Hermione sat with her back against the door, trying to muffle her sobs with the red-and-gold scarf wrapped around her neck. She'd worn it just to provoke him; he'd been in a silent mood all morning and it worried her. That had backfired. She loved Draco, she really did. But when he was silent and brooding, Hermione felt helpless, which was one thing she absolutely detested. She wanted to be there for him, to help him through whatever he was dealing with, but all she'd received today was a dismissal and a 'Don't worry about it!'. She loved him, but if she couldn't help him or understand him, what was the point? Why bother with a relationship, why bother with living together.

She could hear his soft breaths on the other side of the door. He'd followed her to their room after she'd screamed 'FINE!' and had sat on the other side of the white door for the past three quarters of an hour. Initially, Draco had begged her to open it, had promised to tell her what was wrong, if only she opened the thin piece of wood that stood between them. He'd professed his love, which was no new thing, and begged for her forgiveness. He had apologised over and over, but now he was silent, occasionally letting out distressed sighs but emitting no precise words.

Hermione stood, setting herself right. Her hair was knotted and falling out of the bun she'd put it in hours ago, and her glasses, a thing she secretly loved Draco teasing her about, were askew. The scarf was slightly moist, a result of tears shed, but she wasn't all that worse for wear. It was her heart that hurt, and her mind that wanted to say 'I told you so'. She'd warned herself off Malfoy when they'd become friends after the war, tried to keep a distance, but acquaintanceship led to friendship to bestfriendship to... whatever they had now. They were in love, they lived together, but it just wasn't working.

She knew how this would end. She'd always known. Hermione knew what she had to do.

Pulling a small suitcase - charmed in a way that made it rival Mary Poppins' carpet bag in size - out of the wardrobe, she placed it on the bed before grabbing her clothes, hangers and all. She darted into the attached bathroom, sweeping the contents of her drawers into a large spotted makeup bag. She carefully placed her singular perfume inside, wrapping it in a hand towel to make sure it didn't break. Her books were quickly disposed of and her shoes soon followed suit. Hermione left the photo of her and Draco at Harry and Ginny's wedding on the bedside table; their smiling faces were hard to look at for too long. She just couldn't do that to herself in that moment. If she stopped and thought, she wouldn't continue, and she had to.

Divesting a drawer of her things, mixed almost equally with Draco's, she came upon a box. It was not a big box, small enough to appear inconspicuous in a medium-sized drawer, nor was it heavy. It was white, with a small insignia on the lid. Hermione sat down heavily on the bed, one hand holding the box as the other hung limply by her side.

"Hermione, what's going on in there?"

Busy with her tasks, she hadn't heard Draco's response to her packing. He knocked softly on the door, repeating the question.

"Are you okay? Honestly, I'm slightly worried right now. Very worried, in fact. Just open the door. Please. I can explain... please, Hermione?"

She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and moved toward the door, twisting the lock just as Draco turned the handle and pushed. A shocked look crossed his face as he took in the woman standing very close to him, tearstained and confused.

She held up the box and Draco's eyes hardened.

"What's this?" Hermione whispered, her own eyes searching his for answers.

"I... that's what I wanted to explain. I was... I was planning on giving this to you tonight. And I was nervous. Really really nervous. I was afraid if I told you anything about tonight, I might just tell you... and I wanted it to be a surprise. But now I've screwed everything up. I'm acting like a wimpy little Weasley right now, but I just want you to know, this has nothing to do with you. I mean, sorry, me being horrid this morning had nothing to do with you. I just..." He sighed, exasperated, and grabbed the box from her outstretched hand, opening it, "Hermione, will you marry me?"

"You prat! You didn't have to scare me like that!"

"Ouch! You didn't have to hit me over the head!"

"Well, you deserved it!"

Draco frowned wryly, "Yeah, I did... is that a yes?"

Her eyes flicked from box to man, back and forth, for several moments, until a small smile twisted itself onto her lips.

"What do you think?" Hermione asked, lifting her left hand, fingers outstretched.

"I think you'll make a wonderful Mrs. Malfoy," Draco said, clasping the ring-laden hand, and pulled her to him.

Hermione pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, "Or you could change your name to be Mr. Granger, since I'm much more famous than you."

Her fiancé laughed, dragging her into a hug, "Whatever you want."