Disclaimer: For fortieth goddamn time, I'm not JK Rowling or her possessions. Christ!

Rating: R

Characters: Draco/Hermione

Category: Angst; Romance

Summary: Glimpses of Draco and Hermione's life together, where they are and will be after Hogwarts, and the decisions they had to make and deal with after they fell in love. The Glimpses are in random order and won't be in consecutive order of the events. It'll be random.

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(So sorry to Metropolitanrubbish who reviewed, but I had to take down the story because FF.net was being screwy and screwed up my chapters. Which means I lost your review!!)

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Glimpse 1: Executive Decisions

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She woke up to house elves shuffling about her bed, not the sun shining in her face. Forcing one eye open, she realized there was no way out of it; she'd have to get up. Today was too important of a day.

Sitting up on her more than extravagant mattress, she rubbed her eyes tiredly and ran a hand through her wild, chocolate curls. God, all the stress was getting to her; it was like she was the only one with a brain in this goddamn operation. Smiling slightly, she remember saying that to herself a while back—a pretty long while back. That was so long ago and yet wasn't that long ago at all. It kind of seemed like both, now that she looked about her magnificent surroundings and noted how she never would have guessed this is where would take her.

It wasn't bad. God, that word had outgrown its meaning long ago for her. Good, bad, evil, light, dark, right…those were all games. It wasn't so much whose side anyone was on as where the opportunities and benefits lie. And she'd realized a long time that everything she'd thought once was for her, was a joke. It was a lie built on top thousands of others like it to make her feel like she fit in. And she wasn't meant to fit in. Now, she wouldn't take the 'fit in' route if she'd had a choice between that and choking on coal. Alright—bad example.

Grinning as widely as she allowed herself to in the morning, she thanked the house elf—Lydia—mid-yawn while grasping the black, silk robes she was offered.

She could've charmed them on right away, but slowly stepped in front of her full-length mirror and examined herself. Same as yesterday, honey, it told her and she smiled.

Anyone else would've grimaced at her ability to smile amidst her surroundings—her life. But anyone else, who wasn't involved in her life, that is, didn't understand what they wanted…what they were capable of. No matter how her opinion had been swayed before, it wasn't the case now.

Before her, she saw the reflection of someone with strength, someone with ability—with power and ambition. She liked her which was precisely why she was her. Her national anthem for quite some time now had been, 'I want it—I work it—I get it.' And that—that served well in the business she was in.

She put on her robe and primped her hair with another house elf helping her pick out her shoes. If she listened to her practicality, she'd tell the house elf that it wouldn't matter what shoes she would wear, the robe was so long and swishy that besides the very high slits at the sides, no one would ever see them. It was kind of modern—low cut, v-neck with extravagant sleeves and clingy material outlining her every curve. Nothing new.

"Miss Hermione…the meeting is being at ten minutes from now it," another house elf muttered in a shrill voice as he stuck his head through her bedroom door, opened just a crack.

Hermione's hands immediately froze atop her head where she'd been trying to decrease the frizz level, and she looked at the still-present house elf at the door. Giving him a pointed look, she didn't move her glance until he answered her gaze.

At her demanding posture, the house elf was compelled to roll his eyes and put his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, alright, I'll drop it," he said in an exasperated tone, crossing his arms over his chest irritably. "Damn, you broads always get worked up over the smallest things. Like talking in third person ever hurt anyone." He shook his head as Hermione sent him an amused glance. "Pow wow's in ten, toots."

After he left, Hermione continued to battle her hair for another ten seconds or so before finally sighing as she gave up and pointed her wand at her, leaving it to look pretty much the same without the extra static she'd caused while trying to tame it with her bare hands.

She glanced at her watch and exhaled tiredly, realizing that she'd have to hurry if she wanted to avoid being penetrated with demanding glances for a solid five minutes. Exasperated, she took a generous gulp of pumpkin juice and pocketed some toast before taking one last precaution and glancing in the mirror for the last time.

"Be back later, Dina, save my breakfast, would you?"

The house elf just nodded, rolling her eyes at her mistresses everyday routine and wondered why she even bothered making her breakfast. She was always busy…more involved in this operation he, himself, was and that was an entertaining thought. Taking one of the grapes off Hermione's breakfast tray and munching on it carefully, she took a few moments before she picked up the tray and carried it down to the kitchens. It was always different with that one—with Hermione.

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Walking briskly down the stony hallway, she allowed a yawn before glancing at her wristwatch meaningfully.

"Damn," she muttered more irritably than anything. She realized she had a few more floors to walk before she made it to the meeting and that was always time-consuming. Damn, why the hell did this place have to be so damn big?

She snorted. Wait—bad thought. It's size was good enough. No, she'd just have to master time management a little bit more effectively—perhaps wake up earlier than fifteen minutes before the meeting. At the thought, she almost laughed. No, that would be far too taxing on her beauty sleep. No, she'd just have to charm her hair earlier, escaping the hope that she could actually manage without the help of some serious, kick-ass magic.

Clicking her polished, black heels—the ones no one would even see, but perhaps hear—down the hall, she picked up the pace just a tad, enough to speed up her stroll but not to the point where she'd have to prevent tripping at every step with her damned shoes.

As she walked, she suddenly heard her clip against the marble floors double...as if there was some kind of fresh echo she hadn't heard before. She stopped—the echo stopped, clearly indicating that it wasn't anyone else's shoes in the hall to blame. She began walking again—and the echo joined in almost instantly. This wasn't what she needed this early in the morning.

"Stop being sneaky," she said, her voice sounding sharp and crisp in the empty air of the hallway, "you've lost that ability a long time ago. Pity, really."

She knew that would do it. Almost instantly, two arms wrapped around her waist possessively and an anonymous mouth attacked her neck, placing hot kisses on the bare skin the openings of her robe allowed. She stopped her walk for a moment, savoring his mouth and feel of him against her, almost like a morning ritual, and smiled, wondering where and what she would be without him.

But as morning ritual would have, she pulled away like clockwork and enabled the déjà vu as she looked into his vibrant, intense oceanic eyes and said what she'd been saying every morning since forever:

"Brush your teeth, man, you've got coffee breath." It was said with a smile after it became a habit, both aware that he didn't even drink coffee half the time. But like clockwork, he'd retaliate with something she'd memorized as his morning retort as well:

"Don't drink coffee," he'd lie even he'd had a cup just a few minutes prior. Then he'd put on a pompous smirk—which she'd learned was like his trademark—and recite with all seriousness, "Gives me all kinds of risks on my health that I just don't need. We're going to rule the world someday...and I'm not going to croak, leaving the fortune to you because of some nancy boy cardiac failure."

And she laughed—just like she did almost every morning—because it was ridiculous that he'd always come up with the same answer, like clockwork, that early in the morning with that much bullshit encrusted on it.

Grinning, she pressed her lips to his, savoring the taste of his 'coffee breath' and mainly just enjoying the spicy, distinctive smell that was just…him. As she pulled away, his eyes only spelled out love for her like he had for almost five years. If she could see her own, she'd be surprised if hers projected anything but that as well...seeing as she risked, gave up, and gained everything for him...because of him.

Somehow catching a glimpse of his watch...or hers...her eyes widened a fraction more than she would have like them too and she realized that they were probably already at risk of being a half hour late, let alone dealing with the issue of even getting to the meeting.

"Mm...honey, come on, we have to—" she started, and tried to ignore the feel of his lips on hers as he silenced her with yet another kiss. God, why did he always do that? She didn't always stupid shit that needed to kissed away. Sometime—most of the time—it was damn important! Pulling away, she tried again, fixing him with a, 'I'm so serious' stare. "We have to get to the meeting. It's already nine."

The pleading look on his face made her want to forget the meeting completely and enjoy the...more pleasurable aspects of life in their bedroom...but it wasn't happening; especially not today. Not that every meeting wasn't important.

"Come on, baby," she said, pulling him by his hand towards the first floor, "it's not so bad."

He pouted. "You know, there used to be a time when you'd agree with me about these dumbass meetings. You'd agree that they were dumb," he pointed out, then added awkwardly, "...ass."

She smiled, glad that they were at least walking towards the first floor while the mock whining continued.

"Please, please, don't try to convince that you don't love this," she said motioning to all the mobile paintings and expensive glimpses of rooms through their windows that they passed, before finally motioning back to herself. "Surely you don't think it's all dumbass."

He grinned. He loved this exchange in the morning. It was more of a reassurance that this was all real—that he had the girl of his dreams, and was working towards his ultimate goal in life with her while living extravangantly in the house that he'd known all his life. It was blissful.

"No," he finally agreed, wrapping an arm around her waist as they headed down stairs slower than they probably should have if they wanted to make the meeting, "it's not all dumbass."

She grinned in triamph.

"Now that that's settled," she started, before crinkling her brow, "what the hell's today's meeting about? I mean, we had all this Hogsmeade business sorted out last week. Unless he wants it to be more thorough?"

He looked at her, grinning slightly at her unbeatable devotion to her work, then rubbed his eyes slowly as they descended their last set of stairs and found themselves on the first floor, heading towards The Hall.

"Hell if I know," he answered her wearily, and a bit irritably, "he's bloody crazy, if you ask me. Brilliant, at times, but crazy. He's overlooking the bigger details to accommodate his Master Plan." He looked over to the neutral brunnette next to him. "Or should I say, your Master Plan."

She shrugged her shoulders, muttering a spell softly under her breath and a folder instantly appeared full of crumpled and folded parchment, all of which he was sure were like that for a reason—had some folding organization system. Because never once did she ever lose her notes or important documents.

"Although I'm not objecting to giving credit where it's obviously due," she said, grinning slightly as she motioned to herself arrogantly, making him unconsciously proud, "his little details and special missions are making it all a little hard to put together. Every meeting, there's some little impossible detail that has to be done...which usually isn't all that urgent." She shook her head. "Sometime that man astounds me."

He grinned. "But you always get it done."

She stopped at the double doors and put her hand on the knob and looked at him with a teasing grin over her shoulder. "You're the sweetest almost-husband ever."

He raised an eyebrow at her, suppressing another grin at the risk of looking a little too jolly for his tastes, and watched his fiance open the left door to The Hall before she stepped in. He inhaled and rolled his eyes before stepping into The Hall himself, shutting the door behind him. Here we go again.

"Hermione...Draco...how thoughtful of you to join us," the head of the table acknowledge, causing the rest of the table's black-hooded occupants to turn their heads and stare at the late pair. "Punctuality really has no definition in your vocabulary after all, I presume."

Hermione grinned, managing a sheepish expression although she certainly didn't mean it, as she passed all the hooded occupants on her way towards the head of the table. She took a seat to the right of the head, and Draco took a seat to the left. It was their usual place—no one dared challenge it.

Draco, unlike Hermione, didn't smile in any apologetic manner, but raised an eyebrow and nodded at all the members in the room, he, too, realizing that everyone was in their traditional black hooded wear while he and Hermione were dressed in simple, formal attire.

"Sorry, sorry," Hermione's voice sounded, her tone light and breezy as if she was reciting a speech in a hurry, "you know how it is. Woke up, problems with the hair, pumpkin juice down the front of my robes." Her eyes glittered as she looked the head of the table straight in the eye...as far as she could, at least. He, too, was dressed in his black, hooded robe which only allowed his nose and mouse to protrude out of the ensemble.

He paused a beat before answering in his usual, booming voice—mostly targeted to reach all the 'little people' at the back of the room when he was talking to a large crowd.

"You're lying," he proclaimed in a sure voice, causing the rest of the table's occupants to gasp and squirm in discomfort. Hermione simply raised an eyebrow and sent the whoe table a, 'Please...you people have got to be kidding me,' look. Draco chuckled.

"Actually," she said in a cheery voice, "the pumpkin juice part is pretty much true. Only I didn't spill it down the front of my robes." The cloaked Head looked at her.

"Overslept again," Draco put in helpfully, his voice unmistakably bored at the turn this conversation was taking. He was, on the other hand, pretty amused when the entire table of members gasped at Hermione's little fib—and being caught. Hadn't they learned enough in the past three years?

The head of the table just turned his nose towards Hermione, making her guess that had his eyes been revealed to the room, he would have been looking at her, and shook his head.

"How you graduated at the top of your class with this kind of attendance, I'll never know," he said, shaking his head and causing the rest of the table to, once again, react as if they were one person, surprised at their boss's easygoing nature towards the young woman who was obviously disrespecting him.

She smiled and Draco shook his head. "Time turner," she said easily and shook her head blissfully at the memory. "Can't live without it—or get to class on time, more precisely."

All heads turned to the middle of table, even Draco's attention slowly winding in that direction, as one of the hooded members cleared his throat, wanting to get right to business. Spoilsport.

"My Lord, if you don't mind, I believe it's best we steer back to the original topic of Hogsmeade this weekend," the member proposed, slightly glaring at Hermione for daring to stray off topic.

The Head chuckled as he saw the glare sent towards Hermione by the annoyed member in the middle of the table. She didn't even look up from the parchments she'd taken out of the folder, but pointed in the exactly direction of the member's seat and muttered, "Don't even glare at me, Zabini. I let you borrow my broom last week after yours malfunctioned and starting hitting you in the ass every given moment, and you didn't have time to buy a new one." She finally looked in his direction with a raised eyebrow, satisfied when Zabini's face disappeared behind his black hood in embarassment.

"Erm...right..." his voice could be heard, nearly in audible, making the head of the table chuckle even more.

"He brings up a very good point, however," the Head began, amusement still evident in voice, but seriousness and ambition towards his Master Plan overcoming his senses a bit more. "Draco, has everything been arranged for this weekend's attack in Hogsmeade?" he asked, folding his aged fingers on the table in front of him. "Everything is set with Spensor and Watson?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione, which she returned, before he moved his glance back over to his prime conversationalist.

"No, not exactly."

The mood in the room suddenly got dark. Draco didn't even bat an eyelash; this happened every meeting. Something always went wrong in his plans—moron.

"What do you mean...not exactly?" he asked in a deathly tone of voice. Draco shrugged, hardly intimidated by the Head as the rest of the members seemed to be—with the exception of Hermione.

"Well, Spensor's set," he explained airily, giving Hermione the queue, "but—"

"—But Watson's a spy," Hermione added in exactly the same careless tone as Draco. "Definitely not playing for out team, as luck may have it."

The Head suddenly paused in thought. "Watson...hm. Are you positive?"

Hermione chuckled.

"Oh, yeah." She looked over her notes, one parchment in particular which humoured her to no end. "When asked why he would want to help our...cause, he answered without batting a lid that he'd 'always wanted to accomplish something so great and be a part of something so grand and phenominal'." Hermione looked up from her notes and shook her head in sympathy for poor Watson.

Draco chuckled and, surprisingly, the rest of the table did as well.

"Haven't had one those ambitious kinds since Longbottom tried to convince us he's turned completely evil because he's bloody grandmother was too protective of him during his childhood," Draco added amusedly, smiling at Hermione across the table and receiving a feable grin back. She'd acknowledged the comment, and found in humorous, but it just didn't reach her eyes; and Draco noticed. He furrowed his brow a little, sending her a silent inquiring glance, but she already had her eyes turned down looking at her parchment, and he just sighed inaudibly. This wasn't the time and place.

"That's too bad," the Head commented softly, after the chuckling died down. "And here I thought I wouldn't have to deal with this crap anymore." He shook his head in annoyance. "And Watson bought the honorary cloak, too."

Hermione and Draco exchanged amused glances, secretly commenting that this was whom they were afraid of for nearly their entire school age. Ha.

"I'm sure he'll wear it in good health now," Hermione joked, her eyes twinkling slightly at her pun and the stabbing in her heart a little duller than it was yesterday with the realization of what would happen to Watson. "But this isn't all bad. This just means that we won't attack at Hogsmeade, with the lacking of point people on the project." She shrugged. "We could just...attack the next Quidditch game. Isn't it next month, or something?"

Draco nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Against Ireland, too. Should be a big turnout." He smiled slightly. "Should probably cancel that bet I put up against them."

Hermione shook her head in amazement and a few brave chuckles could be heard throughout the table, while the silent ones scolded the rest of them for their consecutive disrespect.

"Yeah, Quidditch game it is, then," Hermione confirmed, raising her eyebrows at the Head. "Those are always successful, remember? Lots of people, Bernie Botts venders, referees...We like to attack during Quidditch matches..."

The Head simply pursed his lips. "I always did enjoy reading about my efforts during those in the Daily Prophet..." he mused.

"It's settle then," Hermione said, gathering her parchments and filing them back into her single folder. "I'll research the escape routes, we can block those once everyone is seated...and...Thompson, you make the list of hexes. You know, whom to hex with what, whom to injur, whom to kill, all that rot...Have fun with it. Goyle, get your cousins—they can blocks masses of people from getting out when all the screaming and panic turns up."

Nods of acknowledgement were sent toward Hermione as she listed off more things for people to take care of and Draco stared at her in amazement. He never would've figured that she would even agree with the cause, not to mention become the Head's right hand woman with him being the right hand man—of course.

And she was great at it; and she'd accomplished and overcame so much—with so much still ahead of her. And she was so strong. He couldn't help but wonder how he'd ever found her, trapped in that shell of red and gold Gryffindor. He used to think that she was doing this all for him—changing for him. But later, he found out how wrong he was...and how independent and capable she was. And how absolutely amazing.

"And that wraps up the meeting...I think..." Hermione announced, looking to the Head for approval.

He just sat there for a moment, unmoving and still. Draco gave him a short nudge. "Hm—oh, yes. Thank you for attending, all."

Draco shook his head and took amusement in the rest of the members' surprise that he was thanking them for simply attending the mandatory meeting.

Everyone stood, bowed shortly, Hermione and Draco bowing the least—surprisingly—and all headed towards the door, bowing once more in the doorway while the Head remained at the table. Again, Hermione and Draco bearly moved from their rigid postures to show their respect.

As the rest of the members shot ahead of them, quick to go about the tasks that Hermione had assigned them, the right-hand pair lagged behind and turned into a hallway, giving each other meaningful looks until they were sure they were alone.

Slowly, Draco ran a head through his hair and pointed to the direction they had come from.

"Any idea what the hell's going on with him?"

"Don't know," Hermione admitted, worriedly. Then she smiled. "But it leaves us with a more of a chance, don't you think?"

Draco smiled back at her ambition.

"Patience, baby, patience," he cooed. She scowled at him, then reached up on her tip-toes and tilted her head to kiss his soft lips.

They stayed there for a few moments, savoring the feel of each other, just like they frequently did every day of their lives, then began walking back to their joined quarters.

"Something's not right, though," Draco finally commented as they took a shortcut towards the third floor, arm wrapped around Hermione's waist. "Who ever heard of Voldemort ever falling asleep at one of his own meetings?"

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Okay, so that's Glimpse 1. Glimpse 2 will not pick up where this part left off. The Glimpses will be like chapters in random order, and they will eventually explain everything. It's okay—it won't be too confusing. I know what I'm doing. Anyway, it'll take you randomly through Draco and Hermione's experiences in their lives and how they got to be here  in this Glimpse and where they still will go.

I know this is also under the Angst category, and it's pretty cheery here, but they are both Death Eaters and the other Glimpses will be more angsty. This I can gurantee.

And Review!