A/N: These chapters are turning out to be way longer than I anticipated. Oh well! I'm envisioning the whole story will run around 12 chapters, but we'll see as it develops. As always, I don't own anything from the HP universe - all credit (and love) to JKR.

This chapter was tough for me to write, which is why there was a bit of a delay. It features an angry Draco, and I never really enjoy writing angry Draco. I prefer snarky, selfish, somewhat annoying Draco, so I had fun with those parts. But still, I imagine that this situation would leave him pretty frustrated at times, so I thought it was important to address that in the story.

Thank you for reading and please review!

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Chapter 5

The bird sat in the tree branch, considering the scene unfolding on the ground below. She watched plants and bushes shake as someone stomped among them and heard an angry voice muttering sounds of frustration. The bird was slightly peeved, as this garden was her favorite spot to visit and she was particularly looking forward to a peaceful nap that day, but the blonde man who typically took such gentle and painstaking care of the landscape seemed to be in a foul temper.

She flew off, deciding to visit the neighbor's pond instead.

The bird wasn't wrong: the blonde man on the ground was indeed highly frustrated. Had the bird understood English, she would have recognized the list of obscenities that peppered the angry muttering.

"What was she thinking? I can't handle this. What was I thinking? This is absurd."

"Can you just… stand still? Stop moving! I'm trying to trim you for Salazar's sake!"

"Where did those blasted hedgeclippers go again?"

"I'll just use magic. I don't care. Wait, what's the harvesting spell again? Ugh, I should have paid more attention to Sprout."

And on and on it went. Hermione had thought it might do Draco some good to work in the garden by himself for a bit that morning, given that it was Saturday and that's how he typically spent his Saturday mornings, but he didn't see how it was supposed to help.

"The muscle memory might jog other memories!" he lectured the plants, imitating Hermione's voice and exaggerating it. "What the hell is muscle memory anyway? Muscle soreness, I think, is definitely in my future, but I don't see any blasted muscle memory anywhere."

Chop, Chop went the clippers and small branches and clumps of leaves rained down on Draco, who covered his head protectively.

"This is how you always spend Saturday mornings!" he imitated again, rolling his eyes and ducking as another clump came down. "There is no way I did this every week. I bet I set a spell to do it all and sat somewhere reading or drinking or something. This is absurd."

The plants did not reply, but Draco continued his complaining anyway.

He thought about Granger in her bookstore, remembering her explanation of needing a few hours to finish a project for a client that morning. He felt resentful that she got to be indoors, probably in a comfortable chair, reading ancient texts, while he had to crouch out here miserable in the hot sun.

He had felt hopeful after how well the previous day had gone. He hadn't remembered anything yet, but he had felt empowered touring his company and contributing to active business decisions. Watching Hermione's memory in the pensieve had made him feel more invested in the process of recovering his memories and closer to doing so than ever before. But now, he was sitting here surrounded by plants and bugs and the hot, hot sun and the whole thing just felt like he was wasting time.

Hermione had promised to tell him the next part of their story that day and he was growing impatient. He didn't see why she couldn't just sit down and tell him everything, in spite of the doctor's warnings.

He thought again of what she had showed him the previous night and decided he couldn't wait anymore. The combination of his curiosity at what came next, his boredom with the tedious plant-work, and his exhaustion in the heat finally won out and he threw down his tools with a determined look, before heading inside to the shower and to look for that list of locations and contacts Hermione had made for him a few days earlier.

…

Hermione rolled her eyes as she heard Draco enter the bookstore. She had asked him for three hours: he had given her just slightly over one. There were no other customers in the store and she had been enjoying the peace and quiet.

"I see you've found me," she remarked, not looking up from the manuscript laid out on the desk in front of her.

"You left me your address: even Weasley could have figured out this one."

"What can I do for you, Draco?" she asked, looking up.

"I got bored with the gardening. It's terrible work. I think we'll just pay someone to do it in the future."

Hermione bit her lip, disappointed that his time in his favorite place – the site he considered his sanctuary – hadn't provoked any sense of memory. Nothing seemed to be working and she was worried that he was relying too much on being told other peoples' memories: she wanted him to feel something for himself, but it didn't seem like that was working either.

"I'll send an owl to Neville and ask him to send over a few of the apprentices this evening to tend to the maintenance," she told him.

Draco nodded his assent and looked around.

"So this is where we spent our evenings that first year?" he asked her.

"Yes, though it looked a bit different back then. The popular front section was much larger," she told him, indicating a few bookcases near the front, "and none of these desks were here yet – they came when my restoration business really took off. The chess table is still in the same place, though."

Draco surveyed the room and smiled when his eyes fell on it. He moved over to it and sat down, running his hands over the pieces and willing himself to recognize any of it.

He didn't.

"Care for a game, Granger?" he offered her.

"You just want to topple my winning streak, Draco, and besides, I really need to finish this project," she told him.

"What about the next part of our story? Certainly you can talk while you do whatever it is that you're doing," he said, gesturing to her cleaning tools and wand. "And you promised you'd tell me the next part today."

"I really need to concentrate on this right now. How about I tell you after lunch? And I think we should be trying other things too. I encouraged you to spend time in the garden this morning because I thought it would be helpful and productive and-"

"And boring and draining and exhausting and ridiculous," Draco added.

"And beneficial both mentally and physically," Hermione finished, not taking his bait.

"Fine, Granger, I'll just look around. I can amuse myself, you know," he told her. He started wandering around the store, knowing that as much as she might look like she was concentrating on her work, she was keeping an eye on him in her peripheral vision.

He pretended to look at a shelf of reference books on ancient runes. Knowing she was surreptitiously watching, he switched two of them on the shelf and smirked to himself when he heard her make a small sound of annoyance.

He went to another shelf and started pulling books out an inch on the shelf, seemingly randomly, ruining the perfect line in which the spines had been arranged. He noticed Hermione start to bounce a little on one leg and knew he was close.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled a book out on the shelf until it teetered on the edge. He could hear Hermione suck in her breath. Like a cat playing with a glass, he slowly inched the book out well past its balance point and smirked when it fell to the floor.

"Draco Malfoy, you are a child!" Hermione shouted at him, waving her wand to set everything to rights again. She left the desk she had been working at and stormed over to him.

Now he knew he had her.

"I don't know what you're talking about – you're the one who keeps such a messy shop. I would shut down the whole store today, if I were you," he told her.

"And just spend my day recounting our story to you?" she asked.

"Well, since you mention it," he responded with a smirk.

Hermione rubbed her temples.

"Draco, I have to finish this manuscript. My client wanted it two days ago, but I took time off to figure out our situation. I just need a few more hours. Can't you please just occupy yourself until then?"

He wasn't sure what it was that annoyed him most in that moment: the way she dismissed him so easily, the condescending tone she used to do it, or the sheer fact that he wasn't getting his way. It was probably a combination of the three, made worse by his daily frustration of not knowing the basic details of his life and the exasperating time he had spent in the ridiculous garden that morning.

He stormed out of the bookstore, not even responding to her, and slammed the door on the way out.

…

By the time Hermione arrived home for lunch after completing her work, Draco had calmed down and was managing to hide his annoyance: he was a Slytherin, after all, and there was something he wanted.

He sat patiently on the couch, waiting for Hermione to deliver on her earlier promise, but was soon disappointed.

"Ron stopped into the shop not long after you left and asked if he might pop round for lunch – wanted to chat with you and see how you were doing. He should be here in a few minutes," Hermione told Draco.

"You're joking," Draco replied.

"Nope."

"Then you're barking mad," he responded again.

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I feel like I'm getting there, but no, not that either. Honestly, Draco, Ron's a good friend of yours now and chatting with him might do you some good. I'm going to whip up some sandwiches."

Draco cracked his knuckles and swallowed his frustration. It felt like they were wasting time – he didn't want to garden, or talk to poverty-stricken redheads, or any of this nonsense. He wanted to get his memories back or run out of options and move on with his life.

"You should visit your mother soon, too," Hermione called from the kitchen. "She keeps sending me owls –she's very worried about you."

"I'll stop by tomorrow," Draco promised through gritted teeth.

…

Ron's visit didn't prove to be very helpful, which only increased Draco's irritation. While everyone else Draco encountered seemed to have matured and grown over the years, Ron was just as exhausting and aggravating as ever. He kept asking Draco if he remembered certain events, as if the questions themselves would suddenly jog his memory.

"Do you remember when we went to watch the Quidditch World Cup and the game lasted four days?"

"Do you remember when we babysat Greg's kids and set the kitchen on fire?"

"Do you remember when we tricked Harry into going all in at that poker night when we knew Ernie had a better hand?"

"Of course I don't bloody remember it!" Draco finally exploded, before storming back to his room. Not caring any longer about Hermione's reaction, he pointed his wand towards the walls and changed them to a dark, inky green.

Hermione ushered Ron out with apologies and failed explanations. She considered going after Draco, but instead settled herself down in the living room with a magazine and a glass of wine. She knew her husband, and knew the best course was to let him cool down on his own. She also was admittedly exhausted and unsure of what to try next.

…

About an hour after Ron left, Draco stalked out of the bedroom and down the hallway, his irritation only growing when he found his supposedly loving wife reading a magazine. He took a moment to compose himself. He knew shouting would get him nowhere.

"Okay, Granger, I've had a long day, and all I'm asking for is the next part of the story. Nothing else seems to be bloody working and I think it's the best shot we have."

Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip, but ultimately agreed with him. Their story was the only thing that seemed to be reaching him and might be their best shot at getting his memories back. Until she could think of a better idea, she would have to keep going with this.

She hadn't been intentionally stalling him all day, but if she was honest with herself, she might have encouraged the delays. It's just that the next part of the story was so personal and she felt so vulnerable telling it to him.

Now, however, she knew she had little choice.

"Okay, Draco, okay. Just please recognize that it's awkward for me to tell you all of this," she told him. He nodded, barely concealing his impatience.

Hermione thought about where to start.

"So, you saw our first kiss," she began. "And after that, nothing really happened. We didn't talk about it and just pretended like it never happened. I tried to address it a couple of times, but you just switched the subject: it was clear to me that you regretted it or wanted to make it disappear, so I just sort of went along with it, because that was better than losing you altogether. So everything was sort of just status quo, until a couple of months later, which is where I'll start today."

She took a deep breath.

.

Five Years Earlier

Hermione was working in her bookstore, poring over a scroll Draco had found for her during one of his recent travels. She could decode about a quarter of the text and would need to perform complicated spellwork to illuminate more of the writing. She was in a foul temper, too, after fighting with Ginny at lunch. Ginny had tried once again to confront Hermione over her relationship with Draco, explaining that she fielded questions about their relationship daily and thought their decision not to date made absolutely no sense.

"It's my life, Gin," Hermione had told her, an answer that they both knew wasn't an answer. She hadn't told Ginny about the kiss, mostly out of embarrassment, seeing as how Draco clearly regretted it.

Now, she talked to the scroll and said the things she wished she could say to the annoying redhead, who (annoyingly) happened to also be one of her best friends.

"Oh, I'm so sorry that random people ask you if I'm dating Draco, Ginny. What a tough life."

"Yes, it must be really difficult to just say no when they ask you – it is one syllable, after all."

"Why Ginny, I didn't even think about how my life decisions might be inconveniencing you. I'll keep that in mind the next time I decide to completely alter my life's course."

"Oh no, Ginny, I never realized –"

This last response was cut short when she heard the bell above the door ring, signaling the entrance of a potential customer. Her first thought was that it was Draco, but she knew he was in New Zealand and wouldn't be back until the following Monday.

She looked up and saw Lee Jordan striding to her.

She smiled at his sudden appearance and welcomed him into her shop.

"Why, Lee, it's been a long time! What brings you in here today?"

Lee explained that he was moving back to London after working abroad and had noticed her bookshop a few days earlier as he toured possible flats. He had been in the area that day and decided to pop in.

"It's excellent to see you," she told him.

"I agree," he told her with a smile. The two chatted for a few minutes about what they were up to and what was going on in their lives. After a slight pause, Lee started in on a new line of conversation.

"So I ran into Ginny yesterday, and we were talking about you. I was under the impression that you were dating someone –"

"Nope, single as a bird," Hermione replied instinctively, more in response to the sore subject of people asking if she was dating Draco than out of an actual desire to date Lee. She instantly realized, though, that the response made her sound desperate, and she regretted it. Ugh. Was "single as a bird" even an expression?

Lee smiled at her. "Well, that's good news to me. I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me when I'm back in town in a few weeks – the Cannons are playing the Harpies and I have great seats."

To be honest, a day watching Quidditch sounded like the most boring date imaginable, but it had been a while since she had been out with anyone, and Hermione was flattered to be asked. And Lee was good-looking and smart – really, this could turn out ok.

Before she responded, Draco's face popped suddenly into her mind, but she suppressed it. They were just friends, after all, and he had made it clear that that was all he wanted them to be.

"Sure," she told him with a smile, and they made plans to meet on a Saturday afternoon.

…

When Draco returned home from New Zealand, he invited Hermione over for dinner and the two chatted over risotto and wine. Draco showed her pictures from his trip and explained what he had seen and collected.

"Oh, and before I forget, I got us tickets to the opera for Saturday next week – it's that show they cancelled in January. I know you were disappointed you never got to see it," he told her with a grin.

She felt something drop in her stomach, realizing it was the same day as her date. Surely this wouldn't be a big deal, right? They were friends. They were friends.

"Oh, actually I have plans that Saturday," she told him, avoiding eye contact.

"Tell me you're not working another weekend shift – I thought that's why you had Penelope helping out," he replied.

"No, no, it's not that. I actually have a date," she said softly.

There was a moment's pause before Draco responded cooly: "A date? That's exciting. Who with?"

"Lee Jordan," she told him, keeping her tone neutral. "We're going to a Quidditch match."

"Well that sounds fun. I hope it goes well." His tone was pleasant, but she noticed he wasn't making eye contact with her. A heavy awkwardness had settled between them.

"Look, Granger, I'm wiped from my trip – mind if we call it a night a little early?" he asked suddenly. She suspected his sudden shift had to do with her announcement, but this also wasn't totally unusual – they often ended a night early after Draco had had a long day of travel. They had finished their meal and her wine glass was empty – it was a natural time to end the evening. She didn't want to read too much into it.

"Sure. Maybe we'll do something later this week?" she asked.

"Of course. I'll send you an owl," he promised her.

…

But no owls came that week, and the ones Hermione sent received no response.

It wasn't unusual for them to go a day or so without talking, but it was unprecedented for him not to return her owl. By Wednesday, she was peeved. She sent a message asking what was wrong, but received no reply. On Friday, she tried calling him via floo, but he wasn't home. She sent another owl. By the next Monday, she was officially worried. For anyone else, this wouldn't be a big deal at all, but she knew Draco, and she knew something was wrong. And it wasn't just that – it was that if something was wrong for him, it was wrong for her too. She couldn't function knowing he was hurt or upset, as pathetic as it sounded. She tried not to over-analyze what that meant. She continued to try to call and reach him via owl that week, but nothing worked.

She finally decided to muster her courage and stop by his apartment Friday after work – the night before her date and almost two weeks since they'd last spoken. She knew he'd be home (it really was pathetic how well she knew his schedule by this point) and she would finally get answers.

She tried the floo first, but he had blocked his entrance. Now she was both worried and annoyed.

She apparated to right outside his door and knocked firmly.

"Not home," she heard from the other side of the door. She rolled her eyes.

"Clearly," she replied. "Let me in, Draco."

"Go away, Granger, I'm busy."

It was rude to do so, but she pulled out her wand and used alohomora to enter: she knew she was on a list of people who had access to his wards.

"That's breaking and entering, you know," he told her as she walked in and slammed the door.

"You don't talk to me for nearly two weeks, don't respond to any of my owls, and that's all you have to say to me?!" she shouted at him. She hadn't realized until now how angry she was at him, and now that she knew he was ok, anger overtook worry as her dominant emotion.

She looked around for the target of her sudden rage and found him sitting at a barstool in the kitchen. It was the man she had gotten to know well over the last year, and yet what she saw alarmed her. His hair was messy, his normally clean-shaven face scruffy, and his clothes rumpled. When he turned to her, she saw dark circles under his eyes. Her anger melted away.

"Draco, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

Draco turned back away from her and lifted the glass in front of him to his lips. She suspected it contained firewhiskey, which she knew he only turned to when he was truly feeling low.

"What happened?" she tried again.

"It's not anything that happened," he told her quietly. "It's what's happening tomorrow."

"My date?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

Draco was silent, but nodded after a moment.

Hermione expected to feel thrilled by his jealousy, or at least happy that he was interested in her that way. Instead, she only felt angry, and the emotion welled inside her again, surprising her for the second time that night.

"You've had a year," she told him quietly, and he turned to face her, his expression showing nothing.

"You've had a year to say something or do something, and you've done nothing," she continued. "If you felt something for me, you had more than enough time to act on it."

Still Draco didn't reply.

"We even kissed for goodness sake! And you just pretended like it never happened! Was I supposed to wait around forever for you to decide you liked me? Was I supposed to just turn into a spinster waiting for you to have your adventures before settling for me?"

Draco was still silent and Hermione felt like she would explode.

"This isn't fair, you know. You can't punish me for going on a date with someone. We're friends, Draco, friends, and that's what we've both chosen. You can't be mad at me for this. This isn't fair." She was rambling now, spiraling with nothing to stop her.

When he still didn't respond, she moved to the door. His silence was killing her.

"Forget this, and forget you," she told him.

She had almost reached the door when she heard him reply, speaking at a volume just above a whisper.

"I'm in love with you."

She froze, not believing what she had heard. "What did you say?" she asked, her back still turned toward him.

"I said I'm in love with you," he replied, a little louder this time, and with a confidence that made her heart race.

She turned to face him now.

"You're in love with me?" she asked again.

"Yes," he replied.

And she spun on her heel and stormed out the door.

…

Present Day

Hermione paused in her telling of the story, preparing to continue with what happened next, but she was interrupted by Draco.

His temper had been building all day. First, Granger had exiled him to that garden while she went off and worked. Worked! While her husband was experiencing the most difficult mental time of his life! Next, she had invited the most ingratiating wizard on the planet over for lunch and let him launch absurd questions at Draco for nearly an hour. She had stalled and stalled on telling him this story – his story – and now he wasn't even sure he wanted to hear it. He had just heard about his past self falling in love with someone and even being the first to admit that love – things that he couldn't even fathom happening in his life, and that was the response he received? He couldn't process the reality of everything sinking in at once. And so he finally exploded.

"You stormed out?!" he shouted at her.

"Yes, but –"

He cut her off again.

"You really are the most ungrateful, inconsiderate piece of work, do you know that?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione replied, confused and worried.

"Do you have any idea how big of a deal that would have been for me that day? To tell you I was in love with you? Do you even get how huge that would have been for me?"

"Of course I do!" Hermione replied, her volume rising to meet his. "You're my husband and my best friend, of course I know how big of a deal that was. I know you. If you'd just let me explain it –"

"No, I don't want to hear your pathetic explanations. And you don't 'know me!' Not one bit."

They were both standing now, shouting at each other.

"I know you better than anyone else on this planet," Hermione told him confidently.

"Or you've deluded yourself into thinking so," Draco spat back at her. "I don't know how I could possibly have forgiven you after you stormed out like that. Maybe that's why I lost my memory last week – maybe it's the universe giving me a second chance to get the better life that I actually deserve with someone who actually loves and appreciates me!"

Hermione was stung into silence and Draco could read the hurt in her eyes. He knew he had crossed a line, but he didn't care.

Hermione was silent for a long moment, but finally replied in a low voice.

"We don't do this, Draco. We don't fight like this. We don't raise our voices to each other."

"Of course we fight – we're Hermione and Draco. You can't tell me we never argue," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"Not like this," Hermione told him, holding back tears. "I don't know this side of you – you're not my husband." She practically whispered the last line and looked at her hands, avoiding eye contact.

"Thank God for that," Draco told her, before he decided to give her a taste of her own medicine, storming out the door of their house. In the silence that followed, Hermione realized it was the second door he had slammed on her that day.

…

Draco sat at his favorite bar, which fortunately was still open and looked almost exactly as he remembered it. That was the good thing about pubs: they seldom changed. He swirled the firewhiskey in his glass and stared into its amber depths. Granger wasn't wrong about that: it was his choice when he was at his lowest.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see a familiar face, though aged a few years: Pansy Parkinson. He smiled at his old friend and invited her to sit down for a chat.

They exchanged pleasantries and caught up, chatting amicably for a few minutes.

"I heard about your memories," Pansy told him sympathetically. "Greg told me about it."

Draco explained what had happened and his frustrations of the previous few days.

Pansy was silent for a moment, before looking up cautiously.

"Draco, do you think that there is any chance this is some sort of sign? Sort of like a do-over? Like maybe this is our chance?" she asked.

He heard hopefulness in her voice, but also a tinge of manipulation. Still the same old Pansy he knew, using any circumstance possible to advance her own personal agenda. He almost smiled at the familiarity of it all.

"No, Pansy, I don't think so," he told her.

Pansy momentarily looked disappointed, but her face quickly regained its mask of confidence and poise.

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know," she told him, and she slipped him a scrap of paper with her address on it before sauntering away.

Draco looked at the scrap of paper. Suddenly, someone sat down beside him and Draco shoved the scrap into his pocket, out of sight. He turned to see Harry Potter sitting next to him.

"What are you drinking?" Potter asked. "Firewhiskey?" He called the bartender over and ordered a second for Draco and one for himself.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Oh, I was just out in the area," Harry said casually.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"You're 28 and still can't even lie decently? Bloody Gryffindors."

Harry grinned. "Guess not. Hermione told me you were upset and I figured you would come here. It's still one of our favorite spots to grab a drink."

"Our? As in, you and I grab drinks here?" Draco asked him.

"Yes, obviously," Harry replied. "And I know you're not going to do anything with Pansy's address, by the way."

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "How do you know I won't?"

"Because I know you, Draco," Harry explained patiently. "You're like my fourth best friend. You're short-tempered, arrogant, and a total snob sometimes, but you're also loyal to a fault."

Draco considered his words. He wasn't sure how to take the "fourth best friend" label – he was vaguely insulted, but also weirdly flattered? He'd set that one aside for now. Short-tempered, arrogant, total snob – all of that sounded accurate. He also knew Harry was right about that last thing: his loyalty. Deep in his heart he knew he had never planned to do anything with the address. He took it out of his pocket, crumbled it up, and tossed it into the trash can behind the bar.

Harry took a sip of his firewhiskey.

"So what brings you to the Tipsy Phoenix tonight, Malfoy?"

"Fight with Granger," Draco mumbled in response.

Harry nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"She was telling me the story of the night I told her I loved her. You know the story? Apparently I put it all out there, like everything out there, and she just… left. She just left. Just like that. And I just can't forgive her for it, somehow. I can't understand how I forgave her for it then, either." Draco wasn't sure why he was telling all of this to Harry Potter, but he needed someone, and Potter had bought him a drink. And he was his fourth best friend, apparently.

"Ah, yes, I love that story," Harry said with a grin.

"Well I'm delighted to see that you look so happy remembering such a painful night for me," Draco replied bitterly.

Harry laughed.

"I'm smiling because I know what came next. And it happened here, actually," he told Draco, gesturing to the bar around them.

"Here? What are you talking about, Potter?"

Harry stood up and looked around, as if calculating something. He moved three barstools to his left, gesturing for Draco to follow him. Draco, annoyed but curious, did as Harry asked.

"I was sitting right here, having a drink with Ginny and her coworkers after a long week," he told Draco.

.

Five Years Earlier

Harry sat at the bar, sipping his drink and listening to his wife's co-workers prattle on about their "exhausting" week at their design company. He loved his girlfriend, but wished that she worked with more interesting people.

Suddenly, a familiar face entered his vision and he smiled as he recognized his best friend, Hermione Granger. That smile faded somewhat when he took in her apparent rage. Hermione was never good at hiding emotions. Now, her hair was somehow extra frizzy, her eyes had a glare that could turn men to stone, and he could tell even from a distance that she was grinding her teeth. She spotted Harry and stormed up to him, shouting an order ("double firewhiskey, and make it quick") to the bartender without so much as a please.

"You'll never believe what that asshole did," she told Harry, settling into the empty stool next to him.

"Which asshole?" That was his first question.

"Draco."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, trying to hide his slight grin. Draco and Hermione's "relationship" was a constant source of humor for him. They were two of the smartest people he knew, but completely dense concerning their true feelings.

"He's gone and told me he's in love with me," she told Harry incredulously.

"How dare he," Harry responded sarcastically.

"It's just that… I don't know… why on earth would he… it's just like a terrible thing to do, you know?" she replied, struggling to pin down why she was so angry.

"Oh yes, quite terrible for a man to tell the woman he's been in love with for nearly a year that he's in love with her. Shall I call Kingsley? Sic some aurors on him?"

Hermione glared at Harry and stood to leave.

"I should have known better than to come here. It's not like I gave up my entire seventh year of education to help you defeat the most evil wizard of all time. Heaven forbid you take my problems seriously."

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed her arm before she could leave.

"Ok, Hermione, sit back down and I'll try to be more sympathetic. I'm just having trouble understanding what you're upset about here."

"He told me he loved me, Harry," she said. Harry blinked, still confused as to what she was upset about.

"And he does," he told her.

"No he doesn't!" Hermione protested. "He can't! That's…. that's ridiculous! Absurd! And how would you know, anyway?" she sputtered.

"Honestly, Hermione," Harry said slowly, afraid of enraging her again, "everyone knows."

"What?"

"Literally everyone in the wizarding world knows that he's in love with you. And that you're in love with him."

"I'm not in love with him," Hermione spat back.

"Sure you are. I was just talking to Ginny about it yesterday when we were at lunch with Katie Bell and Lee."

"Lee Jordan?" she asked.

"Yes – Lee and his girlfriend Katie. Lee and Ginny work together and are pretty good friends these days."

Hermione struggled to put everything together and suddenly looked up to glare at her supposed best girlfriend. She found Ginny nervously chewing on her lip, watching Hermione's conversation with Harry and trying to make sure there was at least one witch or wizard between herself and Hermione for protection.

When they made eye contact, Ginny tried to casually stroll over, feigning innocence.

"Hey there, bestie!" she said, in a pleasant "please-don't-murder-me" sort of way.

"Good evening, Ginevra," Hermione responded coolly. Everyone in the immediate vicinity leaned farther away from Hermione at this remark. It was well known that Hermione Granger got more formal when she was angry. Harry reached for his wand, just in case.

"How's it going?" Ginny asked timidly.

"Oh, you know, just swell. I had a date planned for tomorrow with a man that I just learned is in a serious committed relationship and I have the feeling that the whole thing was some sort of set-up. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Hermione asked, in a tone that demonstrated she had learned something from Dolores Umbridge in her fifth year at Hogwarts after all.

"It was the only way!" Ginny finally confessed. "The only way to get you two idiots to recognize that you love each other!"

"How do you know he loves me?" Hermione spat back.

"Everyone knows!" Ginny replied, echoing Harry's earlier answer.

By now, they were talking loudly enough that basically everyone in the bar could hear them. Hermione noticed they were all watching, too. She scanned the room, and everyone started to nod.

"Does everyone here know that Draco Malfoy is in love with me?" she asked to the bar.

There was a moment's pause before roughly forty wizards and witches, many of whom Hermione didn't know at all, started nodding in unison.

"And we also know that you love him too," Harry contributed, more confidently this time.

The bar nodded again.

"But I don't… I can't… it's just… oh my God I think I love him Harry," Hermione said, looking up in a panic.

Harry patted her on the back. "It can't be easy to realize you love a Malfoy. Don't worry – I'll talk you through it."

"I'm in love with him, Harry." She still spoke in a tone of shock.

"Yes, I think you've been in love with him for a long time," Harry replied softly.

Hermione was suddenly on her feet, frantically grabbing for her bag and throwing the money to pay for her untouched drink down on the bar.

"Where are you going?" Harry shouted as she raced for the door.

"I'm in love with Draco Malfoy, and apparently everyone in the wizarding world knows except for him!" she shouted back, before disappearing through the door.

Harry turned back to his drink, pleased that at least one interesting thing had happened at this happy hour. He reached over and slid Hermione's glass over to his spot – couldn't let that go to waste.

…

Present Day

After Harry finished telling Draco his memory of that night at the bar, both sat quietly for a moment in thought.

"How did you know we loved each other?" Draco asked Harry.

"It's hard to explain, but somehow it was the most obvious thing in the world," Harry told him honestly. "Any time we went anywhere as a group, you always had your eyes on her, not out of a weird overprotectiveness, but just out of an unshakeable interest. When anything big happened in your life, she was the first person you told. Hermione started telling you things before Ron and I – and sometimes told you things that she never even got around to telling us at all. You two just got each other somehow – it was annoying to hang out with the two of you because you seemed to be able to communicate without even speaking."

"And you didn't have any issues with it? I mean, you and I weren't exactly friends after the war. We cooperated in the end, but were never chums."

"When you came back into our lives, you were a different person than we remembered. Still the same in some important and fun ways – still extremely competitive, still talented on a broom, still too full of yourself, but you were different in some pretty monumental ways too. You saw Hermione as a person in a way that I don't think you had when we were children. You respected her, admired her, valued her – and it was clear to all of us from the start."

Harry sipped his drink and Draco thought again of those two years he spent traveling the world before reconnecting with Hermione. So much had happened during that time.

"I can't seriously be friends with Ron, though," he finally told Harry. "That much I just still can't believe."

Harry laughed at that.

"You're actually not that wrong on that one. You guys are definitely friends, but he still drives you nuts most of the time. All of us, really. But hey, he's family."

"So I take it you married the Weaslette?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded.

"About four years ago. You were one of my groomsmen, actually."

Draco's eyebrows shot up on his forehead.

"And I was your best man at your wedding," Harry told him. "You weren't my best man, though – Ron got that honor."

"I get it – I am your fourth best friend, after all," Draco replied with a smirk.

"Exactly," Harry confirmed.

They finished their drinks and continued to catch up, Draco hearing more about their weekly poker nights and Harry and Ginny's growing family (two kids with a third on the way). At some point, they even ordered food, and didn't even notice as the hours passed.

After a while, Draco looked at the clock behind the bar and realized how late it was.

"Well, I guess it's time to face the music," he told Harry.

Harry agreed and the two paid their tabs and got ready to leave.

"Hey Potter," Draco started. "Thanks for tonight. For telling me all that stuff and for drinking with me. And thanks for… you know… for all that stuff in the past."

"Anything for my fourth best friend," Harry told him with a grin.

…

When Draco got home, the lights were out and the door to the guestroom was closed. He guessed that Hermione was asleep and he tried to move as quietly as possible, so as not to make her even angrier.

He hung up his coat and went to set his wallet on the counter when he found the pensieve sitting on the table, a memory clearly floating in its depths.

Next to it, there was a note from Hermione that read "Watch this when you get home, you jackass." Well, he supposed that was fair.

He wasn't sure what we was about to watch and considered the pensieve carefully. Was Granger bent on revenge? Was he about to watch a reel of embarrassing moments? Memories of him hurting himself in weird ways? Or a gross memory of Ron Weasley or something like that?

No, that was a Slytherin move, and Granger was decidedly not a Slytherin.

Still, he was nervous as he lowered his face to the pool and descended into her memory.

.

Five Years Earlier

The first thing he noticed was the bar he had just come from, but he didn't get too good of a look, because this was Hermione's memory and she was running out the door. He heard her call back to Potter, the same line Harry had told him a few hours earlier. He was watching the night he had told Hermione he loved her, and apparently was about to get the rest of the story.

He traveled along as Hermione apparated to his past self's flat and stood with her as she unlocked the door without even knocking. She ran into the flat, not even bothering to shut the door, and Draco followed her inside. His past self wasn't at the bar stool any longer and he watched Granger look for him. She found him on the balcony, leaning on the railing with his head in his hands.

He watched his past self hear her come in and stand up suddenly, turning around in momentary alarm.

There was a long pause as the two of them stood on the balcony, just looking at each other. Hermione was breathing heavily, winded by her sudden realization and quick journey. Draco's past self looked weary and devastated, but also hopeful somehow.

"You're in love with me," Granger told past-Draco.

"I am," Draco confirmed.

"I'm in love with you too," she told him.

"You are?" Draco asked, his expression betraying how much he needed that to be true.

Hermione nodded furiously.

"I am, and apparently everyone in the whole bloody world knew it but me," she told him, before rushing into his arms.

Draco felt like a bit of an interloper as he watched the embrace, but he couldn't bring himself to turn away. He watched his past self kiss Hermione with a passion he could not remember ever feeling in his life. Hermione wrapped her arms around past-Draco's neck and kissed him deeply. Past-Draco lifted her off the ground and spun her in a circle, a move that Draco the observer would never have guessed that he would have ever tried in real life.

The scene faded as the portion of the memory Hermione had shared with him ended, and he clutched desperately to it, wishing for more time.

He watched the whole memory twice more, memorizing every detail. He willed himself to remember it somehow, to fill in details that only he could know, but nothing came to mind.

Finally, after his third viewing, he decided to leave well enough alone and go to bed. He got changed, washed his face, and settled into bed in the bedroom he and his wife used to share.

He looked at the walls, thought for a moment, and changed them back to the beachy shade Granger was so fond of. He had forgiven her, just as he had five years earlier. Now he just hoped that she would forgive him as well.

.

.

Additional author's note: I had so much fun with that Harry scene, and I never anticipated it being that fun. But the "fourth best friend" line popped into my head and I couldn't stop making jokes with it. Hope you enjoyed it! And I skipped writing the conversation with Ron because he just bores me so much. Ugh. You get it, right?