Warnings: This story contains mentions of miscarriage, divorce and generally an unhappy marriage tale. If there are triggers for you, you might not want to read Chapter 2 or 3.
Inspired by Intensity by Nikita Gill, this is my take as Hermione and Draco's romance and subsequent divorce written for the Dramione Fanfiction Writer's Nikita Gill Challenge. Hope you enjoy
INTENSITY
My intensity
was the reason
you fell in love
with me.
When did it become
a terrible thing
you wish to
cure me of?
- Nikita Gill
February 2002
"Absolutely not." Hermione slid the bridal magazine across the small circular lunch table as her nose wrinkled in distaste. "I know I said I would do whatever you needed to make this wedding work, but I will not wear that." She tapped her finger against the picture of a blonde witch in a backless red gown. There was no doubt the dress was beautiful, but it was far from her personal style.
"Oh come on, 'Mione. The dress is a stunner and you know it." Ginny waved offhandedly at her friend. The witch's cornflower blue eyes rolled to the ceiling.
When Ginny asked her to be her maid of honour, Hermione was more than a little shocked; it wasn't like they were exactly best friends. She got along with the witch, but she had always been more of a friend to Ron and Harry than her. Nonetheless, she agreed. She was more than happy to be included in the celebration of her nuptials. At the time, she had recently broken off her relationship with Ron—creative differences—and wasn't sure how that would affect her relationship with the Weasley clan. But over the past four months, the two witches had fallen into an easy rhythm: meeting for bi-weekly lunches at the Ministry canteen and spending Fridays at the Burrow where they would look through magazines, discuss options with Molly and share one—okay, maybe two or three—bottles of wine.
"How beautiful it is has no bearing on whether I am wearing it or not," Hermione pointed out plainly, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossing across her chest. "There is no back to it! I couldn't wear a bra, and Merlin only knows the amount of dieting I'd have to do to fit into something that slinky," Hermione began, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought. She was fit, but not like she had been at the end of the war. Life had calmed down—thankfully—and with the new normalcy also came some much needed weight. "Can't you just pick something more… I don't know, sensible?" Hermione pleaded. "There was a lovely A-line on page twelve. I think it came in red too!"
"An A-line?" Ginny questioned, her forehead wrinkling as a small frown tugged on her lips. "I know I play Quidditch, but seriously? An A-line for my wedding? No, absolutely not. You will be wearing this dress. I've already decided," Ginny informed her with an air of confidence that was more than a little alarming to Hermione. The red-headed witch picked up the magazine from the table and curled the pages around the back before turning it so the image faced Hermione. A manicured green fingernail tapped on the image. "Because if you say no to me again, I'll just have Harry ask you, and Merlin knows you can't tell him no."
Hermione's eyes narrowed, her teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek as she watched her friend confidently lean back in the chair, as if daring her to fight back. "That's low—even for you," Hermione resigned, knowing that she was defeated in this battle of wills. Reaching across the table, she snagged two chips from Ginny's plate and popped them in her mouth before standing up. She was going to have to cut back on the chips if she was going to fit into that dress by December, but she still had ten months to go—so a couple more wouldn't hurt right now."I'm getting more water; need some?"
"No thanks. I have a meeting after this with Seeker Weekly. Don't need to run to the loo every ten minutes." Ginny turned the magazine over in her hands and carefully draped it across her lap before beginning to flick through the pages idly. "Hurry though, we don't have much time and I want to show you some ideas for the boys."
Hermione scoffed, picked up her paper cup, and turned from the table. Winding her way through the maze-like configuration of tables and chairs, she moved towards the small trolley in the corner where pitchers of ice water were set out. Her heels could barely be heard over the low murmur of conversations being carried on around it. Normally she'd wear flats, but she had had a meeting this morning with Minister Shacklebolt and was already regretting her decision to not bring a backup pair of shoes to change into. As she approached the trolley, she allowed herself to look down at her skirt as she adjusted the stretchy material across her hips, only to look up just in time to walk into the back of a familiar blond wizard.
"Oh bugger!" Hermione breathed as she came to an abrupt stop against his back. Taking two hurried steps back, a deep crimson blush blossomed across the apples of her cheeks. "Sorry Malfoy, didn't see you there."
When Draco glanced over her shoulder at her, a sly grin on his lips, her heart couldn't help but flutter unevenly in her chest. The broody pure-blood had come a long way since the end of the war. He was no longer the aristocratic little shit who tormented her and her friends. No, since he started working in the DMLE alongside Harry and Ron, it was almost as if they were all… well, friendly now.
"You're not holding a memo, so I wager your head was lost in the clouds again?" he teased. Although she couldn't be sure, she could swear there was a hint of mischief in his eyes as he looked at her.
Hermione scoffed, her brown eyes rolling toward the ceiling. She couldn't help it if her schedule required her to read memos on the go! She was performing the job of two creature regulators in addition to her own work. She'd begged Enoch for weeks to hurry up and hire someone, but the wizard was clearly operating on his own agenda. "No," she replied briskly. When his gaze didn't lift from hers and instead he lifted a brow at her in playful skepticism, she huffed a quick heavy breath. "Ugh—fine, yes! But it's not my fault this time. It's these damn heels—and Ginny, too!"
Draco set his own cup down before turning around, grey eyes running down Hermione's figure, leaving a hot trail across her skin until they landed on her feet, where he seemed to assess her footwear with far more attention than was needed. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, they look great on you," he offered with a small shrug.
"Uh—thanks?" Hermione replied bashfully, her hand going up to tuck some loose curls behind her ear. His opinion didn't matter—shouldn't matter—but for whatever reason, his praise caused her to straighten her spine a bit more confidently.
"What's Weaselette here for today? More wedding plans?" Draco questioned curiously, lifting a hand to wave at the red-head across the room, flashing her a charming smile that only caused Hermione's blush to deepen.
"You mean aside from driving me insane?" Hermione mumbled, glancing over her shoulder to offer Ginny a small grin before she turned her attention back to Malfoy. "Yes. She owled me this morning to tell me she found my dress. I've been trying—unsuccessfully mind you—to inform her that she was very mistaken."
"Oh?" Draco cocked his head to the side curiously. "What's so bad about it? Something gaudy and ball gown-like?" he pressed, holding out his hand toward her. He silently gestured for her to hand over her cup, intent on filling it for her.
"The opposite, actually." Hermione handed over her cup, shifting her weight from one hip to the other as she sighed. "It's tight and gorgeous and obviously not meant for me. I mean, the damn thing is backless. I'm not sure why she thought I'd ever agree to it."
Draco hummed in contemplation as he turned around, angling himself so he could still see her when he poured water into their cups. "What colour is it?"
"Red—well, more crimson."
After several moments of silence, Draco finally turned around to face her, holding out her cup to her as he brought his own to his lips for a small sip. "Well, I think you should listen to her," Draco replied coolly as he withdrew his cup. "You'd look great in red. I'll never admit it if asked, but that Gryffindor crimson always made your eyes pop."
Hermione reached out and took the cup from him as she willed herself not to blush further at his comment. "Well, thanks… for the compliment and refilling my cup," Hermione mumbled bashfully. Brown eyes drifted up from the floor and locked with his for the briefest of moments before she looked over her shoulder to Ginny once more. "I—Uh—I should go. Can't keep the bride waiting."
"No, that's Potter's job," Draco said with a sly grin. Clearly he knew all too well about Harry's inability to keep time. "See ya around, Granger."
"You too, Malfoy," Hermione returned before she hurried back to her friend across the room and dumped herself in her chair before taking three large gulps of watch to quench her suddenly dry throat. When she finally set the cup down, she looked up to Ginny, who was staring at her with an odd expression on her face. "Sorry. I was just—"
"Chatting with Malfoy." Ginny cut her off as she laid the magazine down before planting her elbows on the tabletop as she leaned closer to her friend. "I saw. Actually, I'm ninety percent sure everyone in this room saw you flirt—terribly by the way—with Malfoy."
"W-what? I wasn't flirting!" Hermione gasped, her eyes widening.
"Oh? Then tell me: what were you doing? Because from over here, it looked an awful lot like flirting," Ginny pressed, her brows lifting nearly to her hairline as she eyed her.
"He just refilled my water cup, Gin. Jesus." Hermione shook her head, lifting her cup to take another drink. "It's... Malfoy for Merlin's sake. He's just… a friend, I suppose."
"A friend? Right, because you blush and giggle like a first year every time you're around friends." Ginny returned with a well-placed eye roll.
"I—you know what, no. I'm not doing this with you right now," Hermione said stubbornly before settling down her cup so she could check the silver wrist watch on her left arm. "I've got 20 minutes left before I've got to go back. Instead of making baseless accusations about flirting with Malfoy, how about you show me what dress you've picked for Fleur and Luna." She knew it was a long shot but hoped the change in subject would distract the witch enough to drop this whole Malfoy debacle.
Ginny bit her bottom lip, cornflower blue eyes narrowing as if debating pressing further on the topic, before she sighed and picked up the magazine once more. "Okay. Fine. But I'm going on the record as saying you two wouldn't be such a bad idea…" Ginny let her voice trail off as she flipped quickly through the magazine until she found the page with the gold colored gowns, and she turned to the magazine to show Hermione. "I was thinking something like this."
December 2002
"You know, I really need to send a thank you card to Ginny." Draco's nimble fingers worked quickly to cuff the sleeve of his suit jacket, folding the expensive material until Hermione's hands were visible. "Your dress is a work of art." She hadn't brought a shawl with her to the wedding, so when he asked to go on a walk outside to the bonfire, her backless dress was no match for the chilly air . Ever the gentleman, he wasted no time draping his tuxedo jacket over her shoulders to warm her.
With her hands free, Hermione reached up to tug on the corner of his bow tie, causing the black material to turn askew at his throat. "Oh hush. She doesn't need to be told she's right any more than you do."
They had been dating for nearly eight months now, thanks to the handy work of the particularly sneaky bride. And while the courtship caught most people by surprise—including herself—it seemed the redhead had known something that no one else did. Their compatibility was shocking. They shared far more traits than just love for academia, although that was normally a frequent topic of discussion.
Over the course of the eight months, Draco's presence in their small group of friends felt normal. Even Ron had grown friendly with him! He had gone as far as to invite him to their weekly Quidditch game listen at the Leaky. And Hermione found herself comfortable around his friends as well, attending dinner parties for the elite members of wizarding society. It seemed that they had brought a balance to one another that neither knew was missing.
"Are you saying I'm cocky, Granger?" Draco questioned playfully as he tugged on the lapels of his tuxedo jacket that she wore.
"You? No, never," Hermione replied sarcastically, a small smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth. Leaning up, she pressed a quick kiss against his lips. "You're just… overly confident at times."
Draco smile widened at her anecdote, causing his eyes to sparkle just so in the soft light of the crackling bonfire they stood beside. "Is that it, love? Any other fatal flaws you wish to tell me about now that we've dating for nearly a year?"
Hermione pursed her lips to the side, playfully tapping one manicured finger against them before she shook her head. "No, just arrogance, but don't worry. I find it almost endearing now instead of revolting," she teased.
Draco let out a mock sigh of relief as he reached out, his hands coming to rest on her waist, and he guided her toward him until her their bodies met. Lowering his head, Draco pressed his lips against hers in a sweet kiss, his right hand rising to cup her cheek, and just as he broke the sweet embrace, a soft melody of a piano playing floated out of the white tent, spilling over the humble Weasley grounds.
It was just then that Hermione watched an idea flicker within her boyfriend's eyes, turning them a vibrant grey, the color of rain clouds. The silver lining sparkled wildly. "What?" Hermione questioned curiously, her head tilting to the side, causing her thick chestnut ringlets to spill across her shoulder and collarbone.
Draco's hand moved from her cheek, his nimble fingers trailing across her shoulder and down her arm until his hand found hers, and he carefully wrapped his fingers around hers, lifting her arm up as his other stayed poised on her hip. "You still owe me a dance," he reminded her.
She had spent the majority of the evening on the dance floor, but her attention had been spread thin. The Weasley-Potter wedding was not only attended by family, but also nearly half of the Quidditch League of Britain as well as the entire DMLE. With so many friends in the room, Draco graciously bowed out of the way and allowed her to twirl around the dance floor with friends she had not seen in ages, but only under the promise of having the last dance of the evening with her.
Hermione's eyes dropped to their intertwined hands, and she let out a small laugh in disbelief. "Draco, no. I've had too much to drink—and we're not even on the dance floor," she began, trying to back out of his hold, but his hand on her hip slid underneath the tails of his jacket and pressed into her lower back, his pinky and ring finger dangerously close to the swell of her arse. "The ground is uneven; I'm going to trip."
"Don't worry, Granger. I've got you," he promised as he began to sway to the music. His movements were slow at first; barely even taking steps and when she no longer fought against his guidance, he began to glide them across the dirt floor and around the bonfire with a confident stride. As the sonata played on, providing the perfect soundtrack for their firelight dance, Draco hummed along to the tune, the deep rumble in his chest vibrating against Hermione's cheek as she lay her head at the base of his throat.
It was in that moment that Hermione realised she had never felt as happy as she did then. Her romance with Draco had been whirlwind—to say the least—and while the fast pace should frighten the logical side of her brain, it was as if her heart overpowered all reason. She wanted to spend every waking moment she had with him, and when they weren't together, her thoughts strayed to her boyfriend. He had shown her what it meant to be truly wanted, desired. She felt beautiful, even sexy at times. His confidence boosted her own, and for the first time in a long time, she felt as if everything was going right. The warming magical tingle that coursed through her veins at every touch or look he gave her felt like the first time she cast a spell. Like she had been missing something her entire life, and he was the piece that completed her.
His fingers stroked softly up and down her spine in time with their slow waltz, and she couldn't be sure if it was the warmth from the fire or his touch that made her skin flush. Lifting her head off his chest, Hermione reached up and pressed her fingertips against his cheek, turning his head to look down at her. "Draco," she began nervously, her teeth nibbling on her rouged bottom lip. "I… I know it's rather early to say this, but I feel like you should know that I'm falling in love with you."
Draco's eyes danced across her face, and she could feel his heartbeat quicken where her chest pressed against his. Their movement came to a stop, and Hermione worried that perhaps it was too soon. They'd only been dating for eight months, and after years of being at odds, maybe she should have kept the news of her deep affection—no, love—for him to herself for just a bit longer.
But just as she opened her mouth to tell him it was okay and that he didn't need to say anything back, his face broke into a wide smile.
"Hermione," he breathed her name, sending a shiver down her spine. "I already fell for you a long time ago; I just couldn't be the first to say it for fear of scaring you off." He admitted as he released her hand to cup her cheeks, his thumb stroking softly across her cheekbones as he leaned down, their lips ghosting against each other's as he whispered, "I love you, Hermione Granger," before he sealed his declaration with a breath-stealing kiss.
March 2003
When she told Draco about her lease coming up on her flat, she had not expected him to jump at the opportunity to move in together. They had only been officially dating for eleven months, but just like everything else about their relationship: they both took the leap eagerly.
It took a couple weeks and a lot of bickering, but Hermione was finally able to convince Draco to look into renting a much more economically friendly flat than his original choice. Her salary with the Department of Magical Creatures had increased with her recent promotion, but she was still not making much. Draco—who honestly didn't need to work a day in his life due to his family's money—had a much bigger allowance to spend on rent, relented into "downsizing" into something Hermione could afford. She had insisted she cover half of the rent, as it was only fair. She had long giving up on arguing over the bill for their dinners out or trying to return the random gifts he would leave on her desk at work, but this was one aspect of their relationship she was not willing to budge on.
When she first told him about the listing in the Daily, Draco turned up his nose at the idea of living in a tiny, forty-square-meter flat in Diagon Alley, but he relented to at least go view the listing after she made promises of wearing his old Slytherin Quidditch robes later than evening in the bedroom.
When they arrived to view the flat, it was almost as if it had been fate. The small one bedroom was situated above Quality Quidditch Supplies, and that alone had been enough to seal the deal for her boyfriend. The home itself was modest, and the appliances desperately needed upgrading, but it was perfect for their first home together. They signed the lease that very day and made plans to more in within the week.
Their friends and coworkers—sans Theo, Blaise, and Gregory—helped them move in, and they held a celebratory drink before everyone departed for their evening plans, leaving Hermione and Draco alone for the first time in their shared home.
"Beef or chicken?" Hermione called across the flat to Draco, who was just coming out of the shower. Her wet hair was piled on top of her head and held loosely with an elastic band. She wore a pair of cotton sleep shorts, the thick purple holiday jumper that Molly had knit for her two Christmases ago, and a pair of fuzzy gray socks.
"Beef!" Draco shouted back from the bedroom after a second. "And that noodle stuff!"
Hermione snorted in quiet laughter as she opened one of the many cardboard boxes that littered their half- unpacked kitchen. Pulling out two mugs and two mismatched plates, she set them on the counter before digging past the stack of plates to the bottom of the box in search of utensils.
Once two had been located, she ran the plates and forks under the facet for a quick rinse and dried them with some paper napkins left out on the counter from the fish and chip feast they had bought as thanks to their friends for helping them move. Satisfied that everything was clean enough to eat off of, Hermione moved towards the carry out containers of chinese food from the Muggle restaurant just down the road from the Muggle front of the Leaky.
After she made their plates—making sure to put extra chow mein on Draco's—she gathered one in each hand before moving into the living room just as her boyfriend walked out of their bedroom, towel drying his flaxen hair with a hand towel. "Enough hot water?" Hermione questioned as she nudged two boxes together to create a makeshift coffee table since theirs was still hidden underneath boxes in the hallway.
"Barely," Draco mumbled as he moved to the couch, taking his plate from her before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek with muttered thanks. Plopping down, Draco tossed the hand towel over the arm of the couch and set his plate in his lap as he reclined into the plush comfort of the furniture he insisted he bring with him upon moving in.
Hermione took the opposite end of the couch, her spine pressing against its arm, and she tucked her feet underneath his thigh. "Sorry. The hot water just felt so good after today," Hermione admitted as she speared a piece of broccoli with her fork.
"I'm well aware," Draco teased, carefully swirling his fork through the chow mein to scoop up a large bite. "I'm not built for manual labor. Next time, we're hiring movers," he informed her before shoveling the noodle concoction in his mouth.
Hermione stiffled her laughter as she watched her boyfriend eat the meal with enthusiasm that would rival Ron's. Clearly the days worth of work made him tired enough to forget the pure-blood decorum that had been ingrained into him in his youth. "Next time?" Hermione questioned, a sing-songy, teasing quality in her tone. "What makes you think that I'd be willing to move in with you again?"
Draco glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, chewing thoughtfully before he swallowed down the large mouthful. "What makes you think you'd have a choice?"
October 2004
The cool October breeze rustled the curtains in her kitchen window, sending the brisk chill across the tops of her bare thighs. Hermione stood before the kettle, shifting her weight from one hip to the other as an ancient orange ball of fur wound between her legs, brushing up against her bare legs. "Nice try, but no more treats, Crooks. You heard what the Healer said at your last visit," Hermione informed the far too intelligent beast, who only meowed in response before swishing his lion-like tail against her skin.
When the kettle began to whistle, she picked up a hot pad and pulled it off of the stove quickly. With careful precision, she filled the blue floral teapot on the counter, making sure not to spill the scalding liquid on the counter top, before dropping in the tea infuser filled with the Victorian Earl Grey she'd picked up from the apothecary earlier that day into the steaming water.
It had been eighteen months since her relationship with Draco began, and now that they had been living together for over half a year, they'd settled into what Ginny had taken to calling "the sweet spot" of their relationship. They had settled into an easy routine during the work week; they'd leave the flat by seven to Floo to the Ministry, occasionally meet for lunch, and return home between four and five. On the weekends, they allowed themselves the freedom to take day trips or stay out to the early hours of the morning visiting friends, museums or attending local shows. It didn't sound terribly exciting for someone in their mid-twenties, but considering that Hermione and Draco both had spent their adolescence fighting an adult's war, it was exactly what they needed out of life.
Pulling her wand from behind her ear, Hermione cast a levitation charm on the steaming pot of tea before picking up the set of tea cups and saucers that Narcissa had gifted them as a flat warming gift. As she began out of the kitchen, Crookshanks moved beside her, not giving up his attempt to sway his owner into giving him some of the grindylow treats that sat in the cupboard.
The orange ball of fluff darted into the bedroom ahead of her, his tail whipping against the bedroom door. "Draco, don't you dare give him—" Hermione voice cut off abruptly as she walked into the bedroom to find Draco perched on their bed on his knees, a small black box held in his hands. "W-what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Draco moved closer to the edge of the bed, his green boxers riding up his muscular thighs as he moved off the bed.
Hermione's mouth gaped open, brown eyes widening as she watched him open the ring box to reveal a vintage engagement ring. Even from across the room, she could make out the delicate pattern of the twisting precious metal that wound around a center diamond nestled in a bed of vibrant blue sapphires. "Oh gods. Oh gods." Hermione took deep breaths as Draco approached, the box outstretched towards her, and just when he was within arm's length, he sank down on one knee.
"Hermione—"
"Oh gods."
"Will you marry me?"
The black teacup set slipped from her fingers and smashed into tiny pieces at her feet. The floating teapot behind joined the cups on the floor with a heavy thud, her magical concentration breaking. As she watched him wait on bended knee, the ring glistening in the soft light of their bedroom, it felt as if the world came to a stop. Every involuntary bodily function halted, and her breath caught in her throat as her mind whirled to try and catch up to the reality before her.
When Hermione didn't respond right away, she watched apprehension flicker in his eyes, dulling the silver lining around his grey irises, and suddenly her cogs in her mind whirled back to life and a heavy breath filled her lungs. "Yes!" she responded hurriedly as she closed the distance between them, tackling him on the brown carpeting of their bedroom floor.
September 13th 2005
The intoxicating scent of gardenias filled the air as Hermione and Draco walked hand in hand through the Nott garden under a starry sky. The day had been perfect: her wedding to the man of her dreams. Everything had gone according to plan—mostly thanks to Narcissa, who took it upon herself to act as the nuptial coordinator for the entire event. Hermione had grown fond of Draco's mum since the beginning of the relationship. So close were they, in fact, that she had even started to view her as a surrogate mother.
That was why when Narcissa had told Hermione not to worry about selecting a wedding gown, that she was having one designed for her, she hadn't even hesitated to trust her judgement. In truth, Hermione could have been gifted a potato sack as a gown and she would have been equally as happy because it truly didn't matter what she wore. She just wanted to marry the man at the end of the aisle.
The bespoke gown was just her style. No plunging necklines. No bare backs. No, Narcissa had clearly taken the time to help design something for her that would allow her to not only look stunning, but feel comfortable wearing it. The gown was a sweetheart cut with a lace long sleeve overlay that cut across her collarbones. It was classic—timeless, even. What had surprised Hermione more than the thoughtful gown was the case of jewelry left in the bridal suite with a hand written note from her future mother-in-law.
Pearls. A single strand of pearls with matching earrings. They had been passed down from each Malfoy matriarch to the next on the wedding day. It was now Narcissa's turn to pass down the family heirloom, and she indicated in the note that she could not have chosen a more deserving witch to receive them. The sentiment had brought tears to her eyes and was nearly cause for the makeup artist to have to redo the morning's work.
Hermione's fingers ran across the single strand of pearls around her neck as the day's events replayed in her mind, a soft smile tugging on the corners of her rouged lips. It was only when Draco squeezed her hand that she pulled herself from her thoughts to look up to her husband. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"
Draco laughed, the faery lights twinkling around them causing the silver lining in his eyes to sparkle. "I asked if you regretted it yet?" he teased, leading down the gardenia lined walkway towards a gazebo that overlooked a small pond on the grounds.
"What?" Hermione scoffed, dropping her hand at her throat to her side to pick up the hemline of her gown as they began up a small flight of stairs that lead from the walkway to the gazebo. "Of course not. This has been—perfect. Your mum really ought to do this for a living."
"She's been preparing for this day since I was born, you know?" Draco steadied his hand in hers, helping her up the wooden stairs until they reached the platform. The faint sounds of the string quartet spilled over the grounds from ballroom where their guests still lingered. Draco released his hold on her hand as he guided them across the gazebo to the pond in order to press his own against his lower back. "She's had years of meticulous planning. Although, to be fair I think she thought I'd end up with Pansy or one of the Greengrass sisters."
"Pansy?" Hermione let her hands rest against the white railing, her lips pursing at the idea of Draco and Pansy being romantically linked. It wasn't just that it was her husband—it was that Draco and Pansy were two completely different people. Opposites do attract, however in the case pairing those two would be like trying to force opposing magnets together. They were friendly, but anything more seemed almost outrageous. "I mean… unless things were different as small children, I'm not entirely sure why the idea of marrying you two would be humoured. You're so… different from each other."
Draco moved behind his wife, his hands sliding across her hips, and he gently tugged at her until she leaned back against his chest. "This should be no surprise," he began, his chin resting on the crown of her head. "But pure-blood marriages are not typically out of love. Not that people don't grow to love one another—eventually—but most wed for personal or political gain."
Hermione reached down, sliding her hands across the top of his. "What changed then? Why didn't she try to pair you off with a more affluent bride?"
"You," Draco answered simply as he began to sway to the melody the quartet played. "You showed up and changed everything." Tilting his head down, he pressed a gentle kiss against her flushing cheek before he slowly spun her around until they faced one another. His right clasped and raised hers gently while his left moved around to rest against her lower back. "Dance with me?"
Hermione didn't utter a reply. Instead, she rose onto the tips of her toes to press a gentle kiss against his lips before resting her head at the base of his throat as he lead them around the gazebo. This was not their first dance as husband and wife, but it was the first time since the days leading up to their nuptials that they were entirely alone.
As they swayed around the gazebo, the string quartets melody guided their slow movements until the tune faded to nothing. Instead of allowing the cricket's song to steal their moment, Draco began to hum a familiar tune—the very same sonata from their first dance together at Harry and Ginny's wedding.
It could have been the wine she'd consumed, the residual magic from their marriage ceremony, or even the fact he had not forgotten about the special moment together, but as they moved together, the baritone rumble of his hum tattooed a comforting rhythm against her cheek, and Hermione felt that in that moment, her life could not have been more complete.
