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Bad Faith	By : angharad1143 Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 7649 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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             The promise of spring was in the air, a warmth in the breeze that had been absent for too long.
Golden sunshine, the slow trickling drip of melting snow, as the pines shook off their coats and lifted their
branches.

             Maybe she was waxing poetic, but Hermione Granger had never known such a glorious day.

             Across from her on the stage, Draco bowed his proud head to accept the Order of Merlin, First Class
from Minister Bowles–the first such honour, he’d told her cynically, that a Malfoy had earned rather than
bought in at least six generations.

             She stood in long line of awards recipients; members of the Order; of course, Aurors; various
distinguished personages from within the Ministry; but in truth, this ceremony had little to do with awards
and everything to do with celebration. They had survived, the Dark Lord had perished, and the fear was over.
They could mourn their losses and live.

             Shaking hands solemnly with the Minister, Draco paused politely and turned to the ever-present
Daily Prophet reporters, handling them with a great deal more poise than Hermione had ever mustered. He
was the last to get his award; Hermione’s own medal lay heavily about her neck, but she scarcely felt the
weight as she reached for his hand, drawing him to her side. His hand in hers was all she craved.

             A discreet pinch almost made her squeal aloud, and she grinned foolishly at Draco, whose face was
a politely interested mask, betrayed only by the twinkle in his eyes. Well, hand-holding for now, she
amended, almost dizzy with happiness.

             “...war such as we have never fought, danger such as we have never faced,” Bowles continued,
gesturing down the lines beside him. “But for their courage, death would have been the kindest fate. Let us
never forget their sacrifices, and the sacrifices of those who gave all...”

             Percy Weasley handed the minister a long scroll, and Bowles adjusted his spectacles.

             “Constance MacDougal. Terry Boot. Minerva McGonagall. Stewart Ackerley. Alastor Moody. Susan
Bones. Amelia Bones. Ernie MacMillan. Elphias Doge. Seamus Finnegan. William and Fleur Weasley...”
Mrs. Weasley muffled a sob, eyes haunted, and Fred and George gripped her arms, George from the
wheelchair he had grudgingly consented to. Or rather, been forced into, by the vehement Healers of St.
Mungo’s.

             “Sirius Black,” Bowles continued, nodding his head to Harry, who nodded back, face blank. “Remus
Lupin. Rubeus Hagrid. Padma Patil. Anthony Goldstein. Wayne Hopkins. Elizabeth Callahan-Hopkins.
Jonathan Hopkins. Owen Cauldwell. Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbot...”

             The list was long, the list of Voldemort’s victims, the list of those who had died fighting him.

             There was not a dry eye in the courtyard when he finished, somberly handing the scroll back to a red-eyed Percy.

             “We must,” the Minister added in a clear, penetrating voice, “never forget the lessons of this terrible
war. The cost of complacency,” he said sharply, referring, no doubt, to his predecessor. “The lessons of fear,
and the price of blind hatred.”

             On Hermione’s other side, Harry reached for her hand and squeezed as well, eying Draco. Whatever
passed between them, it had the air of a truce, and Hermione crunched both their hands in hers, tears in her
own eyes. That truce meant more to her than any medal.

             “...so let us grieve,” the Minister concluded. “Let us bury our dead and mourn them. Let us
remember, and let us honour their sacrifices. And above all, let us live. A great evil has gone from us. We
are better for it, and wiser for our lessons. Thank you. Order, Aurors!”

             The few Aurors snapped to, and the Order turned more slowly, watching in amazement as the crowd
roared, laughed, cried, stomped their feet and clapped their hands, a clamour that set nearly a hundred post
owls winging off to the skies. Dragging the astonished witches and wizards off the stage, the mob emptied
out into the streets, and Hedwig soared from Harry’s arm, spiralling up, and up, and up...

~o~oOo~o~

             Draco’s silvery cloak swirled around them as they walked through the gardens adjacent the
courtyard, and Hermione couldn’t help watching him from the corner of her eye, the sunlight glinting in his
hair, a slight smile playing about his lips as he paused at the thawing lake. His face was as proud and bright
as it had been that long-ago night when he had abducted her from the library.

             Draco turned, holding his arm out to her, drawing her under and wrapping the shining folds of his
cloak around her. Every inch the Malfoy, she thought fondly, reaching to brush his hair back from his collar.
His lands and possessions had been reinstated, and she wondered if his arrogance would return as well.

             The pride in his face when he looked down at her swiftly dispelled that notion, because it was pride
in her.

             “Winter’s almost over,” he said softly, echoing her thoughts, as was his uncanny habit.

             “Yes.” The internal debate raged on, her smile widening. Tell him now or tell him later? “Your nose
is red,” she said, standing on tiptoe to cover it with her mittened hand. “How terribly common, Mister
Malfoy. You aristocratic types should be impervious to the elements.”

             “So’s yours,” he replied, his large hand covering her whole face.

             “Prat,” she said, muffled.

             “Shrew.”

             “Ferret.” Now, definitely now.

             “Love you,” he said, bending for a kiss, and she moved her hand from his nose to his lips.

             “A question first, if you please,” she said. “When, Mister Malfoy, do you plan to make an honest
woman of me?”

             His eyes widened and he goggled at her momentarily, looking more foolish than she had ever seen
a Malfoy look.

             “Now,” he breathed. “Today. This minute.”

             “Well, then,” she said, permitting him to kiss her, a smile still quirking at her lips. “I’m sure your
daughter will be pleased to know her father was an honourable man.”

             Draco froze, his lips a quarter of an inch from hers, grey eyes locked on her dark ones.

             “My daughter?” He whispered, and she was astonished to feel him shake beside her. “My daughter?”

             “St. Mungo’s owled me with the report this morning,” she replied, slightly more hesitantly. “I wasn’t
sure–I thought may–”

             Draco whooped and swung her around in the snow, put her down and kissed her, picked her up and
spun her again, Hermione laughing helplessly when he set her down for the third time and looked at her with
a eyes so shining, she felt his beauty like a physical blow. More tenderly, he kissed her, his hands on her
cheeks when he drew back.

             “I hope,” he said, beaming at her, “that she has hair just like yours.”

~o~oOo~o~

FINITE INCANTATUM

Author’s Final Note:

             Okay, as I said in the original, I know the whole pregnancy thing is trite, but I had been planning
that last line for days. So if you’re gagging, my apologies.

             Final thanks to JK Rowling for creating these characters and this world. I did my best to be true to
both. Thanks a million times to the Harry Potter Lexicon–if you haven’t checked it out, you should–and to
the University of Notre Dame Latin translation page. Thanks to Kazfeist for help with the French, and to
some unnamed site for the Romanian.

             Astute readers will note that Neville Longbottom’s name was not in the list of the dead (incomplete
as the list was) and that Bellatrix Lestrange’s fate is not yet set in stone. Given the mountain of requests I’ve
gotten for a sequel, I will leave those as my hints and continue to ponder.

             This story was written prior to the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, so most of it
will likely be thrown entirely out of the realm of possibility when that book comes out.

             And thanks to all my reviewers and readers that came, read, and commented. I was glad to hear you
enjoyed my story. Gives me hope for when I finally get back to my own stories.
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Bad Faith