She waited. Patiently. She had stopped looking at her watch hours ago.

Now, she just waited.

The station was almost empty except for a few lost souls.

Am I one of them? She thought.


Maybe not.

She adjusted her coat around her waist and hugged herself to keep warm.

It was a cold winters night and she was waiting for a reason.

It was her reason to live.

Her reason to breathe.

Her reason to love.

Her reason.

The lamps began to fade and she stood under a streetlight, the light enunciating her sharp features.

After all these years, she kept herself the same, hoping that he'd remember. After all, it had been seven years.

She heard the unmistakeable whistle of a train and she stepped closer to the platform, tears cascading down her rosy cheeks.

The train screeched to a halt and suddenly she was lost in a crowd of people.

She pushed her way through searching for his hair.

That was what she looked for if she lost him.

His signature platinum-blonde hair.

Standing on her tiptoes, she searched the crowd, in vain.

The tears, that had temporarily stopped, began to flow once more.

What if they had never released him? What if he had been administered to the Dementor's Kiss?

She closed her eyes and prayed for him.

She gingerly placed herself on the bench and hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly.

A man stepped out of the train.

The last passenger.

His hair was still thick and he ran a tired hand through it.

Had she come?

He searched the station and coughed loudly.

She looked up. Her curly brown hair had come loose from its confinement and billowed across her face.

Standing slowly, she saw a man walking.

He stopped a few metres from her.

He was crying too, she noticed.

His eyes were dull and red and his face was drawn and haggard.

His hair fell over his eyes and he made an attempt to push it aside by tilting his head.

She dropped her purse.

It was him.

He dropped his bag.

It was her.

Slowly she made her way to the man in front of her.

He stood there, in shock staring at his beautiful wife.

The only light in the station was the streetlight and the only people were them.

She reached out and wrapped her hands tightly around his neck, crying softly onto his shoulder.

He drew her closer, hugging her as if his life depended on it.

They were meant for each other.

They held on, crying against each other under the streetlight.

That's when Hermione Granger knew that Draco Malfoy was truly hers forever.

And nothing could take him away. Not even seven years in Azkaban.