Coming Home – Sequel to Lips of an Angel

Rating: T

Warnings: None so far, but probably some fluff.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Goodnight & Go lyrics by Imogen Heap. (Great song, btw.)

Summary: Draco finally goes back to Hermione after years of denying himself and being married to Pansy.

8/13/06 -- Sketchy Cannabis

Draco didn't sleep that night. That was okay with him though. He'd laid awake all night waiting for daylight to come. For him to start arranging things. Sadly, his father wasn't dead. No, he was alive, somehow off the hook for his dealings in all of Voldemort's shit – shit that Draco had gladly steered clear of. He'd been proud of Hermione, so proud of her, when she and her little wonder-boy had defeated Voldemort.

He'd never been able to tell her, of course. He couldn't, because she wouldn't have let him anyhow. He'd never owled her, he'd never called, or done anything that involved her, except maybe angst. Pansy tended to check the mail a little obsessively, and she always answered the phone – he never did.

Except last night. His alarm was shut off before it had time to even start beeping. Pansy was sleeping peacefully, and Draco could almost feel sorry for her. He didn't know what she wanted from him, but he had a funny feeling it was the weight his name carried and the lining in his pockets. She wasn't the type to be above using him for that, he knew. Her shopping sprees were extensive, and he, of course, as the trophy husband, was dragged along on them.

Draco spent that day in his study, using his accountant skills to the fullest. He was trying to store things away in banks and places that Pansy's lawyer wouldn't be able to reach, and that his father wouldn't have connections in. It was hard, to find places that would elude them both. He finally ended up putting out word to buy up large amount of estates under a false name. A false name, that he thought fit the situation very well.

Hermione Granger would be very surprised to suddenly find that she owned a couple islands. Or so.

The arrangements for that took most of the day.

And he went to sleep content, and even let Pansy paw at him a bit to make herself feel wanted. What a cruel world we live in.

Day two was spent pacing. He didn't really have much to do, and he was too nervous to make any sudden moves.

Finally, he decided that he'd better confide in someone, at least. When he went to visit his mother, she was surprised. She met him in the parlor of his old home, the room lush and decorated in candy cane stripes and flowers. Draco had always been fond of this room – for this was where he would hide away with his mother when he was young, when they would read and pretend that life was going to be okay.

He knew his mother wouldn't tell his father. They were barely speaking, last he'd been told. They never were the type to be that loving to each other. They'd grown apart – Azkaban and his father's treatment of him made his mother more than eager to abandon him, if possible. But she had put much of her money into the Malfoy line, and she wouldn't leave it until that bastard died and gave it back. She was more than hopeful when it came to his father's death. Draco was hoping with her.

His mother was sitting in her favorite chair, the one with a nice view out the window, but near enough to the fireplace to be cozy. He had so many memories of her in that chair… "Draco, it's so good to see you!" His mother clapped her hands together, smiling at him, arms open. After their usual hug, Draco took his own seat on the small loveseat, across from her, and still close to the fire. "What brings you here, darling? You hardly drop in just for my company." Tea was brought in discreetly by a house elf, and his mother poured them both cups, still waiting for him to answer.

"I'm going to divorce Pansy." He took a gulp of his tea, not looking at his mother. He didn't want to see her reaction. He did, however, hear it. Her reaction consisted mostly of her spilling some tea and then silence. Dead silence. That kind of silence that tended to make him more nervous than he wanted.

Draco finally looked up, feeling guilty. His mother always managed to make him feel a little guilty when it was needed. And he knew this was wrong. What he was doing. He'd been raised to know this was wrong. But Merlin, how he needed this.

"It's that Granger girl, isn't it?" His mother asked with slight distaste in her voice. Narcissa had never held a hate for her, a dislike, surely, but she knew how her son was, and she could respect that. She knew his marriage to Pansy was her husband's dealing, which made her more inclined than ever to disagree.

"Yes, mother, it's that Granger girl." He smiled faintly at this, staring at his tea. It was such an ugly brown compared to her eyes, he noted to himself with a sense of pride. Even if he hadn't seen her eyes in many years, he still knew their shade by heart. Knew that she looked dashing in red, how it contrasted so beautifully with her eyes and skin and hair… Oh yes, Draco remembered those aspects quite well. He'd been living in his own personal hell much too long not to have burned those things into his brain.

Draco's mother sighed, a long, low sigh, and took another drink of her tea. "She's going to make you regret it, dear."

"Yes, I know mother." Draco sat down the tea on the small table, clasping his hands in his lap and looking up to his mother, the worry he felt obvious on his face. "Father's not going to be happy with me."

"No, he's not." Her comment was quiet. She was too busy thinking. She knew just how much her son was… infatuated with that girl. She also knew that he'd get what he wanted, just because that was the type of person that he was. But she was proud of that; she'd raised him to be strong. Much stronger than that silly husband of hers ever was, or would be. He was slippery and slimy. Draco was just strong. She set her tea down, forcing a smile out. "If it's what you're determined to do, I'll defend you to my best, darling." She doted on his as usual, fussing over his hair ("You need a hair cut!") and his clothes ("Those are so last year, darling.").

But when he went home that night, he knew that he'd done the right thing. His mother and father may not talk much, but he knew she could take a bite out of him when she wanted to. She was one of the few people who knew where to bite, and how hard, to get him to back down.

The next days passed slowly and uneventfully. Pansy was more annoying than ever, if that was possible, and she finally sulked off to go shopping with some friends. When she was finally out of the house, Draco flopped into his favorite chair, the one that Pansy was always trying to throw out when he wasn't looking, and finally called his attorney.

"Yes, I know it'll be hopeless. Just get those damn papers drawn up." It was the fifth of the seven days that he'd asked for from Hermione. His attorney had informed him that this was a horrible decision financially, and that he may want to reconsider… Reconsider, bullshit, he thought to himself angrily. He'd been waiting for years to do this. That was all the time he needed to think about it, as far as he was concerned.

Pansy was gone the seventh day. The attorney hadn't owled the formal papers yet, as par he requested. Draco was irritable and twitchy the whole day. He hexed a serving woman for no reason (she'd tripped on the carpet and disturbed him) and he'd yelled at Pansy until she'd cried (she was just being herself). When she finally left, Draco thought he could breathe a little easier. Though his heart was still beating in his chest as he packed up his suitcases.

There was very little that Draco valued enough to take with him. His collection of newspaper clippings about various people – mainly Hermione. He had a few trinkets from his mother that he'd had since he was younger. His broomstick, a painting that Hermione had given him for his wedding, though Pansy still to this day thought it'd been a gift from his mother, which was the only reason he'd been allowed to keep it, let alone hang it up in his study. Other than that, all he took was various articles of clothing.

With a deep breath, he grabbed some floo powder from beside the fireplace. This was it, he knew. Every beginning is the beginning of another ending's end. Or some shit like that.

Bloody hell, he thought bitterly, as he stepped into the fire, stating Hermione's house number clearly. Here goes everything and nothing.

Hermione was pacing. For the last five days, she hadn't believed it. Now it was day six of the seven he'd asked for. She didn't know what to do, what to think. It was too early, she knew. But she was still pacing.

Her rational side was asking her what she was hoping for anyhow. He had left her in tears, crying and broken, a mudblood, a waste. And now… he wanted her again? No, of course she hadn't stopped thinking about him. She had, and still did. Ron had tried something with her, but that had never gotten off the ground. He'd eventually ended up marrying Lavendar, as she knew he would. But that was okay, because single life rather suited Hermione. Or maybe she just suited the single life. She wasn't sure.

She was a writer, nonfiction, of course. She had just published a recount of her school years. It was by no means anything like Lockheart's work, but it sufficed. She'd made a decent living off of it. Not to mention she was a personal counselor to the Minister of Magic, once again Fudge, having been reinstated after he'd helped her and her friends defeat Voldemort.

She snorted lightly to herself, kicking the newspaper that had slipped to the floor out of the way as she flopped onto the couch. It'd been how many years..? Four, five? Voldemort had become a name that young mother's used to scare their children into listening. People just didn't understand how much their lives had been threatened. Their very way of life… no, people didn't understand. Amazing how short people's attention spans were. But she blamed that on the media, partially. After all, they wouldn't run a story for more than a day or two, or even think about it for a year or two, until something relevant came up.

Crookshanks, now a cat in his prime, slinked up into her lap, offering a purr for her as she stroked him lazily. "Yeah, I wish I had a lap to curl up into, too." She sighed.

Harry and Ginny had moved off to the other part of town, and it was much too late for her to be ringing anyone anyhow. But she wanted to. Harry understood, a little. He still had his usual prejudices against Draco, but… he tried. Ginny was best, and she'd take her out for lunch when it got bad, which it had been, for months. Until she'd broken down and called him. Part of her still couldn't believe she'd done that. It had just been so late, and she'd been crying… and it hadn't been hard to get his number. He was still fairly influential in the wizarding world.

Hermione bit her lip, staring at the fire before her. When she drifted off to sleep, she was still hoping that some tall, lanky wizard would walk through there, his pale grey eyes lighting up to see her, his blonde hair grown out and tied back…

The next day was the longest day in the world for one Miss Hermione Granger. She spent all day puttering about her house, watching the fireplace, watching the phone, studying her reflection in the bathroom mirror. What would he think of her? Would she be pretty enough? She wasn't as skinny as she'd been during school… she'd filled out, but she liked to think of it as a womanly manner, and not a too many containers of ice cream thing. She yet again observed herself in the mirror, sighing.

Who was she kidding? He wouldn't leave all that wealth and comfort for her. Her house wasn't nearly enough to make him happy. She crossed her arms, looking at the sink, before she made her way lazily to the couch. Her whole body felt so insanely heavy. She was surprised she could move without falling over and just sinking into the ground. When on the couch, she curled up with her blanket, Crookshanks jumping onto her legs to burrow in and start purring. Hermione closed her eyes, wishing with all her might to open them and see him. She peeked a bit, and sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. He wasn't coming. She knew he wasn't.

As usual, she cried herself to sleep, the comforting weight of Crookshanks and his purring lulling her off after a while.

A/N: Well, yeah. We'll see where this goes. I really have no big aspirations for this story, so if you like it, review with ideas..? Hopefully I'll think of something to add.