the whole time. But yes, she did suffer. For years. Because of you."
Draco turned and left, Hermione by his side.