A/N: This was born from a headcannon on the FaceBook page "I'll join you when hell freezes over. Dumbledore's Army!" written by the admin tonks. I don't own HP.

First and last kiss

This was it, she thought, staring at herself in the mirror, I'm marrying Ron today. She smiled a small smile at herself, not wishing to wake from the dream. She loved him. And today was the end of her as one person, and the start of her being a half of one. Her faults would become his faults, and vice versa.

She liked the way she looked. She thought it was nice. Pretty even. And she never thought of herself as pretty. Decent, yes, but not pretty.

Ron had seen beauty in her, she reminded herself. Ron, sweet Ron. Her Ron. He hadn't tried to change her or just wanted to grope her. She was reminded tastelessly of McClaggen – the human octopus. How he attempted to suck the life out of her instead of kiss her. Ron could kiss. True, their first kiss had been mid-battle, when they thought they could lose one another… but they hadn't. And, she reminded herself, you didn't feel like snogging the living daylights out of Harry.

She thought back on the brief kiss the two of them had shared in sixth year. All right, it hadn't been brief exactly, but that was where their romance both started and ended. A kiss, an awkward moment, followed by the decision to stay friends – nothing more. She'd been so angry with Ron and Lavender at the time…

But it's over. You're marrying Ron.

She smiled a toothy smile at herself. Today, she decided, she looked beautiful. To heck with what everyone else thought. And if Fleur Delacour just dared to steal her spotlight today, she would be phlegm. Hermione made a mental note to keep her wand stashed somewhere in the dress she was wearing.

It was simple, yet elegant. True Hermione Granger style. She repeated to herself that it would soon be Hermione Weasley style. She had to do a lot of reminding today, hadn't she?

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Hermione?" A head poked in. Harry, the best man.

"Hi, Harry." She smiled at him in the mirror. He looked at her and smiled.

"Ron is one lucky bastard."

She laughed. "Tell him that, will you?"

"I just came to say good luck."

"Why would I need it?"

"The nerves, the eyes… the butterflies becoming a circus."

"I didn't know you were so poetic, Harry."

"I'm not normally."

"You're not exactly normal either."

He stood behind her.

"Go knock 'em dead."

"It's time already?" She asked, wondering why she wasn't nervous.

"Yeah. Your mum left to get the bouquet, didn't she?"

"Of course."

. . .

"I do." The words clung to the air, commanding the silence. Then it must've commanded applause as Ron swept her into his arms, kissing her and dipping her low, just to be silly. She laughed against his mouth, thinking herself rather lucky.

She hung back as everyone made it to the garden, Ron leading the procession. She'd told him to go on, she'd be there in a minute. She looked around the tent they'd gotten married in. It was vaguely similar to Bill and Fleur's, but lined in baby blue and lavender. This was something she wanted branded into her memory – her wedding, in this tent. She twirled, laughing in happiness.

"Evening Granger. Or should I say Weasley?"

She stopped twirling, finding the source of the voice instantly. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the tent wall. The look he gave her sent shivers down her spine. It reminded her of… hunger, if that made any sense.

"Draco." She breathed. In the years passed after the war, she'd laid eyes on him only a few times. Sometimes at work, at a store in Diagon Alley, random places. They'd sometimes exchange nods and hello's, occasionally asking how the other was doing, though more out of hospitality than caring. "What are you doing here?" They weren't enemies anymore, but not even nearly acquainted enough for her or Ron to invite him to their wedding. He was wearing a dark green suit – she almost snorted. Always with the Slytherin nuances.

"I only wished to convey my congratulations." He said, appraising her. "You know, marrying Weasley." He averted his eyes, finding a spot on the floor that must've been more interesting to look at than her.

"What's wrong?" She asked, surprised that if she should find him hurt – she would care. She took a few steps closer, now seeing he had a pained expression on his face. When they were a foot apart he looked up at her, finally showing courage.

"You. You're what's wrong." His hand cupped her cheek and he brought his lips to hers, allowing them to graze slightly. Before she could react, he disapparated.

A/N: Please review! And, if you ask nicely, I might continue on this.