Disclaimer: It's entirely depressing me, but I don't own Harry Potter. But I own the plot of this fanfic, which I guess makes up for it. (:

A/N: Kind of came out of nowhere, but that's inspiration for you.

So, please read, and please review.

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It was the biggest, and only, secret that Hermione Granger had ever kept.

She was honest by nature.

She told her friends everything, and her parents everything, and her co-workers everything. What on earth would she have to hide? She led a perfectly normal, if boring, life.

Until she met him.

Or, met him again. Because she certainly known him before, as her childhood nemesis. But when they met again, as adults, mature and grown up, they had different reactions.

She hated the way it sounded. It wasn't an affair, per se. It had just been kept secret, because it simply could not have been exposed. He was spoken to civilly and all now, forgiven, as loosely as the term could be used, but he was not by any means their friend. And therefore, he had to be kept secret.

It was as if everything happened in fast forward.

Her relationships normally took time, took care, went carefully through every step that they should. With him, they fell together so quickly, so passionately, so desperately, and so suddenly.

It was something she couldn't understand, so how could her friends? She knew better than to involve them in this, because she knew it would simply be ruined. She hadn't considered that it would be ruined by other things.

It was another night, another time, another secret to add to the thousands they had committed in the past few months, when he told her.

It shouldn't have shocked her the way it had. She shouldn't have spilt coffee everywhere, and she shouldn't have gone so pale, and she shouldn't have frozen as she did.

She should have known. But of course, if she had known, she never would have let herself be with him.

Because the war was over, she had somehow, irrationally believed that the prejudice was too. But his father would never let that end.

And she should have known that Astoria Greengrass was just the perfect match for him. And she should have known that if he refused to marry her, his father would force him.

And she already did know what could happen if he didn't.

So two weeks later, she spent her final night with him. She knew it probably would have been easier if she had stopped seeing him in general, let him go two weeks earlier, but she couldn't help but savour the time they had left together. She couldn't help but want to be with him. She couldn't help but make love with him the night before his wedding.

She never cried when he left at dawn. They just looked at each other, bitterly, and he kissed her, his lips soft and gentle and loving. And it was beautiful, and yet it was the worst kiss she'd ever had, because it meant goodbye.

And she just watched him leave, turning there, apparating on the spot.

And she just sat there, never crying, just letting it end in its broken way.

And she went to work.

It was a horrible day. The work on her desk kept piling up, and piling up, and she couldn't think, but she couldn't bother going to her boss and asking to go home sick. He probably wouldn't let her, anyway. She didn't look sick. She looked depressingly tired, but not sick. And he knew that she was the only one who got anything done around here.

When lunch came around, she didn't know if she even wanted to leave her office. She was behind, and she wasn't hungry, and all she wanted to do was sit there, and stare out the fake window in her office.

But Harry showed up.

And she couldn't very well tell him that, or even say that she wasn't feeling well, because then he would be concerned and try to help, and she would either slap him, or burst into tears. Neither of which were appealing.

So with him she went. And she sat there at the stupid picnic table in the stupid sunshine eating her stupid sandwich.

Harry babbled on about work. He was an Auror, which he loved. Which was great and all. But she was kind of depressed and didn't particularly care.

And then Ron joined them, and she doubly didn't care. And he blathered on about the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and she said nothing, not listening to him, because she just didn't care.

And so, it was because she wasn't listening to him, that she heard it.

She hadn't noticed anyone sitting around them, because she was too busy hating the sunshine and the picnic table and her sandwich, but she heard behind her, Lavender and Pavarti.

"That's right," she heard Lavender say, satisfactorily, "Just said he wouldn't do it. Minutes before he was supposed to be standing up there, getting married. He just turned to his father and refused. Said he had a life, and that he could make his own choices, and to fuck off."

Parvarti squealed.

"I can't believe it! A beautiful sunrise wedding, and everything picked, and he just ditches her at the altar? I mean, they're perfect for each other!"

"I know Parv, but this is good news. Draco Malfoy is single again!"

Hermione shot up.

Impossible, it had to be. They were wrong. They were just gossips. What did they know?

But her heartbeat had quickened, and she couldn't help it as she whispered it out loud, "Impossible."

"I know!" exclaimed Ron. "Who could accidentally light themselves on fire? It was absolute madness, I'm telling you."

She looked up at her friends, the grin on Ron's face, the half smile on Harry's. They had no idea, and they didn't care. But all she felt then, and all that mattered, was the hope that was spreading through her no matter how she pushed it back.

The rest of the day passed quickly, and she couldn't remember any of the paperwork she'd gone through. Her heart was still pounding, and all she could think of was him.

When she got to her flat, he wasn't there. She made herself coffee, and watched television, and read a book, and cleaned the flat, and she heard a knock.

And when she opened the door to him standing there, she let out all of the tears she never cried the night before.