Chapter Text
Draco knew he was destined for greatness. He’d been born for it, being a Malfoy. When he’d signed with the Falmouth Falcons as a young, 18 year old rookie, he never could have imagined he’d become their star player, building an empire in New York and earning a career high of six Stanley Cups.
He’d had it all. The fancy cars, the fame, money, all of it. His New York City penthouse gleamed in opulence as it overlooked the city lights in Midtown East, and his best friends and fellow teammates Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were by his side. Not to mention, his oldest friend Pansy Parkinson had become his personal manager.
He’d long since kissed his hometown roots goodbye, shedding the small town image for a big city Megastar. Still, there were times, when it was quiet at night and he was alone with his thoughts, when he'd think of unruly curls and amber eyes that could drink you in.
He’d rub the worn and smooth pendant on his necklace fondly, his most prized possession which he never took off. He’d chuckle to himself in nostalgia and sigh at the ceiling until the sun broke dawn. He never did forget the price of his decision. A clap on the shoulder ripped Draco from his thoughts.
“Draco, good to see ya! Long time.”
Draco turned around on the bench, surprised to see an old and familiar face. He grinned at the tall brunette, standing up and pulling him in for a bro hug.
“Wood! Long time no see you twat. What are you doing here?” Draco asked his old team captain.
Wood had retired three years ago, and had passed the mantle onto Draco. Oliver Wood had always been a player deserving of the Hall of Fame, and Draco was honored to be able to call him mentor. Wood lifted up his hockey stick.
“I’ve been pulled out of retirement to whip the newbies into shape. Without their team captain, I’m afraid they’re a bit useless.”
Draco groaned, the boot on his leg still itching him in a cruel reminder of his soul crushing, career ending injury.
“Don’t remind me.”
Last year, he’d torn his ACL and Meniscus completely, and had shattered his femur. The doctors said he’d recover, but he’d never be the same again. It’d pushed him into an unknown grey area, and with his contract expiring and free agency a season away, many top clubs didn't want to gamble on damaged goods. While he loved living in New York and playing for the Falcons, he dreamed of being picked up by LA, the best team in the NHL. Those hopes had all been dashed.
“You’ll get there, Draco. There’s no one as tenacious as you.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but his body language betrayed him. He was nervous. If he didn’t get picked up by a club soon, he’d be forced to finish his physical therapy at his family’s mansion in Northbridge, a task he did not fancy doing.
If he went back, he'd then be subjected to his Mother’s whims, and her horrid attempts to set him up on blind dates. He wanted to do no such thing, for the very idea of returning to Northbridge made his skin crawl. It wasn’t that he hated it, however. Quite the opposite, really.
There had been a time when the cracked sidewalks and snow slushed streets had felt like home, and when the scent of pine from the tree line behind the school rink had filled his lungs with comfort. He'd outgrown it, or at least he'd told himself that. Going back meant facing what he'd left behind. Going back meant he'd have to peel open old wounds that'd never quite scarred over.
He had no interest in bleeding again for a past he’d buried under champagne ice baths and city lights. Still, the calls weren’t coming. His agent had gone quiet, and even Pansy had stopped spinning her usual optimism. The truth was brutal and harsh. Clubs wanted younger players and no injuries. Clubs these days wanted agility, not caution.
Draco Malfoy had been brilliant, there was no doubt about that. He’d won rookie of the year his first year even. Brilliance, however, only mattered if one could still skate like they were carving their name into the ice. He couldn’t. Not yet, and maybe not ever again.
It was frustrating, prematurely retiring from Hockey when he was capable of so much more. The doctors prognosis had been grim, and, there was only so much more they could do. There were still two months left before training started, and it wasn’t to late to get the call about a signing next season. He'd just hoped this wouldn’t be the end.
He filled his days with routine after that, the kind that numbed rather than healed. Mornings began with physio, brutal and thankless, stretching muscles that no longer trusted him and coaxing strength from limbs that used to obey without question.
The gym followed, where he hid behind tinted glass and state of the art machines, pushing himself past the point of pain because it was the only thing that made him feel. Afternoons were a blur of sponsor meetings he no longer cared about, and half hearted brand calls. At night, Blaise dragged him to bars filled with people too young to remember his first season on the ice.
Nights were becoming the worst, however. He would sit in the penthouse with the lights low and the city spread before him, a glass of whisky in hand. New York still glittered, and still roared with possibility, but he no longer felt like he belonged to it.
The skyline meant nothing if he couldn't stand beneath it and be more than what he was now, a ghost haunting his own success. He would drink too much, train too hard, sleep too little. Sometimes, he would lace up his skates long after midnight and take to the private rink in the basement, circling and circling until his knee buckled and he collapsed against the boards, breathing through clenched teeth and regret.
Pansy watched it all with fury and heartbreak. She'd never said the word home, not once, but it loomed over Draco every time she walked through his door. She would sit on the couch in her heels and power suit, nursing a scotch while reminding him of contracts he hadn't signed and people he hadn't called back.
She never mentioned Hermione either. That, at least, she respected. Draco could see it in her eyes when she glanced at the chain around his neck, however, and when she gazed for too long on the worn, lion shaped pendant tucked beneath his shirt.
He told himself he wasn't avoiding Northbridge. He told himself he'd had nothing to prove and nothing to say. He knew, however, that some ghosts wouldn't stay buried forever. If he stepped foot on that cracked pavement again, if he so much as looked into eyes the color of amber and walked in the fall orchards, he would unravel.
All because he still loved her.
He'd never stopped loving her, in fact. The girl who got away. If he went back home, there was always a chance his past would catch up to him. He’d burnt a lot of bridges and friendships to get to where he was now, and it was only natural he'd felt apprehensive.
When he’d left Northbridge at eighteen years old, he’d been at a crossroads. If it wasn’t for his Chemistry Professor their senior year, he would've never been partnered with swot extraordinaire Hermione Granger. He’d have never learned true love, and what it meant to love someone so deeply. First loves were like that, he guessed, and if that was the case, why did he still love her to this day?
Granger was destined for greatness. Wicked smart, top of their class, and pretty in a bookish sort of way. She'd never tried to be someone she wasn’t. Draco found it so refreshing. Being surrounded by fake friends, jocks, and cheerleaders who wore masks became exhausting. Unlike his other friends, with Hermione, he hadn't needed to be anything other than himself.
When he finally got the call from Pansy, it was not the call he'd hoped for. There was a club, Texas, one of the worst in the league mind you, but they wanted him for a trial. It'd be a year rental, tentative pending a physical and tryout.
Draco had no leg to stand on, literally, and with Pansy’s gentle reminder of beggars can’t be choosers, he’d decided to take the tentative deal. This left him with approximately two months to figure his life out. Unfortunately for him, that meant going home after all.
Hermione smiled as she popped open the commercial oven door, pulling out a tray of popovers from the machine and dropping them onto the cooling wrack. The sun hadn't risen yet, the time only 3:30 in the morning, but desserts didn’t bake themselves and Hermione was never one to slack.
Her CD player sat on a medium high shelf in the corner of the bakery, currently playing the latest Backstreet Boys album. It was one of her favorites to jam to in the early morning. Hermione moved with ease, sliding the tray into place and reaching for the next batch of batter without missing a beat.
Her apron was already streaked with flour, and her curls were pulled up into a loose twist that had begun to wilt under the oven’s heat in her claw clip. Her fingers danced with muscle memory that came only from years of doing the same morning ritual.
The bakery was still cloaked in early dawn, save for the soft yellow glow of the overhead lights and the candle she kept lit near the register for luck and, of course, the scent of mahogany and green apples. She hummed along to the music, off key and unapologetic, her hips swaying just enough to betray the rhythm.
The streets outside were silent, the world not yet stirring. It felt like she existed in a pocket of time untouched by anything outside the bakery walls. The mixer whirred in the background as she reached for the lavender honey glaze, the scent already coaxing a sleepy smile from her lips.
These were the hours she loved most, when it was just her and the dough, and the peace that came from knowing she'd built this life entirely on her own. It had taken years, of course, and nothing had come easy. Years of whispered judgments and lonely nights, and raising a child with flour covered hands and exhaustion creeping beneath her eyes as she kept the bakery afloat in it’s early years.
Though being marginally successful now, that had not always been the case. Hermione had caused quite the scandal in their small hometown circles, turning down MIT and giving birth to a baby boy nine months later. There had always been speculation, ideas about who the father might be, and how she’d gotten pregnant. It was hard not to speculate who'd she may have been dating at the time, either.
Hermione had made sure to shield little Scorpius from that. No matter what ghosts haunted outside, and no matter which name still echoed in the back of her mind like a song stuck on repeat, she wouldn't trade a single moment of the life she’d lived, not even for the one thing she'd never let herself want again.
She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned against the counter, the warmth of the ovens behind her seeping into her as she stared out the fogged window facing Main Street. The sky outside was still an inky shade of blue, the first threads of dawn just beginning to peak through. She could just make out the crooked sign of the barber shop across the road, and the streetlamp flickering above it.
In a few hours, the town would come alive, and she would smile for her regulars, recommend her seasonal crumble, and pretend that her heart didn’t lurch every time a stranger with blonde hair and grey eyes walked through the door. Her small bakery stood out on the cobbled street. It’s pink, baby blue, and cream themes stood out against some of the older buildings, but everybody loved her coffee and doughnuts, and so it’d become a staple to locals and tourists alike.
On mornings like this, she'd let herself think of him while she clutched her mug of coffee between batches. Not the headlines or the highlight reels version of him, nor the one the tabloids constantly wrote about. She reminisced about the boy who'd kissed her with shaking hands beneath the bleachers after his final game of the season, and the boy who'd touched her like she was the most beautiful girl in the world. The boy who, in the shape of her son’s face, never really left at all.
The kitchen timer buzzed, pulling her out nostalgia. She blinked and moved quickly to pull the second tray of popovers from the oven before they browned too far. She hadn't meant to name the bakery after him, not really. It'd just slipped out one morning, long before the renovations were done, and before the walls were painted and the kitchen stocked.
It came to her when she was curled on the floor, seven months pregnant with a stack of paperwork she couldn't make herself finish as her best friend Harry droned on and on about his plans for after college. The name had come to her fairly easily, recalling a memory not so long ago that was one of her favorites.
And so, the name Crumb & Clover was born. At the time, it had made her laugh. The longer she stared at it on the page, however, the more it began to feel like that belonged to her, and to them. The crumb was easy. She'd been scraping by then, baking in borrowed kitchens and raising a child alone, but somehow managing. She'd taken a loan from the bank, just enough money to purchase a small farm house to live and sustain off of. The clover, however? That was his, that was always his.
She hadn't seen him since then, not in the flesh, at least. She saw him every day in her son’s face, however. He would show up in the facial expressions of her son, every time. The way he scowled when he concentrated, or in the way he'd skated across frozen ponds like the ice was an extension of himself, so similar to his Father.
In the cruel hours of early morning, she sometimes wondered if that was enough. She wondered if she should've said something, and if she should've told him she was pregnant back then. When she’d seen the joy on his face after being drafted, however, and when he’d spun her around and kissed her so deeply she saw stars, she didn’t have the heart to crush his dreams.
She was afraid they'd grow to resent each other in the future because their son had crushed his dreams before they could even start. So she let him go. She would rather her own dreams be crushed than to crush his, selfless person that she was. It was okay if it happened to her, in her mind, but it couldn’t happen to him. Not to Draco.
It started with the smell of burning chemicals and cheap vinyl. The chemistry lab always ran too hot, the radiators working overtime, and Hermione’s seat by the farthest front counter was permanently sticky from whatever idiot last spilled their experiment. She hated it, and she hated that he always showed up ten minutes late with his bag unzipped and his sleeves rolled to the elbows, acting like the rules didn’t apply to him and his posse.
Draco Malfoy was exactly the kind of boy she'd spent most of her life avoiding, finding nothing appealing about athletes. He was loud, and everyone worshiped him like a minor god in their hockey obsessed town. He was always surrounded by girls with bleached hair and too much perfume.
He walked through the halls with his varsity jacket slung over one shoulder and that sideways grin that made other people forget he'd barely scraped Cs. Hermione did not forget, however. She remembered everything. Especially how, in Sophomore year, he'd called her a nerd under his breath and then laughed when the rest of the table did too.
Now, her predicament was that Mr. Slughorn had paired them up, claiming something about complementary skill sets. She'd swallowed her protest with a forced smile and an unlimited amount of veiled fury It had been two weeks since then, and still, they moved around each other like magnets unsure which way to pull.
“You’re measuring it wrong,” she said without looking up, her voice curt as she noted the exact milliliters on her own beaker. “You added the ethanol too fast, the solution’s going to spike.”
Draco glanced at her, one eyebrow arched, and leaned closer just enough to be irritating.
“You know, some people say thank you when someone does the hard part.”
She rolled her eyes and kept writing.
“Some people know how to read the lab manual.”
He chuckled, and it startled her more than she wanted to admit. It wasn’t cruel or even mocking, just amused, like he was seeing her in a new and not entirely unpleasant light.
“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” he said, tilting his head toward her notes. “Your handwriting is absolutely feral.”
Hermione looked up at him, lips parting in protest, but the words never quite formed. His smile was not his usual smirk, but one she'd never seen directed at her before. She blinked twice, and turned back to the lab report with heat rising behind her ears. She didn’t speak to him the rest of class.
The Malfoy estate sat just past the lake on the north side of town, where the trees grew taller and the air smelled richer. She'd seen it from a distance before, its sloping brick façade and sprawling front drive with wrought iron gates, but standing in the grand foyer beneath a chandelier that probably cost more than her parents’ mortgage gave her pause.
Draco hadn’t even blinked. He'd tossed the car keys of his red sports car into a crystal bowl, kicked off his sneakers with the ease of someone too used to privilege to notice it, and told her the library was just down the hall.
The library! He had a freaking library!
It wasn’t a room, either, it was an entire wing. Books lined every inch of the walls. The ceiling was ornate dark oak, vaulted and stained. It smelled like aged paper and real oak. Hermione stood in the doorway, completely still and in shock. Draco looked back when he noticed she hadn’t followed.
“You coming, or are you going to gawk all day?”
She stepped in slowly, her eyes wide.
“Do you actually live here?”
He smirked, setting his bag down on the long oak table in the center of the room.
“No, I live in the stables with the horses. This is where I bring know it all’s when I want to impress them.”
She snorted as she brushed past him, and dropped her bag with a little more force than necessary.
“So this is where the silver spooned elite hide when they’re not being fed grapes by servants.”
His grin widened.
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Granger.”
“Oh, I’m not jealous,” she said, pulling out her notes and smoothing them over the tabletop. “I just didn’t realize I’d be studying chemistry in a Bond villain lair.”
His laugh was genuine, and it startled her into looking up. His eyes were lighter when he laughed, less guarded. She didn't know why she'd started to notice.
“Well,” he said, folding himself into a chair and flipping open his textbook, “What about you? Let me guess. Cottage on the south side, and parents who still use coupons. Best part? The kitchen smells like garlic bread and real life.”
Hermione arched a brow, but she smiled before she could stop it.
“How would a rich boy like you know that?”
Draco smirked, shrugging.
“I’m observant, Granger. My best friend just so happens to live in your neighborhood, actually. Theodore Nott, do you know him?”
Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded.
“One, you’re incredibly full of yourself, and two, yes, I do know the Nott family.”
Draco grinned.
“I’m right though, aren’t I? I’ve stayed at Theo’s house enough times to know.”
She hesitated, then leaned back in her chair, letting her shoulders relax just a little.
“It’s not a cottage, mind you, but a Townhouse. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. My Dad’s obsessed with fixing things himself, even when he breaks them worse, and my Mom can’t cook to save her life, but she tries. Usually, I eat outside before coming home so I don’t starve. And yes, we do have garlic bread every Sunday with pasta.”
He nodded, surprisingly quiet.
“Bet you've never had to share a bathroom with anyone in your life,” she added with a snort.
He smirked again, but there was honesty truth in it now.
“I share a bathroom with a whole hockey team at school, Granger. I’m no stranger to a lack of personal space.”
She blinked.
“No, I suppose not.”
He grinned.
“Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”
Hermione snorted.
“I promise you, Malfoy, you are the least impressive boy I've ever met.”
Their eyes met across the table, a small seed planting and taking root. In that moment, they were just two teenagers tiptoeing toward each other, one joke at a time. Who’d have thought their ending would be anything but happy.
The words caught her off guard. He'd said it so casually, like it meant nothing. The thought had just occurred to him while they packed up their chemistry notes and wiped down the lab benches for the day. There was a hitch in his voice, however, and when she glanced up at him, his eyes were already watching her. She laughed once, disbelieving.
“Your friends? You mean your fellow hockey goons and the girls who look like they were born with highlighters and fillers in their cheekbones?”
Draco smirked, adjusting the strap of his bag as they stepped out into the hallway.
“They’re not all that bad, Granger. They’ve been asking about you, you know. Ever since you called me out in front of the entire team in the lunchroom they’ve been talking about you nonstop.”
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“I did not call you out.”
Draco grinned.
“You said I had the critical thinking skills of a potato, and that if I spent more time on our project instead of being a brain dead oaf, I’d have a better chance in life.”
“You would though,” she said, trying not to smile.
He grinned, pleased with himself, and leaned closer as they walked.
“Come to the bonfire, Granger. For me?”
She hesitated as her fingers twisted around the strap of her bag. Her brows pulled inward just enough to betray the debate happening behind her eyes. The last time she'd gone to one of the senior parties, she'd left early, sick from pretending she belonged as she tried to blend in with Ron and Harry. Her world was textbooks and debate meets and quiet afternoons in the library with a good book. His was bonfires and beer and the kind of laughter that roared without apology. They were not the same.
“You don’t have to say yes,” he said, almost uncertain. “But I’ll be there, and the fire’s huge. There’s this old couch someone dragged out to the field that’s perfect for stargazing, and usually, at the end of the night, we all take four wheeler’s out for a spin on the trails.”
She looked at him and thought of the hours they'd spent bent over lab notes and vending machine snacks, and how he laughed differently when it was just her. She wondered what it would be like, to cross over into his world for a night.
“Fine,” she said, smoothing her thumb over the corner of her notebook. “But if one of your friends spills Natty Light on my shoes, I’m never coming back again.”
He grinned boyishly, nearly splitting his face.
“Deal.”
When she showed up later that night, standing on the edge of the field in an old sweatshirt and jeans, she saw him break away from his group the second he spotted her. It was like gravity itself had tilted him in her direction.
He walked toward her with his hands in his hoodie pockets and that crooked grin she would never forget. She felt the beginnings of a crush for the first time as her heart did pirouettes. She had no idea then how much it would cost her, only that it had already begun.
The roar of the crowd echoed through the metal scaffolding of the bleachers above them. The cold steel beneath her thighs sent little tremors through her jeans, but Hermione barely noticed. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold air of the rink, and her hands still tingling from clapping. Her eyes sparkled as she watched Draco, fully geared up, hover over her in this somewhat private space.
They had slipped away in the chaos, ducking behind the stands while the rest of the team was lifted onto shoulders and swallowed by lights and glory. He'd grabbed her hand without thinking, laced their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world, and pulled her into the shadows with nothing but a crooked grin and a come on whispered close to her ear.
“You did it,” she said softly, her breath forming little clouds in the air between them. “You actually won state! That’s so amazing, Draco.”
Draco turned towards her and surged forward before she could say anything else. He wrapped her in a tight, thoughtless hug, his arms around her waist while her face tucked against his shoulder. The fabric of his jersey was rough against her cheek, but she'd hardly cared.
He smelled like sweat and that aftershave he borrowed from Blaise that made her knees go weak. He was warm all over, buzzing with the electricity of their win. When he pulled back just enough to look down at her, his face was flushed with more than triumph. Their eyes met and held each others, and it was like everything had clicked into place.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
Her lips parted.
“You’re asking?”
Draco chuckled quietly.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, his voice rougher now. “I want all of it, Granger. Not just as chemistry partners, but I want you. I want this summer, and I want you at every stupid bonfire and late night diner run. I want to see you barefoot in my backyard at three in the morning after spending the night, while telling me I’m full of shit when I tell you're wrong.”
Hermione stared up at him, her heart thudding. She could still hear the crowd above them, and still feel the rush of wind through the bleachers. Nothing mattered except the boy in front of her, however. She found herself leaning in closer and closer, never wanting to stop.
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice shaking. “Yes to all of it.”
When he kissed her, it was nothing like she'd expected. It was soft and tentative at first, the kind of kiss that asked more than it took. His hand slid up to her cheek, fingers trembling, and she rose on her toes to meet him fully, to fall into him like a homecoming.
When they broke apart, she had to lean her forehead against his chest to remember how to breathe. It was only her second kiss, but the first hadn’t counted in her mind. Her first kiss had been with Ron, Sophomore year behind the science building after a homecoming dance. It was awful, wet tongues and clumsy hands with no idea what to do.
This, this was entirely different. This kiss was everything she'd been waiting for without knowing it. Draco smiled, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. They both grinned stupidly at each other, their cheeks flushing.
“You taste like peppermint.”
She laughed, breathless.
“You taste like Gatorade.”
Draco kissed her forehead.
“Romantic.”
Hermione tapped his nose.
“The most.”
The stars hung low that night, pressed like diamonds into the black silk of the sky through the arched glass ceiling of the Malfoy conservatory. They laid together on a blanket Draco had pulled from one of the storage closets, spread across the floor between the orchid beds and a low table cluttered with candles and fake plants.
Her head rested against his shoulder, and their legs tangled under a shared quilt. His hand lazily traced patterns along the inside of her wrist, turning her palm over in his. She'd never felt so weightless. He whispered into her ear beside as he recited constellations he'd memorized just to impress her.
She stared into his eyes and listened to him talk, thinking. The night had been perfect, the perfect end to a perfect date. She'd decided in that moment; she was ready. She tentatively slid her hand over the zipper of his pants, and felt his breath falter beneath her touch as she tentatively stroked where she'd suspected it to be. He turned to look at her, and the expression on his face made her heart skip a beat. It was full of love, pure and truly painted onto his face.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his thumb brushing her cheek. “If we start, I won’t be able to stop, Granger.”
She nodded, her eyes steady.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Draco.”
He kissed her like he'd waited his whole life to do it properly, as his lips slotted against her own. His lips were warm and familiar, and his hands trembled as they pushed her shirt higher, then off completely as he moved over her, their bodies coming together. She'd never been naked with someone before. It was exhilarating, the electricity she'd felt as his bare torso touched hers.
The way his toned and muscular body hovered over her filled her with anticipation. With him, there was no fear. She was ready, if it was him. There was only the stars above them for witness, and the breathless gasp of skin meeting skin. They'd shared the kind of trust only two souls could have for the first time.
He touched her tentatively, unsure himself. His fingers were exploratory as they brought her to the edge for the first time, and his mouth was patient as he brought her over it together. When they'd switched positions, Hermione had never known him capable of the sounds he'd made, but she knew she'd wanted to hear them all the same.
When he slid into her for the first time, slow and shaking himself, she felt open in more ways than one. He filled her so completely, her eyes fluttered closed at the new sensations setting her nerves on fire once the initial sting had faded to a dull ache.
All she could do was feel. She felt the press of his body against hers, and the drag of his cock as he disappeared and reappeared within her. The way he whispered her name as he grunted his release and stilled inside her was her favorite part.
It was so close and so intimate. His forehead rested on her collar bone as he panted after, in disbelief himself they'd just did that. It was over as quick as it'd started, but to her, it was perfect. They were young still, and new, and Hermione hoped they would have many, many more chances to practice.
They lay together afterwards, her head on his chest, and his hand smoothing her curls back from her face. The blanket now draped over their lower halves, leaving their naked torso's bare to the stars. The world outside remained unchanged, and no one had been the wiser.
Inside, however, everything was different. She could feel it in the spaces between their bodies, and in the way his thumb still moved in slow circles on her skin like he couldn't bear to stop touching her. She was a woman now, she'd thought giddily, and Draco had made her one.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words barely audible, but she’d heard them.
Hermione didn’t answer right away. She curled closer to him, and pressed her lips to his collarbone. She smiled against his skin as her eyes fluttered closed with sleep.
"I love you, too."
She had no idea how long they would last, or how the world would close in and pull them apart. That night, under the stars and the conservatory glass, she'd believed him. For the first time in her life, she let herself believe in a forever. A forever with Draco Malfoy.