Preserved

Hermione sat in the parlour of the Malfoy Manor with her husband, Draco. The Malfoy name was no longer a name to fear.

Lucius Malfoy was worse than dead. He, having been driven insane by the dementors of Azkaban, lied in St. Mungo's, waiting for his dying day.

Narcissa, who had spent five years mourning over the insanity of her husband, had cast the Killing Curse upon herself.

Eleven years ago, Hermione's life had changed forever. She had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse, given birth to her first child, graduated from Hogwarts (top of her class), attended her best friend's funeral, and saw him appear before her in a somehow solid form.

She had never told anyone about her final day at Hogwarts with Harry, not even Draco. It wasn't possible for Harry to still be alive, no matter how much Hermione wanted it to be true.

"Draco?" Hermione said quietly, not wanting to wake her son, Harry, who was named after his father.

"Yes, dear?"

"Harry's going to Hogwarts tomorrow," Hermione reminded him.

"Yes, he is," Draco agreed, briefly looking up from his copy of the Daily Prophet.

"He's going to our school," Hermione whispered. "To Harry's school..."

Draco put down his paper and looked Hermione in the eyes. "I knew something was bothering you."

The room started to go blurry as her eyes filled with tears. "What if Dumbledore tells him the truth?"

Hermione had never told Harry the truth. She had never told him who his father was, how he died, or why they hadn't been married.

"Dumbledore wouldn't do that," Draco said calmly, picking up his paper again.

"Draco, I can't take the chance," Hermione said, her voice cracking. "Can I tell him before he leaves for Hogwarts tomorrow?"

"It's not my choice," Draco said, not bothering to look at Hermione. "He's not my son."

"Draco, that's not true," Hermione said, the tears finally slipping from her eyes. "Harry wouldn't have wanted anything to do with Harry even if he hadn't..."

It was hard for Hermione to mention Harry's death. She hated herself for not being able to save him. She hated how she hadn't cried for him until the day of his funeral. And she hated how much her son looked like him.

"Yes, he would have, Hermione," Draco tried to convince her. "Harry loved you, and he would have done anything for you."

"How do you know that?" Hermione yelled. "He didn't love me! He loved Quidditch and adventure.

"Who would love someone like me? An insufferable know-it-all."

"I would," Draco said, grabbing her hand.

"Draco, I'm serious!" Hermione yelled, pulling her hand out of his grasp. "Harry didn't really love me. If he did, he wouldn't have left me."

"Hermione, what the bloody hell are you talking about?" Draco roared. "He didn't have any choice about leaving you! He loved you with all of his heart, and if you can't see that, then you didn't deserve his love!"

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. An antique vase across the room shattered into a million tiny pieces that shot across the room.

Hermione stormed out of the room and into the hall, slamming the door behind her. She ran down the long empty halls. Tears ran down her face like little rivers.

How would he know whom Harry loved? Draco knew nothing about Harry.

However, Hermione knew very much about Harry, and deep down inside Hermione knew Draco was right. Harry had loved her with all of his heart.

Harry had told her that he loved her every day when they were dating, and then once more on her last day at Hogwarts.

Even though they had broken up long before Harry had died, Hermione still had feelings for him. Even after how much she hated him for getting her pregnant, she loved him with all of her heart. Now, though, only a small portion of her heart still belonged to Harry.

I'm Draco's wife; I can't love Harry anymore.

Hermione went to bed that night feeling horrible about how she had treated Draco. She cried herself to sleep that night, thinking of Harry, of how she treated Draco, and of what might happen tomorrow when she told Harry the truth.