Out of a glass jug Hermione poured water over the new and thirsty rose bush that she planted under her bedroom window. Her father had given it to her as a housewarming present last week, the same day she signed the papers and was handed the keys to her dream home. Someday, she would plant roses all around it. She could even build a wall of shelves for her books, maybe beside the fireplace. It was all hers to do with as she wished.

A house had become her dream, a symbol of settlement. A year she spent with Harry, saving the world. She had altered her parents memories as a precursor of her possible death. The memories were since then restored, but when she thought she may not have had a future, she didn't dare plan. It was the day after the Battle of Hogwarts that Hermione realized that she didn't know what to do with her life.

Where did she always go when she was lost? The library. It was mostly destroyed, pieces of pages littering the cracked floor. She cried the last bit of tears she had left and decided vehemently that she would complete her education.

That was when she ran into Malfoy. Like the halls that surrounded them, he had changed. The interior ripped out, the outer refurnished. He had changed so much, she hadn't recognized him. He was... Beautiful.

The years passed, moving on from Hogwarts to their respective careers... Things had changed as they so often do. Sometimes, there wasn't a reason for it. Sometimes, people aren't meant to be in your life.

Hermione shook her head to free herself of thoughts of Draco, instead giving her attentions to her thriving roses. They would bloom soon, opening themselves to the world. She envied them.

"Hey."

Hermione turned to see Harry walk up the stone pathway, a bottle of her favorite wine in hand. That wasn't a good sign.

He bent, kissing her cheek in greeting. "Good morning."

She smiled warmly at him, pointing to the wine. "What's the occasion?"

"We caught Brown," he lied, offering her his hand.

She welcomed him inside, leading him to the kitchen where she put up the jug and set the wine to chill in the fridge. Under the tap she washed the dirt away, revealing her tanned skin, proof of her hours in the garden. She dug into the crevices of her nails, waiting for Harry to speak, but he didn't.

When she patted her hands dry, she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. "Tell me why you're here, Harry."

He sat down, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, not daring to look at her. "Have you talked to him?"

She knew very well who he was speaking of. With her palms pressed against the cold granite, she set him with a stern look that she knew reminded him of Professor McGonagall. "You know that I haven't."

"Maybe you should try again."

It was like he struck her. No wonder he brought the wine, after such a question she had to be buttered up. "What would be the point?"

"Maybe he's changed his mind," he offered.

"Then he knows where I'm at."

"Malfoy has more pride than that."

As she straightened, he took a step back. "So do I."

Hermione's belief in him had been a mistake. Their ending was out of nowhere. Sure, they were having problems, but she stopped seeing his owl in her kitchen, she stopped seeing him popping up uninvited in her house; he stopped loving her as quickly as he had once hated her.

"Why are you doing this, Harry?"

"Ginny." It was all he needed to say.

Admittedly, it was Hermione's fault. She had confided in Ginny that she was having dreams of Draco. They would appear in spurts, out of nowhere. Of course when Hermione asked Ginny not to speak of it again she would sik her husband on her.

"Tell me," he asked, "do you still dream about him?"

She sniffled, feeling the oncoming tears prick her eyes, her mind wandering into nights of his warm lips against hers, the feel of his hand caressing her face, the scent of him left in her bed, the way that he would run his fingers through her messy and tangled hair, giving his shoulder as a pillow.

However, that was not what she missed the most. It was staying up late talking, it was listening to his laugh, the random owls he sent from his office. It was his friendship, one that grew as deep as the ones she had with Harry and Ron. Draco had left a permanent mark on her - a beautiful one.

She had spent more than enough time wondering what made him go. Had their arguments been too much? Was he not willing to wait on her to get her life together anymore? Had her newness worn off? Had he ever loved her at all? Hermione didn't need nor want a wedding band or a promise. She wanted him in her life. It was that simple and it could have been that easy...

None of the questions or answers mattered, they wouldn't change his decision. And despite what Harry and Ron thought, she was not an encyclopedia to the world, an oracle to be consulted when problems arose. She was only human.

"I'm sorry," he said uncomfortably, "I didn't mean -"

She fell into the nearest chair, feeling the sudden weariness and ache that came with thinking of him. She swallowed the thick lump in her airway. "I'm okay - no, really," she insisted when he opened his mouth to protest, "I honestly am."

No matter where the dreams led her, she would wake up and live her life, and she was indeed happy about that. She was happy with her career, family, and her plants. She rebuilt her life and that small lingering pain was like losing any other dear person. It had to be lived with, not against, and it couldn't be given soil to grow bitter.

After all, maybe Draco made the right decision. She had been a mess after the war, and Draco couldn't fix her - no one but herself. Perhaps they were too broken to fit together, but now Hermione was better than she ever had been. Maybe that was thanks to Draco.

"If he comes back?" Harry seemed to ask that out of his own infamous curiosity.

"He will always have a place. I'll love him the way I always have." With that said, she stood and took out the bottle of wine, holding it up in declaration before giving it to him, "we will drink to the here and now."

Harry held the neck, tapping his thumb against it. "Ginny doesn't like me drinking without her."

"This will teach her not to gossip," she said, bringing down two glasses. "Unless you'd like to invite her so I can give her a thorough talking to."

"I think she'd think a loss of wine is worth one of your lectures." He grinned slyly at her.

With her wand, she popped the cork.

A/N: Simply a drabble. No more, no less.