Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Hello everyone! This one is going to be a collection of one shots. Hope you guys will like it. Reviews are much appreciated! :)

1. Letter To Hermione

Mrs. Granger was smoothing out her daughter's veil when she heard a gentle knock on the door. She opened the door only to find there was no one there, just a small envelope addressed to her daughter.

"Hermione, look," she said, walking back over, "you've got a letter."

Hermione felt a smile play at her lips. Her soon-to-be husband was so thoughtful. She sighed softly and took the envelope from her mother's hands. The script was plain, the words "To Hermione on her wedding day" written in charcoal ink.

Mrs. Granger dabbed at her eyes and smiled at her daughter. "I'll leave you alone, dear. Your father will be here shortly."

Hermione opened the envelope and a small silver key fell out into the palm of her hand. Perplexed, she took out the folded parchment and read.

Dearest Hermione,

Today is your wedding day. It's been all over the paper for weeks now. I'm trying to be happy for you. You seem happy in all of the photos I've seen. God knows you deserve a little happiness after all I put you through. Seeing your face in the papers brings back lots of memories. I've been trying to forget them. I guess I'm writing to you on your wedding day because this is my last chance. I need to absolve myself of the pain and guilt I feel before it's too late. Maybe then, I'll be able to sleep at night. Maybe then, I'll be able to close my eyes and not be haunted by the memory of you. Maybe then, I'll remember to breathe.

I think in the back of my mind, I knew all along that you would end up with Weasley. He doesn't deserve you, of course, but neither did I. It's been two years since you left; since I pushed you away. I replay the past in my head, over and over. What if I hadn't overheard you and Potter? What if I had been strong enough to ask you about it before I started flinging accusations? Would you have stayed? Would you still love me? Would it be my arms in which you fall asleep at night? The past two years have been a hazy cloud of "what ifs" for me.

Hermione nodded. The past two years of her life had been nothing but "what ifs" also. She tried to pretend that their break up hadn't affected her. And she was good at hiding. No one knew how much she still thought of him. Hermione had everyone convinced that Ron was the love of her life. She thought she had herself convinced of that, too, until she started reading this letter, written in Draco's impeccable hand.

She sighed heavily and thought about that night.

She had just come home from work to find all of her belongings packed up. Draco was sitting on the arm of their sofa, his face devoid of all emotion.

"Draco?" Hermione asked, puzzled by his coldness.

"You're leaving." His voice was flat, lifeless.

Hermione felt like she had been socked in the stomach. "What?"

"You're leaving. Far be it from me to stand in your way. I've even taken the initiative to have your things packed."

"Is there a particular reason why I'm leaving? I get no choice in this at all?"

Draco laughed, a mean, wicked laugh that Hermione would spend the next two years trying to erase from her memory. "Darling," he said quietly, "you already made your choice."

Hermione was starting to seethe. "What the hell is going on?"

He picked up a picture of the two of them and held it in his hands. Gazing at the picture, at the smiles he and Hermione wore on their faces, he whispered, "I heard you.

"My only question," he continued, throwing the picture against the wall and ignoring Hermione cringing as the glass shattered, "is how long have you been fucking him? Weeks? Months? The entire time we've been together?"

"Who? Why in the world would you think I would do that to you? Are you out of your mind?" Hermione was visibly upset, her brown eyes filling with tears. "I don't know who you've been talking to, Draco, but nothing has been going on between me and anyone. Ever."

Again, Draco laughed.

"Which is why you were explaining to Potter that you couldn't tell me the truth? That it would break my heart? I've got ears, Hermione, and they work fairly well. I heard you tell him that last night. If you were going to whore around behind my back, the least you could do is not get caught."

Hermione managed a smile, her face brightening. "Draco, you've no idea how much you misunderstood."

She tried explaining to him that Ron had feelings for her, but that she didn't reciprocate. That's why she said what she said to Harry. The truth would have broken Ron's heart. For him to be rejected by the girl he loves because she wanted to be with someone he hated would have killed him.

It all went horribly, horribly wrong. Awful things were said; breakable things were thrown. Hermione had begged, pleaded and cried until she had nothing else to give. Damn Draco Malfoy's stubborn insecurity. So she left. And she went to the only place she knew she'd find comfort.

Everything you said about me was true. I am a coward. I didn't believe in us enough to listen to you. When I heard you whispering to Potter that "the truth would break his heart", I honestly thought you were talking about me. Looking back, it's no surprise that Weasley was in love with you. I think we all were. Are. I was terrified at the thought of losing you. I was terrified that you didn't love me anymore. So, I did it. I made you feel pain. I humiliated you. I wanted to hurt you before you could hurt me. The look on your face when we said goodbye plagues my dreams. It is the last image I see every night before I fall into the darkness.

Two weeks after the blow-out, Hermione sent Harry over to try to talk to Draco. It had gotten ugly. Harry came back, his right eye starting to bruise.

"Hermione, he's heartbroken. He won't listen to me… tried to hex me, the daft bastard." Harry sat down next to her and handed her a handkerchief. "I think he knows he was wrong. He just can't admit it."

Hermione looked up. "I want to be with him. Why can't he see that?"

Harry shrugged. "He said the same thing about you. He said 'I love her. But tell me, where is she staying right now?'"

And Hermione's heart hurt more than ever when she realized how it must look to Draco. He accused me of sleeping with Ron, she thought, and where did I scamper off to when I left? Ron's.

Too tired, too heartbroken to figure everything out, she gave up. She let Ron comfort her. She convinced herself that Ron's touch would be enough. That she loved him just enough to make it work. And the weeks passed, the seasons changed, and here she was. Getting married to Ron. Today. And Draco was writing to her.

Hermione put her head in her hands and sobbed. All the emotions she had locked down deep inside herself were bubbling back up to the surface. Nearly ten minutes passed before her eyes were dry enough to continue with the letter.

I still go there, you know. "Our" place. That's what the key unlocks. In case you ever need to talk to me. I doubt you'll ever want to go there, but I need you to know that I'll be there. Everything is exactly the same. I even replaced everything I broke. Sometimes, if I'm having trouble falling asleep at my own flat, I'll go there and lie down in our old bed. You always feel closer to me then. I can almost smell you. I can almost feel you sleeping by my side. Almost. I can't take back what I did to you. I'd give anything to erase it. I destroyed the only thing I've ever truly loved.

I think about you still. About you and Weasley. I wonder what kind of life you lead together. Does he make you happy? Do you smile that sweet, slow smile at him the way you used to for me? Does he know all your secrets? Your fears? Does he know that your back is ticklish or that you hate the freckle on the inside of your right ankle? Does he bring you coffee in the morning, with two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of milk? Do you lull him to sleep at night by running your fingers through his hair the way you used to for me? Can you talk to him about things that are important to you? Do you remember all the debates and discussions we used to have until the wee hours of the morning? Merlin, I loved getting you riled up. I almost always agreed with you, but seeing that fire in your eyes gave me such a thrill.

Hermione closed her eyes and thought seriously about those questions. She supposed Ron made her happy. He didn't make her sad, and that's what was important, wasn't it? she asked herself. Did she smile her true smile at Ron? And what did they talk about, anyway? It was always the same "Hi, honey, how was your day" banter between them. They never talked about politics, social issues, causes.

And she found herself thinking of the popcorn incident.

It had been late on a Friday evening and there was a big bowl of popcorn in between Draco and Hermione. They had just watched a movie where a man was tried for a crime he didn't commit and was being punished. Hermione was incensed. It didn't help that three glasses of wine were flowing through her system.

Oh, Draco played Devil's Advocate so well. For each argument she made, he had a brutal rebuttal. For each scenario she had, he had one better. It infuriated her!

After arguing for fifteen or so minutes, Draco threw a kernel of popcorn at her and told her to lighten up. That did it! She had been so irritated with his acerbic rebuttals that she dumped the bowl of popcorn on top of his head. It was the first time she had ever seen Draco look surprised. He was so stunned, he burst into laughter, and she melted in his arms, brushing popcorn off his shoulder so she could rest her head there.

Hermione smiled, looking down at the letter. For weeks afterward, she found popcorn everywhere. Did she and Ron ever do things like that? A dull ache in the pit of her stomach made her realise the answer was no.

I wonder these things and I wonder if you ever think about me. Do you ever think about that weekend trip to Ireland where we rode horses in the rain and then made love under the stars? Do you miss sleeping next to me? Sometimes, when I'm dreaming, I ache for you so badly that I can't stay asleep. I'm forced awake, haunted, empty…hollow. Do you remember when I told you that I would always love you? Always. I meant it. I don't know if you can believe me, but I have always loved you, Hermione. I haven't stopped.

Upon seeing the words "Ireland", Hermione's smile faded. Of course she thought about it. It had been the most romantic weekend of her life. They spent most of that Saturday on horseback, enjoying nature and the scenery. Unexpectedly, though, a storm came through and they were forced to ride back to their camp in the pouring rain. Completely drenched, Hermione felt alive. She felt whole. And after they had dried off and the storm had passed, Draco made love to her under the stars with such tenderness and passion that she still got goose bumps thinking about it. They had clung to each other, both of them trembling in the wake of their climax and Hermione knew right then and there that she would never love anyone else the way she loved Draco Malfoy. He whispered his love for her into her ear as sleep took over. But she had heard him loud and clear.

He said, "I love you. Nothing can ever change that."

I'm not writing this as a plea for you to come back, although if you did, I'd spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'm writing because I need you to know how desperately sorry I am. I need you to know that my life has been empty since you left. I exist day-to-day, but my life has no meaning. I know I deserve to bear this cross. I deserve a lot worse, actually. I'm writing because I don't think you love Ron the way you should love a husband. Perhaps that's wishful thinking on my part, but I want you to think about it. Does he make you happy enough that it's worth spending forever with him? You deserve to be happy.

Please forgive me. I love you more than you know.

Draco

Mr. Granger knocked three times on the door before opening it. Hermione's wedding dress was on a hanger, and her veil sat neatly on the table, right next to the open letter.

The key was gone and so was his daughter.