Chapter 1: The Present

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Summary: Draco Malfoy regretted many things, but his biggest regret might be his treatment of Hermione Granger during their Hogwarts years. Years after the Final Battle, Draco has become friends with the Golden Trio. They're such good friends that he's giving a speech at her wedding with Ron Weasley! When a magical portrait claims the ability to send him to the past, can Draco use this chance to win the woman he loves? Premise loosely based on "Proposal Daisakusen" and "Groundhog Day".

A/N: Because I've changed, and you've changed, and so has this story…

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A ray of light shone through a part in the dark gray curtains of a small apartment. A barren bookcase stood against one wall, while boxes filled with books were haphazardly pushed against another. A few unopened boxes served as tables for dirty mugs, bottles of firewhiskey, and a stack of unopened mail. In the middle of the living room sat an expensive-looking black sofa. A disheveled young man slept, one arm hanging off the edge of his chosen bed, and the other, flung over his face to block the sun.

It might appear as though Draco Malfoy only recently moved in. The half-unpacked trunk and overall lack of furniture in the bedroom might also contribute to this impression. However, it was the weeks and weeks of overtime at the DMLE that kept Draco's apartment in its current state of disarray (or so he'd like to think).

Draco groaned as he shifted on the leather cushions. The patch of sunlight landed directly on his face when he moved his arm. That, along with the sudden knocking at the door, disrupted his plans of a Saturday morning lie-in.

"Malfoy, are you up? Open the door!"

Potter. Of course.

Draco groaned again, which led to a small coughing fit. He reached for a nearby mug, but stopped at the sight of the murky contents.

"Malfoy!" Harry Potter whined.

Draco ignored him while absentmindedly scratching the scruff on his face. He sat up, shoving his blanket to the side.

In a quieter voice, Potter hissed, "Malfoy, if you don't get up, I'm blasting this door open, regardless of your Muggle neighbors."

Draco rolled his eyes and made his way to the door. The reason why he moved to Muggle London was to discourage his fellow wizards from finding him. Though, that apparently wasn't enough to ditch the Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Stop-Knocking. It probably also didn't help that they worked together and were on – somewhat – friendly terms.

"Geez, took you long enough!" The boy wonder pushed through Draco's arm to enter. Draco saw him giving his living room a surreptitious glance before rounding back to him. "Why aren't you ready yet?"

"Potter, it's eight in the morning. On a fucking Saturday. Why the hell would I be up? And ready for what?"

Draco yawned as he padded to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was empty except for an open bottle of firewhiskey, a moldy sandwich, and two bruised bananas. With a sniff, Draco grabbed the bottle and closed the door.

Harry frowned. He took the bottle from Draco's hand and set it on the counter.

"Like you said, it's eight in the morning. Drinking already?"

Shrugging, Draco grabbed the bottle again. "There's nothing else in the fridge."

Draco heard him sigh. He saw the nosy git head to the sofa and grab the stack of envelopes.

"Draco, it's today."

Hearing Potter use his name made him pause mid-swig.

"You didn't even open the invitation, did you?" Harry pointed an accusing finger. "We've talked about this. You won't answer any of her calls, but Hermione is still expecting you to be there, as her friend, and to support her on this important day, you sleek and pointy ponce."

Draco stood by the counter, staring at his drink. He wasn't sure, but there seemed to be something floating in it.

"Malfoy!"

"Stop yelling, Potter," Draco said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really needed to replenish his potions stock.

"It doesn't matter, anyway. I wasn't planning on going, just to see –" Draco stopped.

It was no use. For months after the announcement, he had moped around, using work as an excuse for the lack of interaction. He would wake up and go to work, surrounded by those who either loved to brownnose him for his money and influence or those who hated him with affected self-righteousness for his past. He would then go home, refuse all Floo calls, ignore all letters, and drink himself to sleep. The next day, he would do it all again, not giving himself time to think and remember that the woman he loved was soon to marry another man.

Harry cleared his throat. They never talked about it, but he always suspected that Draco had feelings for Hermione. Despite their constant bickering, she and Draco had become close friends. And, though they didn't want to admit it, he and Draco had mended a few bridges as well while working at the DMLE for the past three years.

"Come on, the ceremony starts in an hour. You know she wants you there." Harry clapped a hand on the brooding man's shoulders.

Draco shrugged his hand off in irritation.

"I'll be ready in a few," Draco said gruffly as he started to shuffle towards the bathroom.

"Here." Harry held out a vial of Sober-up Potion impatiently. He already had his wand out, intending to clean the clutter a bit.

"Leave it," Draco said as he took the potion, "Just…just sit down and read or something." He held up the empty vial in thanks.

Harry just shook his head.

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Draco stood at the entrance of the Great Hall, now clean-shaven and dashing in his tailored robes. Despite his unrequited love (or maybe because of it – he was a bit of a masochist that way), Draco decided to put a smile on his face for the wedding. Or, rather, a smirk. He was still Draco Malfoy, after all.

All he wanted to see was Hermione beautiful and happy. Yes, beautiful and happy next to you, though, right? He squashed the snarky voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Snape and, burying his self-pity, entered the hall.

The Golden Couple – as the media had dubbed them upon their engagement – requested to have the wedding ceremony at Hogwarts. The old matron graciously acquiesced but refused the Galleons Hermione offered.

"Nonsense, my dear. This is your home!" She had exclaimed happily while dabbing at the corner of her eyes.

Behind her, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore twinkled and winked at them while Snape merely looked bored.

"Thank you so much, Minerva," Hermione gushed. She shared a look with her husband-to-be. "We can't imagine getting married anywhere else."

The Great Hall, once divided by houses, was now divided by friends of the bride or groom. Pews lined both sides of a dark red carpet that lead to the Entrance Hall. Golden ribbons decorated each pew, along with flowers of the darkest crimson. Gold fabric draped and crisscrossed from the ceiling. Most of the guests themselves also wore red and gold.

It was so, utterly Gryffindorish. They took the whole Golden Couple thing seriously, didn't they? And yet, if only…

Draco was suddenly dragged to the front of the room. "Wha – what?"

"What took you so long, Malfoy?" Ron Weasley asked shortly.

Glaring at Harry and the red-head adjusting his robes, Draco sneered, "Potter, most civilized people don't accio others to them, you know. And Weasley, what am I doing here?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione said so."

She truly was a sadist. Didn't she know who he was? Or more importantly, how he felt? Resigned to his fate as second best man, he whispered harshly, "Stop fidgeting!"

Ron glared back for a moment and then grinned sheepishly.

At that moment, orchestral music started as the Entrance Hall doors slowly opened. All heads turned to watch the wedding march, starting from the bridal party. Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and, some were surprised to note, Pansy Parkinson entered in their golden gowns, each lovely in their own way. Meanwhile, Dennis Creevey, taking the mantle from his brother, was the designated wedding photographer.

As the three girls took their place across from them, Draco saw Harry give a sickeningly sweet smile to his fiancée, who grinned back and blew him a kiss. Draco felt just the slightest bit of jealousy mixed with disgust at the display, but his attention quickly returned to the doors where a vision in white entered.

Hermione slowly walked in, escorted by the teary Weasley patriarch. Draco could see her nervously eyeing the exclaiming guests, her hands tightly clutching her bouquet. As they made their way down the aisle, he saw Hermione stiffen as she saw the empty seats at the first pew on her side. Her gaze then moved to him and he saw her grip on her bouquet (and Mr. Weasley's arm) loosen considerably.

Draco's throat felt constricted and his heart was beating hard. He could no longer hear the music or the murmur of the crowd. He could no longer see the sea of red and gold. All his senses instead honed in on the blushing bride, his mind recording every smile, every crinkle of her eyes, the short huff of breath and tilt of the chin, and the way she pushed her shoulders back in determination after meeting his eyes…

He repressed the wild urge to grab her hand and steal her away. It was impossible. It was too late. But, if only…

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A/N: Just some clarification on the "present": Draco and the Golden Trio are now around 25 years old. It's eight years after the Final Battle and Draco started working at the DMLE three years ago.