Together
Eighth year of Hogwarts, post war
Draco was tired. So, so tired. Tired of the sick routine they had made, wherein she would come in and go when she wished, when her friends called on her. Tired of never seeing her at his Quidditch matches, tired of never feeling with the thrill of winning anymore because he knew she wouldn't be there to celebrate with him. Tired of seeing her jump up and down in her seats when they played, tired of seeing her hug them when they won. Tired of her leaving in the middle of things because Weasley would wonder where she had gone, tired of her never staying the night because Potter would be suspicious.
Tired of knowing that he would never come first for her.
She knew it too. They'd talked about it earlier, under the veil of darkness, and then she'd kissed him, and made him forget all that and more.
But next morning, he remembered.
But then again, she was gone by next morning.
She thought he wouldn't break it off. She thought he couldn't.
Because he worshipped her, adored her, loved her. He couldn't live without her.
She knew it, he knew it.
So he did nothing.
He let it carry on, pretending all was fine when they were together when they both knew it wasn't. He let her go on leaving him for them, he let her continue never coming to his matches.
He allowed her to make him her dirty little secret.
It hurt, hurt more than anything, when he saw his beautiful girl laughing with them, kissing their cheeks, ruffling their hair, when all they did was concealed by the night.
He was being stretched, to the breaking point. He knew he would break one day, if he carried on. But he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, because he was like a crack addict and she was his fix, because she was his drug and he needed more, more, more, because he loved her even when she didn't, because he couldn't live without her.
And then one day, he saw her in Weasley's arms. He watched, his heart breaking, when he moved forward to kiss her, his girl, his Hermione.
Then Weasley let go of her, kissed her cheek and told he'd be right back.
She saw him then, standing there, bile curdling in his throat.
He turned away- he couldn't bear to look at her. When he turned back, his eyes were steel, his back ramrod straight, shoulders erect. No longer was he the gentle man who held her at night and kissed her with silver eyes.
He spoke, his voice cutting and harsh.
"It's over."
Then he turned and walked away, out of her sight, out of her life.
She stumbled after him, her eyes blurry with unshed tears, crying out, pleading.
He didn't listen.
And then she knew he wasn't coming back again.
She felt as though a little part of her died that day.
It wasn't easy for him too. It's never fucking easy to walk away from the person you love. It hurt, stabbed at his guts as he measured stride after stride away from her.
But he wouldn't have stayed, couldn't have stayed.
He didn't know he took her heart along with him when he walked away.
6 years later
Hermione was tired. So, so tired. Tired of being lonely in her big, plain apartment that she had bought with her exorbitant Ministry fee, tired of seeing his name in the magazines. Tired of having inane conversation with people who didn't matter, tired of seeing him with beautiful, beautiful women. Tired of working, working, working herself to the ground, tired of him not being a constant presence anymore, not being there to hold her when night fell.
Tired of knowing he would never take her back.
She had gotten used to monochrome.
That was her life now- relegated to black and white.
And while it was a classic, you couldn't live out your life without colour. He was the only person who'd ever been able to do that.
And now he was gone.
She was falling, falling, falling in the deep, dark hole that there was no getting out of. All the hate, and the regrets, and the fake smiles, were killing her slowly.
She wished she could do something, something.
She wished she could have him again.
But she knew it was impossible.
So she let life go on, let the happiness be leeched out of her bit by bit.
Then, one day she saw him at the Ministry Ball. He was handsome, just the way she remembered, but his eyes- closed off.
They'd never been closed for her.
And then she realised he wasn't alone. Bile gathered in her throat when she saw him with an arm around a beautiful, blonde girl.
Astoria Greengrass. Elegant, smart, Pureblood. They had been dating for six months now, and Witch Weekly described them as "the power couple of the year."
She watched now as they laughed together in their circle of ardent admirers.
He looked happy, she noted. There were crinkles in his eyes, the ones she knew he only got when he was truly happy. He was smirking, the one that had made her weak at the knees. At someone else.
Suddenly, she saw a flash of something sparking on the Greengrass girl's hand. Apparently, her friends had noticed it too. There were gasps and exclamations and cameras clicked away as Draco drew an arm around his fiancée, and confirmed they were engaged.
She felt sick.
Dying, drowning, breaking. Maybe this was how Draco had felt when Ron kissed her that day? It couldn't have been, possibly. The pain seemed to be a physical ache where her heart should be.
She turned away, to see Ron kneeling before her.
"Mione," he started, "I love you. I have since that kiss in the Hogwarts grounds, remember? I don't want to spend my life with anyone else. Will you marry me?"
There was a lump in her throat, but not out of happiness. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Draco should be kneeling before her, not Ron.
But then she caught a glint of Astoria's ring.
That did it.
She said yes.
Later that evening, Mr. Malfoy and his soon to be wife congratulated her.
She'd never felt more dead inside.
27th October
Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were getting married on 28th October.
Just not to each other.
That didn't explain what both of them were doing wandering the streets of Hogsmeade one day before their respective weddings.
Draco Malfoy walked into the quaint cafè called Cupboard of Coffee entirely by mistake. His feet led him down memory lane involuntary.
His brain followed.
He paused to inspect the hoarding outside the cafè.
[Hermione was laughing, pulling him with her.
"Ooh, look! Cupboard of Coffee, sounds nice. Let's go in."
Then she paused him in his tracks and held out a camera, an enchanted one. She pulled him up near the hoarding and took a picture of them both with it in the background.
At his questioning look, she smiled and giggled.
"To remember."]
He paused again when he reached the cosy seats.
[He pulled out a chair for her. She looked at him, surprised.
"Well, I am a gentleman, you know?"
She smiled again, she seemed to be doing that a lot nowadays, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
"I love you."
She said it first then, shyly.
He smiled- a proper smile- and kissed her on the lips.
"I love you too."]
Someone else would pull out her chair for her now. She would tell Weasley she loved him. Tomorrow, she was getting married.
And so was he.
The matching dates weren't a coincidence. He wanted their wedding to be at least on the same day.
He could then say that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy got married today.
That was the least he was going to get anyway.
A wave of tiredness hit him, and he sank down onto plush velvet, resting his head in his hands.
"What're you doing here?"
Her voice, in that belligerent tone he loved, interrupted his thoughts.
He looked up, assuming the mask he always wore nowadays.
"I could ask you the same, Granger."
She flinched. She had never been just Granger to him.
Never before today.
He saw her flinch, and hated it.
He rushed on, not wanting to see her pain.
"But if you insist on knowing, I missed you."
There. There it was. Finally, he'd made her smile again, in that adorable manner wherein she looked more like an excited girl at the mall than a war heroine.
He loved that smile.
She was still smiling, but it was sad now.
"I miss you too."
"I still love you, do you know?"
He didn't know why he was still speaking, when such things kept tumbling out of his mouth. Damn that girl, making him word-vomit.
He loved her, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
"I love you too."
He was soaring again, and his life felt different from the grey colour it had assumed before she came again.
And then his mood changed.
"But you're getting married to Weasley tomorrow, aren't you?"
"And you to Astoria Greengrass."
She countered his words, but with none of the playful bantering that had accompanied her words earlier.
"We can run away, Hermione."
His voice was suddenly fervent with desire. He needed her. Loved her. Wanted her back.
She didn't make a sound.
Then she said, her voice tinged with hope and grief-
"You'd take me back?"
He looked up incredulously. Then, he stood up and strode to her, cupping her face.
"I love you, Hermione Granger. A fucking fight isn't going to change that."
He straightened up.
"Now go home, and tell that Weasley that it's over. I'm doing the same with Astoria."
He hesitated, clearly nervous in asking the next question.
"Meet me at 9:00 am tomorrow? Same place?"
The next day, 28th October
Turns out, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy did get married on 28th October.
And this time, to each other.
And when she was Hermione Malfoy, when the newspapers were buzzing about their elope, when her friends hesitantly made amends with her, when her husband's parents accepted her, there were so many reasons to be unhappy.
But she was happy.
Unbelievably, undeniably happy as she wound her arm in Draco's as they faced the press together.
Together, as they would face everything that came their way.
Together.