I hope everyone's staying cool this weekend! It's already over 100 degrees in my area, which will melt the makeup right off your face. Short hair has never been more of a blessing than on a sweltering day.

May 2, 2001
There was no place in the world Hermione loved more than the Burrow. It was home to the Weasley family, and, over the years, a second home to Harry and herself. The summer following her second year at Hogwarts, it had become tradition to summer with the large, boisterous, loving family.

Privacy was a rarity in the overcrowded, misshapen home. Hermione always found her solace by the small pond beyond the orchard. The mail had come only minutes before, and in it was a letter from Draco. The envelope was addressed to her with no return address. The friendship that had formed between the pair remained a secret to both her loved ones and his.

After his release from probation and the completion of his exams, Draco decided the time had come to travel. With each new place he visited, Hermione received a letter and photographs detailing his time. She opened the envelope, anxious to find out where he was this week. Tuscany, she deduced, by looking at the moving photos he enclosed. Setting the pictures aside, she pulled out the letter. In his perfectly executed scrawl, he described everything - the villa, the town, the people he had met, the food eaten, and the yacht ride on the Mediterranean arranged by Blaise Zabini. His letters always seemed to end the same way - I wish you were here. You'd love it.

Hermione sighed as she stuffed everything back into the envelope. The letter would be added to her collection. The inside lid of her trunk was plastered with photos from Italy, Spain, France, China, Vietnam, and Egypt. She longed to join him and see the world for herself, but reality held her back.

"Who is it you're always writing?" Blaise wondered as he and Draco lounged by the pool.

Draco set his letter aside and glanced at his friend. Blaise Zabini was a stark contrast to himself. He was tan where Draco was pale, black hair to his white blond, well toned muscles to his lanky form. Blaise was free to live his life outside the confines of pureblood society. His mother had always been too preoccupied with finding a husband that Blaise was oftentimes left on his own.

Draco had grown up with both a mother and father. Though the world saw Lucius and Narcissa as cold and unfeeling, Draco saw a different side. His parents were doting and catered to his every wish. Rarely was he without when the newest trends hit the market. His mother often hugged him, much to his own embarrassment. It wasn't until the Dark Lord's resurfacing that Lucius took a turn. He became harsher with his only son, losing his temper easily. More than once, Draco had been on the receiving end of his father's wand. The man he once idolized and dreamed of being had become something out of a nightmare.

"Draco?" Blaise inquired, raising one dark eyebrow suspiciously.

"What?" he replied, looking away as he felt his cheeks burn.

Blaise pointed to the parchment. "The letter?" he reminded his friend, chuckling at Draco's unease.

"Just a friend," he responded, hoping it would get Blaise off his back.

Blaise made a grab for it, but Draco was faster. He managed to keep the parchment away from Blaise until he gave up. "So, how long are you planning to continue this little sojourn of yours?" he inquired, settling back into his chair.

Draco shrugged and continued to write. "I figure as long as I'm moving my parents can't find me and the Greengrasses can't find me. And if they can't find me I don't have to marry their daughter."

Once more, Blaise shifted in his seat until his feet touched the concrete and he was perpendicular to Draco. "You're barmy, mate," he told his friend. "The Greengrass girls were the prettiest in the whole school. I would count myself lucky if I were in your shoes."

"Good, then you marry her," Draco groused. He finally set aside his letter, unable to concentrate on anything but the marriage arrangement his parents had set up after the war. For close to three years, they never said a word about it. Then, just before he announced his plans for a holiday, the bombshell was dropped. Before his twenty-fourth birthday, he would wed the youngest Greengrass daughter, Astoria. The beautiful blonde was two years his junior, and more vapid than her sister. Daphne Greengrass had been in his year at Hogwarts, and Draco only remembered the way she tagged along after Pansy Parkinson, as if she worshipped the ground upon which the pug-faced girl walked. It went without saying that Draco wanted nothing to do with any of them.

"She might not be as bad as you want her to be," Blaise cautioned. "Just because Daphne laughed like a hyena doesn't mean Astoria will too."

But Draco wouldn't be swayed. He didn't want to marry at all, much less have it arranged without his say. Picking up his parchment and quill once more, he excused himself and returned to the house. Spots danced in front of his eyes as he stepped out of the sun, spots that seemed to resemble a busy-haired Gryffindor. Shaking his head cleared his vision enough to finish his letter. The photos he planned to send were included in the envelope and sealed. Once the owl took the letter away, Draco sighed. He always wondered what she was doing when she received his letters and how long it took her to write him back. He wondered if she waited for his correspondence the way he did hers.

"Who are those pictures from?" Ron asked when he found Hermione by the pond.

She hadn't realized she had taken them out of the envelope again, and quickly stuffed them back in. "Just a friend," she replied, hoping she only sounded sullen in her head. Ron would never notice if it came out as anything but mumbled.

The tall redhead took a seat beside and looked out at the water. A warm breeze blew, rustling the leaves on the trees and sending ripples across the water's surface. One lone duck glided, occasionally dipping its head below to cool down. Hermione noticed not the duck but Ron's hand slowly creeping closer to her own. She considered moving it to her lap so he couldn't take it, but before she could make up her mind to do so, his fingers grasped hers.

In three years, one kiss had been exchanged. Hermione had been sure Ron had forgotten it not long after it happened. After all, the night they kissed was the same night he lost his brother. She hadn't held it against him that the relationship she hoped for never blossomed after the war. The question now was did she want a relationship with him?

Ron's hand tightened around hers as he smiled sheepishly. "Harry's proposed to Ginny," he informed her.

"I know," Hermione replied, looking out at the water again. The whole family knew the second it happened.

Ron let go of her hand and garnered her attention once more. "I'm sorry that I never did anything to show you how I felt about you after the war," he told her. His hand cupped her cheek, mashing a few curls between her face and his palm. "I figured out a long time ago that you're the only one I want to be with. I'm not proposing or anything, not yet, but I was hoping you would at least agree to be my girlfriend."