A/N: I do not in any way, shape or form, own Harry Potter and all its related franchises. Would I be posting on if I did? No. I would be too busy trying to get myself cast as a companion in Doctor Who. XD I also do not own Taylor Swift's song 'Speak Now'. If I did, I'd be busy taking singing lessons and getting myself into broadway musicals.
Now that that's out of the way, I'll try to keep this brief- hi everyone and thanks for deciding my story is worth at least having a look at. Here's to the next ten or so years of wonderful fandom-ness together. Hope you enjoy.
And without further ado, Mint presents to you...
Love, Hope and Speaking Now
"Why was I here? I was beginning to have second thoughts about this. I, Hermione Jean Granger, was gatecrashing a wedding." And not just any wedding, but the wedding of one Draco Malfoy. How the hell did she get there? She's not too sure herself. Only, it had something to do with Love, Hope, and Speaking Now.
Chapter 1
I am not the kind of girl
That should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion
I wiped my sweaty palms on a hot pink suede armchair and tried to even out my breathing. Of course, normally I wouldn't condone wiping my hands on someone else's furniture but since nothing about this situation was 'normal', and since the armchair was decorating an already hideous reception area for a wedding I had little plans to tolerate anyway, I figured that wiping a sweaty palm here or there wasn't going to make much of a difference. Why was I here? I was beginning to have second thoughts about this. The entire business was surreal. I, Hermione Jean Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age, was gatecrashing a wedding.
But you are not the kind of boy
That should be marrying the wrong girl
I knew I shouldn't be here. It wasn't because I was not invited; it was because my being here would guarantee something stupid from me. I had a tendency to disconnect from my brain during stressful times and do whatever I had to in order to get through the stress. Unfortunately, being disconnected from your brain doesn't do wonders for your ability to think straight and what I ended up doing to get out of stressful situations invariably ended up embarrassing me. But I hadn't been able to stop myself this morning as I put on a rose-pink silk dress, curled my hair, applied my make-up, put on my heels. This wedding shouldn't be happening. Everything about it screamed wrong.
Oh, and I suppose you and Draco are the epitome of right then, I suppose? A snide little voice in my head commented, and I shut it out. Not before I could hear and concede the very valid point it presented, though. Who was I to say who or what was right for Draco? He was intelligent enough to make up his own damn mind, thank you very much, as he had told me on countless occasions. But somehow, despite everything, my body had refused to obey the orders that my mind was screaming at it, choosing instead to walk out of the house and head to the wedding in those wicked, pointed, completely impractical red strappy shoes that I would never be caught dead wearing, let alone buying.
But you did buy them, the snide voice said, and who were they for again?
I thought you were against me crashing this wedding, I thought fiercely to the voice. If voices inside people's heads could shrug, this one would have just done it.
Hey, I'm a figment of your mind, it said, and at the moment your mind is pretty confused. So I'm being confused right along with it.
I sighed and shook my head, trying to clear it. Yes, despite everything, I was here at the wedding now, poised to do something that I would probably regret later on. Because deep, deep down inside, I knew that Astoria Greengrass was not the kind of girl that Draco Malfoy should be marrying. He needed someone who could match his sharp wit and quick mind. He needed someone more sophisticated, more elegant, more intelligent.
And what do you propose to do about it? The voice in my head kept saying. You're not exactly in a position to tell him as much. Face it, girl, he's getting married. What makes you think he's going to listen to you? Why do you care anyway?
I frowned. Surely there must be some rule against hearing annoying, sensible voices in your head? Wasn't that the first sign of madness, or something?
You've always been mad, honey, ever since you fell for those stupidly grey eyes of his, the voice sighed, and I very nearly sighed out loud with it, too.
Shut up, I instructed the voice, and, squaring my shoulders, walked in past the reception area into the main hallway.
I sneak in and see your friends
And her snotty little family, all dressed in pastel
"Granger."
A curt greeting stopped me before I'd taken two steps down the hallway, and I turned to see Blaise Zabini nodding at me shortly.
"Zabini," I returned, and we stood for a while in an uncomfortable silence, which he broke.
"I'm surprised, Granger. I didn't expect to see you at this particular wedding."
"Neither did I, honestly," I answered back, wondering why he was humouring me. He may have been Draco's best friend, but Zabini was having a harder time than Draco at getting over old prejudices. To him, I was still 'The Mudblood'.
"I didn't take you to be a masochist, Granger," he said quietly, suddenly dropping his cool demeanour to reveal an almost believable façade of courteousness. I was taken aback. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that Zabini was trying to give me advice. "Why are you here, really? You shouldn't have to go through this. There's nothing you can do."
"I believe in the motto 'know thine enemies'," I answered back promptly, and Zabini's eyes widened.
"Don't tell me you're still fighting for him, Granger—"
"Shhh," I warned him, putting a finger to my lips, and he stopped, cracking what might have been an attempt at a smile.
"Your secret is safe with me," he informed me, his eyes twinkling. "How can I deny myself the chance to watch Hermione Granger, possibly the most famous witch of this age, make a scene at Draco Malfoy's wedding?" He mock saluted me and left, leaving me grimacing. I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to that, but then again I had no idea what I was planning to do— I'd gotten to the wedding with no plan as to how I would convince Draco to stop this insanity. I stood there in the corridor trying to come up with one on the spot, and failed. In the end I simply resorted to walking and trying to find Draco again.
I was looking in one of the many dressing rooms that lined the hallway when I bumped into Pansy Parkinson, wearing an ivory coloured bridesmaid gown. Her short black hair was half up in curls and had white orchids laced into them. She looked quite beautiful, if you ignored the horrendously bright pink shoes that she had obviously been forced into wearing.
"Granger," she said, when she got over the initial shock of seeing me. "What are you doing here?"
I frowned. It seemed everyone was asking me that question. Didn't they know I had been invited too? I had just as much right to be here as any of them. I decided to let it drop for the moment, however.
"Scouting around," I answered truthfully, and Pansy shot me a sharp look. She glanced around, then leaned in close to me, dropped her voice and started talking hurriedly.
"Listen, Granger, I know we aren't exactly the best of friends but if you're here to stop the wedding you have my full support. Astoria Greengrass is a class-A bitch. I don't know why Draco's marrying her. Actually, no, I do. He thinks he's let his parents down by integrating into the general wizarding society and so he thinks marrying a girl they approve of is a way of making it up to them. But my point is, you have to stop this from happening, Granger. Talk to Malfoy. You're the only one with a hope of getting through to him. If he marries her, I'm going to be stuck with her for the rest of my life. Pure-blood family obligations and things. So please. Do what you have to. Anything." She straightened up, and added aloofly, "better you than her," and swept off. I blinked. I was pretty sure I had been paid a sort-of compliment by Pansy Parkinson, the girl who lived to make my life hell for the past fourteen years. I shook my head in wonderment. First Zabini, then Parkinson… they must really not like Astoria a lot.
Not that you like her much, either, the voice piped up again, just as I thought it had disappeared. I groaned and rolled my eyes at myself, before realising that I had just rolled my eyes at myself and seriously considering booking a good therapist at St Mungo's. I turned a corner in the hallway and immediately turned back, as I was met with the sight of her entire extended family, decked out in miserable pastel colours from a sickly pink (her mother) to a sullen yellow (her sister) to a mockery of pastel blue (her father). The Greengrass clan.
And she is yelling at a bridesmaid
Somewhere back inside a room wearing a gown shaped like a pastry
"Mother do stop crying, and no don't hug me, you'll ruin my dress, and DAPHNE! NO, you may not wear that brooch, give it to me! I'm the bride here if you haven't noticed, it's not about you. And where is that other bridesmaid of mine? Pansy? PANSY!" I winced at the loud, grating voice of Astoria Greengrass as it went through my eardrums like one of the drills that Harry's uncle sold. Pansy appeared meekly and handed Astoria a white veil and tiara with a martyred expression. Astoria snatched it from her hand.
"About time," she said, settling the veil and tiara on over her head. "There, that's everything, finally, no thanks to any of you. How do I look?"
Hideous, I wanted to say.
"Beautiful, darling," her mother sniffed obligingly, and the sickening thing was that she was completely serious.
"Gorgeous, of course," her father said equally emotionally.
"Pretty, how can you not be, you're my sister!" Daphne said with an indulgent smile.
"I like your dress," Pansy smirked, and everyone looked at her, trying to figure out if she was being serious. I hoped not. I supposed Astoria was pretty enough, with her brown hair and clear, smooth skin, but her dress… well… it looked like a pile of profiteroles. There was no other way of describing it. It seemed to be formed purely of scrunched-up little balls of white silk, all held together by a black satin ribbon. The whole thing was topped off by a sickeningly girly black bow at her bust. It… it looked like someone had tried to bake her.
This is
Surely not what you thought it would be
I turned around and leaned my back against the wall I was hiding behind. My legs gave way from under me and I slid down the wall silently, internally crying my eyes out. I knew Draco. This was not what he would have wanted. My mind flashed back to that night in the Head's Commons, when we both had had too many butterbeers to have been good for us.
"I never picked you as the type to get drunk on butterbeer, ferret," I say, reaching for another bottle. "You would think having served in Voldemort's inner circle, you'd be used to something a little stronger."
"You're not too stable there yourself, Granger," he retorts, reaching for another bottle as well. "And you don't honestly think we sat around drinking alcohol all day with the Dark Lord? I was practically sober for an entire year. Worst year of my life," he slurs, his fingers grasping at thin air, unable to find a bottle to close them around. He frowns and looks down at his hand. I follow his gaze. My hand has been grasping at thin air as well. There is only one more bottle of butterbeer left.
"Looks like you're out of luck, ferret," I crow, wrapping my fingers around the bottle. "You don't need any more alcohol in your system. This bottle's mine."
"Not so fast, Granger," he snarls, placing a hand on mine to stop me from taking it. "It wouldn't be chivalrous of me to let you have this last bottle, when you are clearly already off your face."
"Watch your mouth, ferret, I am not off my face!" I say, doing my best not to let the vowels slur. "And even if I was, I would be more than capable of hexing your arse back to fourth year and re-watch Moody bounce you around the dungeons as your furry white alter ego."
Draco winces, but doesn't let go of my hand.
"Fine, then, we'll play for this bottle," he says, his grey eyes capturing mine with an unsettling intensity. "A drinking game. In keeping with being chivalrous, you may ask the first question. The first person who refuses to answer a question loses. If the other person doesn't deem it a satisfactory answer, either, you lose as well. Go on then, ask."
"Tell me about your dream wedding," I blurt out, then blush. Really? I have the chance to ask ferret-boy any question that I felt obliged to ask and I ask him about his dream wedding? I must be drunker than I realised.
"Really? You have the chance to ask me about any question in the world and you ask me about my dream wedding? If you weren't your righteous Granger self and you'd never fall in love with a git like me, I'd think you have… intentions towards me," he smirks, and I resist an urge to strangle him. "Just answer," I say heatedly.
"As you wish," he mocks, and then turns serious. "I guess my dream wedding depends a lot on the girl. I'd obviously have to be marrying someone I love. Someone who's actually got a brain, unlike some of the moronic pure-blood girls my mother sees fit to push towards me." He snorts. "It should be classy, elegant, understated… my family, both my parents, should be there." He pauses for a while, perhaps remembering that his father was in Azkaban now. "I'd like a traditional wedding. Tuxes, a white dress for the girl, bridesmaids, flowergirls, best man, pageboys. Rings, understated diamond solitaires. Though I wouldn't say no to emerald adornments." I roll my eyes. "Traditional vows. Though perhaps not wizarding vows; they're a little archaic… a little creepy to be honest. The muggle ones would do I guess… they're mostly similar, except the muggle ones don't have the death threats for the spouses." He blushes faintly as I stare at him incredulously.
"Draco Malfoy," I say, "Did you just admit you liked the muggle marriage vows better than the wizarding ones? Stop the presses! Draco Malfoy—"
"Hush, you insufferable witch," he snaps. "Don't you want to hear the rest of my answer?" I couldn't snap back if I wanted to; his hand is on my mouth, his face inches from mine. I nod mutely and he takes his hand away from my mouth and continues.
"So yes, muggle vows, I suppose, although I'm sure I could find a way to sneak some magical phrases in there." He smirks, daring me to disagree. I maturely poke my tongue out at him.
"What haven't I told you... understated, classy, elegant... I think you've heard that part before... right, traditional music. That's probably going to be the only downside to my wedding— that I can't be the one playing the music. I don't know where I'd find a replacement pianist as good as me." He allows himself a snide little grin as I stare at him.
"You play the piano? A muggle instrument? You play the piano?"
"Why yes, Granger, surprised? It was part of my upbringing as the perfect pureblooded heir. Obviously." A small note of distaste creeps into his voice. "But there you have it, satisfied?" his face returns to a carefully constructed expression of annoying superiority and I let it go.
"Fine," I admit, still not taking my hands off the bottle. I notice, quite suddenly, that he hasn't taken his hand off mine either. A wave of heat flashes through my body.
"And now you've got me curious," he says, leaning in towards me, a finger held up unconsciously almost like he was going to trace my blush down my cheekbones, but not quite touching. "Tell me about your wedding, Granger. Oh wait, let me guess, a demonstration of the correct brewing of the ridiculously difficult Amortentia and recitations of the twelve uses of dragon's blood for the vows?" He smirks and leans back away from me, lounging on the chair again, though still without taking his hand off mine. I glare.
"As a matter of fact, ferret, I would also like a traditional wedding," I snap. "White dress, veil, tiara, bouquet. All the traditional muggle customs… there's this one where, when everything's all done, the bride throws her bouquet over her shoulder to the assembled guests and the person who catches it is supposedly going to be the next one married." I blush, remembering my cousin's wedding where I had been the one to catch the bouquet. For some reason, that thought coupled with the image of a slightly dishevelled Draco sitting in front of me, absentmindedly loosening his tie, makes me feel like little electric currents are running up and down my body. I hurry on quickly before he notices my lapse in concentration.
"So I'd like all those little muggle customs. I'd want all my family to be there, and I mean all, including my cousins and parents and aunts and uncles… you see, Draco, not being a precious little 'pureblood' family means I actually have a family," I snark, and he snorts. "Although… I'm not entirely sure how I would hide the magical parts of the wedding to them…. But I'm sure I'll find a way, as long as the magic wasn't too blatant. Music, dancing, laughter, good food. I don't mind if my wedding isn't classy or elegant as long as everyone was having fun," I finish, darting a slightly snide look to Draco who is nodding.
"I suppose so," he says, then flashes me a devilish grin that knocks the breath out of me. In another second, the bottle of butterbeer is out from under my hand and at his lips, being tipped open to pour the contents down his throat.
"WHAT THE HELL?" I demand irately, lunging for the bottle. "What was that for?! If you weren't satisfied with my answer, you could've at least given me warning!" Draco, laughing, lifts the bottle out of my reach and I fall on top of him and resort to hitting his chest. He places the bottle behind him and locks my wrists in his hands. I stop struggling, suddenly very aware of his proximity to me.
"Who says I wasn't satisfied with your answer?" he breathes, his lips at my ear. I hold back a shiver and an almost involuntary reaction to lean in closer to him. His scent is intoxicating, butterbeer and soap and leather and something else I cannot identify.
"But then… why?" I say, annoyed that my voice sounds breathy, not irritated. He moves his face from my ear along my jawline, down to my neck, not touching; just very close to my skin. He stops at my throat.
"My dear Hermione, I am a Slytherin. You didn't honestly trust me to keep my word, did you?" he whispers against my skin, his breath on my neck. I stop for a moment before my brain processes what he has actually said. I shove him away from me, but there is an unwilling grin spreading on my face. He is still laughing as I realise two things, one: in his dream wedding, he didn't specify a pure-blood girl as his bride, and two: he has called me Hermione for the first time in the eight years that I have known him.
I lose myself in a daydream
Where I stand and say
I shook my head and pulled myself out of my memories. This was no time for me to be falling apart. I needed to be composed; I needed to find Draco and tell him… tell him…
You still can't say it, even to yourself, the voice said exasperatedly. Do you need any more convincing? I tried to come up with a withering retort that would shut the voice up but before I could, my mind pulled me back into a persistent fantasy of mine. Not a memory; only a moment I wish could be true. A moment that, at the current time, seemed more unlikely to ever happen than Moaning Myrtle taking up a residence somewhere outside of that bathroom.
I see him, standing there, looking perfect in the sunlight. Spring is in full bloom around him, and the vibrant colours are a sharp contrast against his pale features. He turns to smile at me, and it is a smile full of warmth, void of malice, sarcasm, bitterness, or anything else that haunts his troubled past.
"Hermione," he says, and his voice is light; carefree, as I have never heard it before.
I swallow. "Draco," I whisper, afraid that if I speak too loudly, move too quickly, he will sprout wings and fly away from me before my eyes.
He laughs. "You sound worried," He holds out a hand, and his eyes are hopeful. "Come on. Let's go for a walk. I really hate to talk about something as mundane as the weather, but it really is beautiful today." He laughs again, and I smile too, hearing his trademark snarky wit. I put my hand in his hesitantly and before my courage deserts me, I say:
"IthinkIloveyou."
I snapped my eyes open. I couldn't let Draco go without telling him how I felt. Even if he didn't feel the same way; even if nothing could be changed, even if he loved Astoria Greengrass, I simply couldn't live with the fact that I had done nothing while the man I had come to love was whisked away in front of my eyes. I stood up, determined to find Draco and tell him… tell him that…
Feel free to drop me a review about anything. I will do my best to reply, especially if you have questions. I adore chatter, dah-lings.
Love,
~Mint