A/N: If you fancy a soundtrack to listen to while reading this, I used Pas de Cheval and I Have Friends In Holy Spaces by Panic! At The Disco, hence the title, and Shattered by Trading Yesterday. Enjoy!
About a half-hour before Hermione was to marry Ronald Weasley, he found her.
She would've been lying if she said she didn't think she was making a mistake.
She knew she was making a mistake. Hermione was nothing if not a planner and a chronic over-thinker; she knew perfectly well what she was getting herself into.
After things between them went south and he'd disappeared, Ron was her lifesaver. To be quite honest, she was surprised he had managed to refrain from saying I told you so. Because he had, he had warned her more times than she could count. Ron had said that he would hurt her; that she would come back crying rivers because she'd failed to listen to Ronald Weasley's words of wisdom.
She hadn't listened, because out of all the things Ron was not, wise came in ranking at number three, just after patient and forgiving. Regrettably, he had been all three when she showed up at his flat in tears.
In the end, she cried herself rivers and Ron was her lifesaver. But she was still drowning.
She was twenty-four, about to marry into a life she was adamant she didn't want. A life as Mrs. Ronald Bilius Weasley. She honestly didn't know what she was thinking when she agreed to marry him. But for the past three and a half months, everyone had thrown themselves into the planning of what the press was calling the wedding of the decade.
She just didn't have the courage to call it off, Godric damn her straight to hell.
He, not Ron, was all she thought about while staring in the mirror at her wedding dress. It was a lovely dress, really: brilliantly white and strapless, with a lace covered bodice, embedded with pearls and a full, tulle skirt. Simple and elegant. Her hair, tamed from its usual wild ways, was put up into an elegant twist, with just the lightest touch of makeup on her face. She was wearing slippers and not heels, much to her own dismay, as heels would be problematic in manoeuvring through the yard and over to the tent. She looked good, but she had this feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach that just would not go away, along with just a touch of perceptible sadness in her eyes.
The wedding was being held at the Burrow. The tent, similar to the one from Bill and Fleur's wedding, was put up in the yard. She could just see it from the window in Ginny's old room, where they'd left her to get ready. An afternoon wedding in mid-June would be anyone's dream, really. Just not hers. She took a few deep breaths, yet again running her inner mantra to calm herself.
Marrying Ron is right.
His family loves me.
Ron will take care of me.
I don't love Ron, though.
Not in that way.
Not as much as I love him.
She was brought out of her reverie by a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," she called, adjusting her dress to turn around. She was expecting Ginny, her matron of honour, perhaps Molly or maybe even Harry, who was walking her down the aisle. She wasn't expecting for the door to open and the protagonist of her thoughts to walk in.
"Draco."
"Granger," he said, closing the door behind him.
That was when he took a good look at her, and she at him. He looked remarkably unchanged in the ten months since they last saw each other, the ten months since they broke up. The same, steel grey eyes, the same tousled platinum hair, the same everything. He was wearing a dark polo, which let her sneak a look at the splattering of freckles on his right arm, just above his elbow. She knew for a fact there were exactly six spots there.
She had counted all his freckles, every single one. Six on his right arm. Three on his left shoulder, forming a perfect equilateral triangle. One on his right earlobe. The list went on and on. Draco Alexander Malfoy had exactly forty-seven freckles on his entire body, and Hermione had counted them all more than once. She knew him better than the palm of her hand.
He cleared his throat, promptly bringing her back. "You look..." he frowned. "You look beautiful."
Hermione smiled faintly and smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles on the tulle of her dress. "Thank you." After a moment: "How did you get in here?"
He looked at her with that same, irritating yet endearing smirk. "I can cast a sufficient Disillusionment Charm to fool the horde of Weasleys downstairs, Granger. You know that."
"The Weasleys, yes," she granted. "Even if there are about a thousand and one of them down there. It's the press I'm talking about. They'd have a field day if they saw you here."
"Let's just say I have people on the inside, yeah?"
She quirked an eyebrow, trying to hide the amusement in her eyes. Resting her back against the bedpost, she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. She should've been angry at the sight of him, but she had never felt more relieved to see someone in her life. It was only after a few minutes of pointed silence that she asked the question that had been on her tongue since he'd entered the room. "Why are you here?"
Draco gave her one of those looks. The kind that came when she asked a painfully obvious question, when he was wondering a) who she was and what had she done with the real Hermione, and b) why on Earth she would ask a question she already knew the answer to.
"Well, I'm obviously not here to congratulate you and hope you don't trip on your way down the aisle," he answered sarcastically.
"Draco..." she warned.
"Why are you marrying him?"
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"I'll answer your question when you answer mine," he said simply. Hermione could feel the tension in the room and had the good sense to throw up a Silencio on the place before tossing her wand back on the bed.
"That's not how it works," she said finally.
"Oh, then how does it work? Tell me, Granger, how am I supposed to react when I come back and your wedding to Weaselbee is plastered all over the news? Did you want me to send flowers or a nice, expensive wedding gift?"
Hermione snapped at his derisive tone. "Don't you dare, Malfoy. Don't you dare turn this around and make it my fault. It was your father who said and I quote: over his dead body would his only son marry a Mudblood. You were the one who panicked when your father threatened to disown you. I didn't tell you to leave me and skip off to France; you did that all on your own."
"And I've never regretted anything more! Damn it, Granger, I left to screw my head on straight and I came back not giving a damn about my father's wishes and with every intention to fix this!" he shouted, gesturing between the two of them, but her expression remained unforgiving. "You weren't supposed to go off and get engaged to Weasley in the process!"
"Well, what did you expect me to do?" she argued. "You took the first door out of a year-long relationship without so much as a good-bye! How was I supposed to wait for you when I had no idea if you'd ever come back?"
"You had to know I'd come back," Draco replied. "I love you and I know you love me. How could I not come back?"
"It's been ten months, Draco. Ten months, two weeks and five days," she snapped. "You tell me what I was supposed to do."
Hermione went back to staring at the freckles on his arm, positively fuming. She would do anything except look him in the eyes and acknowledge the truth.
"I don't know why you're marrying Weasley," he said, his tone much softer than she would've guessed. "But I know you don't want to, not really."
"Even if I didn't I couldn't just call the whole thing off, you know I couldn't."
"The hell you couldn't!" he berated her. "You've ranted and raved about your fucking Gryffindor bravery and holier-than-thou pride for years, Granger. Practise what you bloody preach!"
"I can't believe you of all people would accuse me of cowardice. How do you know I don't want to marry Ron? You've known fuck-all about this entire situation since you skipped town!"
"Because I know you," Draco answered simply. "He probably hasn't realized even it, given he doesn't know you as well as I do."
"Oh, doesn't he?" she challenged.
"Of course he doesn't! Shit, I know you better than anyone, and don't you deny it," he pointed an accusing finger at her. "I know you from the top of that bush you call hair," Hermione scowled, slightly offended, "to the tips of your toes, Granger. I know your fake laugh from your real one. I know you snore, not very loudly, but snore nonetheless. I know every single one of your insecurities. I know you love your demonic cat to the point where it's almost unhealthy. I know you hate exercising just as much as you hate being sick.
"I know every single one of your quirks, like how you bite your lip when you're nervous and you mutter to yourself when you think no one's listening. I know you cook more when something's bothering you. I know you hate chocolate ice-cream but if you're upset enough, you'll eat it anyways. I know you drink coffee in the morning with cream and three sugars and tea just before bed with two sugars, no milk. I know you always think you're right and if someone disagrees with you for no justified reason you automatically think they're moronic." Hermione almost smiled at that.
He dropped his voice and took a step closer. "I know every single way to drive you mad and have you screaming my name in minutes." She blushed and he smirked, knowing she had failed in acting as if she weren't listening.
"I know you better than you know yourself. I know you so well I can practically hear the cogs turning in your brain as you process everything I'm telling you—things you already know and also, stop thinking so hard; you'll give yourself a headache.
"And you can act and pretend you're not listening but I'm not buying it, Granger, you know why? Because your eyebrows are furrowed together like they always are when you're thinking too hard and you can't look me in the eye because that'll mean I'm right and you hate it when I prove you wrong. So you tell me. Does Weasley know you better?"
Hermione finally met his gaze. His steel grey eyes were the same as ever, but now they were studying her, watching her face for any signs that she was changing her mind. Her face was stoic as he had ever seen it, and he could just make out the effort she was putting into not giving anything away with her expression.
Her eyes gave her away.
It was in her large, brown, doe eyes that Draco saw everything he searched for in her face. He saw her fear of marrying Weasley, the dread she felt for the life she was condemning herself to: a life of popping out little redheaded spawn and being a housewife; in short, everything that by definition was not Hermione Granger.
"Don't do this, Granger. Come with me."
She swallowed. "I—"
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Before Draco could even register what was happening, Hermione had taken down the Silencing Charm and was calling out to the intruder.
"Yes?"
"Hermione!" came a voice they recognized as Molly Weasley. "Are you ready? I'm sending Harry to get you in five minutes!"
"Er—all right!" Hermione called back, doing her best to hide the shakiness in her voice. Draco felt his heart sink to the sound of Molly's retreating footsteps. He looked at his shoes. Hermione avoided his eyes again. She couldn't look at him, not when she knew he was right and she was literally a few steps away from marrying Ron. So instead, she stared at the same spot on his right arm, where the cluster of freckles rests.
"You should go," she whispered and he nodded.
"I should," he conceded.
And before Hermione could do anything more than begin chew on her lower lip and nod faintly, he kissed her.
She didn't resist.
It was easy and painfully familiar: a soft, chaste pressing of their lips. So simple and yet so loaded in passion that Hermione felt her knees weaken deep within the layers of tulle. The kind of kiss that changes fate and alters lives.
After a few seconds, they separated.
"You should go," she repeated, because one more minute in this room with him would change her mind.
She didn't open her eyes until she heard she shift of air caused by the Disillusionment Charm, followed by the sound of the door closing. Hermione dropped down onto the bed, breathing loud and heavily to hold herself together. She tried but failed, and sobs were wracking her body in less than a minute. She cried, making desperate attempts to stop the tears that would leave her face splotchy. It wouldn't do to show up at the altar as if she had just cried her soul out. She was crying so hard, in fact, that she didn't even hear Harry come in, dressed in an elegant set of black dress robes with a white shirt and black tie underneath.
And to the everlasting credit of Harry Potter, he knew exactly what had happened.
"Hermione," he said softly, crouching down in front of her.
"I'm fine, Harry," she interrupted, hastily wiping the tears from her face. "It's nothing, really."
"No it's not, you're not okay," Harry said.
She tried to say she was, but the tears gave her away. Harry took one of her hands in both of his and forced her to look him in the eye. "Hermione, you don't have to do this."
"Yes I do, Harry."
"Well, you're obviously not sure about it and Draco—"
"What about Draco?"
"I know he was here."
Hermione's eyes widened, the tears suddenly coming to a screeching stop as panic set in. "But no one saw him—he put a Disillusionment Charm on himself... Unless—you're what he meant by 'having people on the inside'!"
Harry blushed slightly. "He—well, he's my friend too, at the end of the day. But don't change the subject."
"Harry, I'm going to marry Ron," she said, though to her own ears it sounded as if she were trying to convince herself, not the wizard in front of her.
"You don't want to. I know you don't."
"I love Ron."
"Not in that way. Not the way you love him, and you know it."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Are you honestly trying to convince me to not marry your best mate?"
Harry shrugged. "Ron may be my best mate, but you're my sister. I don't want to see you unhappy, and I have a feeling that's exactly what you'll be if you go through with this."
"I—" Hermione was speechless for a few seconds. She wiped her face clear of any tears, picked up her wand and stood up, going around Harry to fix her ruined makeup in the mirror. "I have to do this, Harry. It's what's right."
"Right for you? Or right for everyone else?"
She didn't answer.
Hermione gripped Harry's arm so tight it was a wonder blood was still circulating in it. He bit his tongue to keep himself from reminding her that she didn't have to do this. However, as they entered the tent and the sound of the traditional bridal march and all the guests standing filled the air, Hermione's mind was wandering in around an entirely different setting. She didn't see Ron standing by the Ministry official with a bright grin on his face, or her mother tearing up in the front row. She didn't see a very pregnant Ginny's eyes narrow in suspicion.
And she sure as hell didn't notice the blond wizard surreptitiously watching the whole thing from the very back row.
Two years prior
Hermione sat at her desk in the Auror Office, poring through piles and piles of paperwork. Since her father had been diagnosed with lung cancer eight months prior, she had thrust herself into her work as soon as she'd been allowed back on the job. She'd cried, of course, and grieved appropriately, but Hermione never allowed anyone to disturb the calm that working offered her.
Of course, there was always that one person who managed to disturb her no matter what.
"Granger, do you have any idea what time it is?"
To be honest, his voice was lacking in its usual drawl. She briefly looked up from her work to acknowledge his presence. He was leaning casually against the doorway to her—their office. It was theirs because they were partners, they had been working together for more than a year and a half and they were good. They were the best, really. Once they'd manage to resolve their childhood rivalries, Draco had become a good friend to her, even to Harry. It hadn't been easy and they still bickered; only their bickering had turned to good-natured teasing.
It was just ironic that when you teamed up the most brilliant mind of their generation and the most cunning, intuitive Slytherin in recent years, you would get an absolutely spectacular pair of Aurors who did their job better than most, even Ron and Neville. And it sort of helped that he was mildly—okay, maybe more than mildly—attractive. He had filled out quite a bit since the war, with broader shoulders and pectoral muscles that showed through his shirt, always making those daft girls from the Department for Magical Games and Sports swoon. His hair was no longer slicked back but worn in a tousled, I-just-got-out-of-bed kind of way. And his grey eyes, with flecks of silver—Merlin.
Draco smirked when he realized she was staring at him—again. It was the third, no, fourth time it had happened that week. She would know. She kept count.
"What?" she asked, completely forgetting his question.
His smirk grew wider. "I asked if you had any idea what time it is."
"You might consider wearing a watch, Malfoy," she smirked back, setting down her quill and making a show of demonstrating, grabbing her left wrist and looking at her watch. It read a quarter to eight; Ministry offices closed at five.
"Merlin's left index!" she gaped from her watch to the sniggering Auror in front of her. "How did—it was barely half past four a minute ago!"
"I think you are the one having trouble telling time," Draco said, trying to suppress laughter.
"Oh, sod off," she snapped, scrambling about to grab a few files she was taking with her. Draco continued to grin smugly.
"Say, what are you doing later?"
The question was quick, casual and frankly, a bit unexpected, which was why Hermione answered the way she did.
"A nice, long evening of reviewing files with a bottle of red wine, my cat and a good, old Audrey Hepburn movie awaits me," she replied in a heartbeat, grabbing her purse. Then she froze, her eyes widening as she realized what she had just said and the implications of it: of having no boyfriend, no plans and no life in general outside of work. She hastily tried to mend it. Draco paid no attention.
"Er—I mean—"
"Because, I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner."
Her eyes widened further and her eyebrows rose at his invitation. "With you?"
"No, with bloody Merlin's Great Aunt Mildred," he snapped back, and Hermione was thrilled to see a bit of a blush creeping onto his face. "Of course, with me."
"No need to get snarky," she replied with a chuckle. He blushed even further. "Well, well, I never thought I'd see the day when Draco sodding Malfoy of all people would fancy me."
"I don't—what—Granger—I mean, really—I don't fancy—I was just thinking, you know—as friends, we could—maybe—I dunno—"
Hermione's smile was even bigger now. He was rambling and even stuttering. Draco never rambled, much less would he be stuttering. He so fancied her.
"But if you don't want to then—"
"I want to."
"—just forget I ever—what?"
"I want to."
Draco looked surprised for a solid two seconds, then his face relaxed into his comfortably smug, characteristic smirk. "Well, well, and here I never thought I'd see the day when Hermione sodding Granger would fancy me."
She rolled her eyes, walking towards the door. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Malfoy."
He smirked. "Whatever you say."
She walked out and after a few steps, noticed he had yet to follow. "It is rather rude to ask someone out and then not take them anywhere, you know."
Draco raised one blonde eyebrow. "Are we going now, then?"
"Just come on, before I change my mind."
He didn't need to be told twice.
Hermione snapped out of it when she and Harry reached Ron. She handed Ginny her bouquet of pink roses and the ginger took her hands in his own, positively beaming at her. She gave a smile in return, but it was weak and she knew he noticed from the curious stare his blue eyes gave her before the Ministry official began the ceremony. Hermione's mind began to drift again.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."
"Granger, do you even know what time it is?"
"...the union of two young souls in a magical bond..."
"Does Weasley know you better?"
"I love you and you love me. How could I not come back?"
"Don't do this, Granger."
"Ron may be my best mate, but you're my sister. I don't want to see you unhappy."
"I came back not giving a damn about my father's wishes and with every intention to fix this!"
She snapped back into reality just in time to make out a glimmer of platinum blond hair in the back row out of the corner of her eye. Had Hermione believed in such a thing, she would have said it was fate that she saw him just before the Ministry official spoke the words that were the metaphorical doors, opening up to let her out of there.
"...If there is anyone present who has any reason why this union should not take place, may he speak now or forever hold his peace."
"You've ranted and raved about your fucking Gryffindor bravery and holier-than-thou pride for years, Granger. Practise what you bloody preach!"
She looked at Draco, not at Ron, when her mouth opened and the words tumbled out, loud and clear and almost on their own accord, as if they had been waiting for this all along.
"I object."
She heard the collective gasp of the crowd when she dropped Ron's hands. She saw his blue eyes widen in shock and had she looked behind his shoulder she would've seen the look on Harry's face: nothing short of proud.
"I can't do this, I'm sorry."
Ron stared at her. "Wh—"
"Ron, believe me when I say this is not your fault," she said. "It's this whole situation, I just—I can't do this. I can't live the life you want for us. And I do love you, okay? I do, just... Not in the way you want me to."
Ron nodded. "I get it," he said softly. "I always knew, you know? I always knew if he came back you'd run off to him. I can't pretend I didn't see this coming when I saw him walk in the tent."
"You—"
Ron shrugged. "I'm not going to force you into this. If it's what you want, you should—" he took a deep breath. "You should be with him."
Hermione gaped at him. "Ron, I—" She then decided that a) there were no words for the gratitude she felt towards the redheaded man in front of her and b) understanding had just gotten completely kicked off the List of Things Ronald Weasley Is Not. She leaned forward and gave him a hug. "Thank you," she said, to him and to Harry who was watching them.
"You're welcome, 'Mione."
She turned to everyone else. "I'm sorry for dragging you all into this," she spoke particularly to the Weasleys and her mother. "But this is just something I can't do. I can't marry Ron—because I love someone else." She spoke the last bit looking Draco straight in the eye.
Hermione grabbed the tulle of her dress and walked back down the aisle towards him. He stood and met her at the end and she looked up at him, both of them smiling as she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, full on the mouth. The crowd gasped collectively again.
"I knew you'd come 'round," he said smugly, once they'd separated.
"I love you, you prat."
"I love you too," he smiled even bigger. "And I'll love you until there's nothing left of me, for me to love you with."
"Come on," she said, jerking her head towards the entrance to the tent, "let's get out of here."
"Are we going now, then?"
"Well, it is rather rude to break up someone's wedding and not leave with them, you know."
A/N: Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this, just a little something that popped into my head on sunday and I've been working on ever since. I'm a bit nervous about this since I haven't done Dramione in a long long time and the ending's sort of fluffy, I dunno. Let me know what you think! The next chapter of TCAS should be up soon.
Reviews make my days sunny.
xo, Sam.