The magical music box played in the background as Draco and Hermione slow danced to it in the middle of the room. His left arm rested on her hip and her right on his shoulder, while the opposite hand was clasped in the other's. "My baby boy. I love him so much." She whispered to Draco, tearing up at the sight of her sleeping son.

He pressed his lips to Hermione's forehead as he rocked her back and forth. "He knows." Draco took a deep breath and happened to get a whiff of his wife's sweet scent—lavender and honeysuckle. "He'll always know."

As the music rose to a crescendo, Draco led her to a clumsy twirl, chuckling softly all the while. Normally, Draco and Hermione were graceful dancers, but difficult it was to dance with an IV up one of Hermione's hands. She twirled back into Draco and slowly, they swayed, Draco's front to Hermione's back.

A minute later, Draco was deep in thought when Hermione sniffled quietly. He frowned, stopped, and spun her around to see her face streaked with tears. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Panic arose from deep within him as he inspected every inch of her face.

"No, no. I'm… I-I just…" Hermione was at a loss for words for she did not know how to tell him that she had a gut feeling that she had to leave them very soon.

Draco had known Hermione for the majority of his life, so when she hesitated to tell him what was bothering her, he took one look at her trembling hand on his and her quivering lips, and instantly knew. Draco's eyes welled up with tears. He no longer entertained the urge to fight his wife over the issue; he was tired. And (though Draco would never admit it) he had the same gut feeling as his wife did.

So Draco tightened his grip around her waist and pulled her closer to him, her tears staining his shirt.

"I love you more." She said.

I love you more. Hermione never said I love you without the comparative. Only Draco knew what she meant. Other people asked why, but they had never divulged the reason. 'I love you more' was their promise to each other, and each other only.

Six Years Ago

"Absolutely fucking not."

"Why not? Draco, this is what I want." She took his hands and held them close.

"I can assure you, Granger, that it isn't." He pulled them back, turned away and started walking in haste.

Hermione grabbed his elbow and pulled him back. He refused to turn, but he stopped in front of her. "You can't make that decision for me! I know what I want, and it's this. What we have. That's what I want." She pleaded.

"No, it's not, you stubborn bint!" He spun around and faced her, his platinum locks wild in the evening breeze. "Don't you read the papers? Or hear what everyone says when we walk by? I'm nothing but fucking trouble, Granger! Merlin's saggy balls, I was a bloody Death Eater! I was Voldemort's lap dog for years, in case you've forgotten!" His chest rose up and down. "And… I know you don't like to talk about it but… you're ill, Granger." He softened. "You've got—what, two years at best…? And you want to spend it with me? You can't possibly want that. And here I thought you were smart."

Draco turned away again and started walking when Hermione whispered, "Is it because… you don't want this? I'm a mudblood, is that it? Or is it because I'm… I'm ill?"

He quickly pivoted, seeing Hermione with her head towards the grass, her gaze at his shoes. "No! You of all people know that I don't give a flying fuck about—"

Hermione interrupted him. "Because if you don't feel the way I do about you, then I'll gladly let you walk away—"

"I. Want. This." Draco said each word loud and clear for Hermione. "I want this," He repeated, "but we can't always get what we want."

"Why? Why can't we? Don't we deserve it? Doesn't the universe owe us this much?" She looked at him, her gaze piercing through his soul.

"You know why! I'm not bloody good enough for you, and I don't reckon I'll ever be—"

"That's bullshit, and you know it!" She exploded. Hermione Granger never swore. Not even when she was angry. So Draco knew that he had really hit a nerve this time. He thought that she looked beautiful when she was furious at him, her cheeks enflamed and eyes burning with passion.

She closed her eyes and sighed, composing herself. For a few seconds, they stood silently, moonlight being the only source of light, the sound of the waves being the only source of sound. Draco and Hermione had been seeing each other more and more frequently after the war. So frequently, in fact, that they had been part of each other's daily lives, and they had started developing feelings towards each other. So there they stood, on a not-date, in a park next to the Thames river at eleven o'clock.

"Look…" She started. "I understand why you think we can't be together. But don't you think it's worth it? In the end, wouldn't it be worth it? Wouldn't… I be worth it?"

"Of course you're worth it. That's exactly why I—"

She interrupted, holding up a finger. "I'm not finished." She paused. "I know who you are, Draco. I know exactly who you are. I know that you've been through a rough patch a few years back. I know that you still have trust issues, and that you're still angry at your parents for allowing Voldemort to use them… to use their only son. I know that you're way too tough, and that you can be a brute sometimes. I know that your favorite word is either 'fuck' or 'bloody', and I know that you'll never care for cats the way I do…" Draco suddenly seemed interested at her shoes when she said, "I know that you're still struggling to come to terms with who you are. You blame yourself for so many things you had no control over, and you haven't forgiven yourself for the mistakes you've made." She closed the distance between them, put her finger under his chin, and lifted his face until he looked her in the eye.

"But Draco… I love you more." Hermione said. "I love you more than that. I need you to understand that I don't care about any of it because I love you more."

Draco kissed her, then. Slowly and cautiously, as if she might change her mind if he pressed his lips against hers a little harder. He kissed her, smelling of lavender and honeysuckle, for the first time under the moonlight, and it was perfect.

She was supposed to have two more years to live, the doctors said. That very night, Draco—being a natural potion master himself—had made it his life's mission to brew a cure for Hermione's cancer. Lo and behold, a mere three months later, he had concocted something that killed the cancer cells in Hermione's body… or so they thought. It was a medical miracle. They got married shortly after, and Scorpius Malfoy was born.

Three and a half years later, as Hermione was reaching for a tome in the Malfoy library, she had fainted and fallen from the ladder. To her (and the Wizdarding World's) surprise, she woke up with her cancer at large once again, but this time, it grew to become immune to the potions Draco had used to drive them away.