Never Gonna Make You Cry

A/N: I AM SO INCREDIBLY SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN FOREVER… life has been busy, hectic, and all that stuff… but I've also had a bit of trouble deciding where to go with this fic… anyways, I just wrote this chapter in about an hour today, so it really hasn't been edited that much or anything, so I hope it's okay… I just felt so guilty about not updating that I HAD to get something up… I'm on March break now, so hopefully I can write a couple chapters ahead of time, and work out where I'm going so I'll be able to update once I get back to school…

Thanks to all my reviewers for Chapter 6- TwinsConspiracy (here's my update!), anaa-pixy (I love your enthusiasm!), AnMarie10 (I'm glad you like it so far- I'll work on my sentence structure and adjectives- you kind of inspired me to add in the whole flashback about leaving the wizarding world!), Mirukarumi (I'm glad you think it's original!), rons-girlbloom (yup, and real dates may come soon! =]]), Hermione-Loves-Ron16311 (I'm excited, too!) , and Pau-0803 (yup, I'm back in action- sorry this one took sooo long!)

Also, please take all the dancing references with a grain of salt- in other words, I've done a tad bit of dancing, but really don't know that much (I've watched shows like dancing with the stars though!), but I really truly don't know that much about dancing. When I wrote this fic I didn't intend dancing to become as big a part as it did, so I'm kind of fudging some of it… though I have done some research… so just go with it, please!

Disclaimer: Why would I be writing fanfiction if I owned Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy (yumyumyum)… it all belongs to JK Rowling…

Chapter VII

Hermione awoke in a cold sweat. Her nightmares had gradually ceased in the years after the final battle, dwindling from nightly horrors to occasionally disturbing dreams, until they were virtually gone. But she could still remember the violence that had been branded forever into her mind in those years of struggle, and occasionally the memories still manifested themselves in sick, twisted, and utterly terrifying dreams. And then, of course, it didn't help that it was Tuesday. Her sessions with Malfoy would start that afternoon. She had danced with him before, of course, in the Friday class, but somehow she could tell it would be different when it was just them, the music, and the endless dance floor.

Sally was out of town, and Hermione found herself wallowing in self-pity; something she rarely indulged in. Over the past years, after her break from the wizarding world, Hermione had built herself a stable, dependable life, chock full of busy day-to-day regularities. Hermione always had a bit of a control complex; she always needed to be on top of things, to bring order to chaos with cool and flawless logic. And of course, when coping with being abruptly shut out of everything she believed in, Hermione's complex mind went on damage control; in the past years she had had little time to simply reflect on her tragic situation.

But part of Hermione was tired of being safe; tired of holing herself up in her own fears, covering them with responsibilities and commitments. Maybe this thing with Malfoy is what I need thought Hermione as she made herself coffee and sat down at the kitchen table of her flat—decorated with an inexpensive plastic yellow table cloth—and began going over what she would do with Malfoy. Nothing too… provocative… I really don't feel like getting down and dirty with Draco. I mean Malfoy. Yes, of course I meant Malfoy…Hermione's inner debate continued as she munched on her bran muffin and brushed her teeth.

*****

Her day went by all to quickly—by one she was walking up the studio steps—and much to her surprise she found Malfoy already there, waiting outside, eating a sandwhich. Hermione was no big fan of sandwhiches—yes, they were delicious, but people who ordered Sandwiches tended to be hell to clean up after, and besides, sandwhiches were just so tacky. To Hermione, sandwiches were the epitome of a quick food fix—and it was impossible to look good while eating a sand which, so they weren't good date foods… and yet as Hermione watched Malfoy eat his sandwhich, her mind started wandering… Looks like Ham and Cheese… wow, I never noticed how white his teeth are… and they're so straight… his lips look awfully soft… Hermione tore her attention away from Malfoy's mouth, turning her head too soon to see the smirk that crossed his face—he certainly hadn't missed her brief deviation from the clipped, professional façade she was trying to maintain.

"Come on in, Malfoy…" Hermione motioned for him to enter. "Hopefully the damned management has turned the heat on… sometimes they forget, and I have to go complain, and it's not exactly enjoyable dancing in a cold room. I'm just going to go change and get my music, you can limber up or whatever the heck you like… you're a tad bit early so don't complain about me not being ready… you know you really don't need to be here so early—not that I want you to be late!" Hermione cut off rather abruptly. I'm rambling and I'm flustered. When was the last time that happened?

"No need to get all hot and bothered over me, Miss Granger," Malfoy smirked, clearly enjoying Hermione's blush caused by his slight innuendo.

"Oh, thanks Malfoy, but I'll pass," parried Hermione, floundering slightly, her retort clearly missing its mark. Realizing that it was best to just let this one pass, Hermione turned and walked towards here office. "Be good, Malfoy." She said, allowing condescension to creep into her voice "I won't be long…"

Hermione resisted the urge to run all the way to her office and lock the door, and walked like a mature individual to the door and opened it. Opening her bag, she got out her dance outfit—for some reason she'd picked a more conservative outfit this time; a pale blue fitted T-shirt that fell down well below her waistline (she wouldn't be showing Malfoy any more of her body than necessary, and certainly no skin), and simple long black leggings. After putting on her dancing heels, Hermione pulled her wild hair up into a ponytail. She had become acutely aware of how tightly fitted all her dancing clothes were, and had quite a time of it trying to find something looser—an attempt which had been ultimately unsuccessful. Pausing in her rapid preparation, Hermione sat in her chair.

Malfoy is out there. She reminded herself. Draco Malfoy. Son of Lucius Malfoy, the Death Eater. Draco Malfoy. Member of the wizarding world. The world that didn't want me enough to let me choose my own life. Hermione's thoughts drifted back to her last days in the wizarding world; the place that had been her home for so long, a place where she had finally felt the feeling of belonging, something she had never felt in the muggle world as a child.

*****

About Three Years Ago:

Hermione sat at the mahogany table of her delectably retro flat in Diagon alley. She absolutely adored the cozy little nook she had inhabited since the end of her seventh year at Hogwarts. Now, with the excruciating, horrific War finally over, she could rest and enjoy home; something she hadn't done in years. Sipping earl grey tea, and eating crumpets, Hermione felt completely content. This was what she had always wanted; to be successful, to be comfortable, to be intelligent, and to be at peace with the universe.

An owl tapped at Hermione's window, startling her out of her blissful reverie. Jumping up, Hermione sighed. These days she got so much mail—much of it form adoring fans—that she never knew exactly who was sending her what. Approaching the owl, Hermione was startled to see that it seemed to be carrying the daily profit, as well as a letter. Why in the name of Merlin's fuzzy beard am I getting the profit? God knows I don't subscribe to that THING anymore; it's either full of depressing news or inaccurate rubbish… Still, curiosity got the better of her, and Hermine opened the window, letting the owl in. Smiling good naturedly at the bird, Hermione stroked him.

"Hmm… you look like a ministry owl… huh…" Hermione continued to stroke the bird and murmur to him, as she examined the bird for any evidence of the sender. Sure enough, a tag with the ministry's official-looking seal was tied around the owl's dainty ankle. Hermione was stumped. Why would the ministry send me a copy of the profit and a letter?

Hermione unfurled the profit, quickly scanning the headline.

"MARRIAGE LAW???" she shouted, to the empty walls, quickly scanning the article and then ripping the letter open and reading it. The bird fluttered uncomfortably, in a manner that reminded her oddly of the former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, as if to say 'well, now, it isn't my fault!'. Hermione scowled at the bird and shoved him out the window, and dialed Harry's number. Despite Harry's complete involvement in the wizarding world, he kept his ties to the muggle world—like Hermione—and had a telephone.

"Harry?" Hermione yelled into the phone before he even answered.

" 'Mione?" Harry sounded tired. Most likely he'd spent the night with another one of his crazy fangirls. Harry, who'd never let his fame go to his head, seemed finally to be taking advantage of all the females who adored him. Hermione thought it was disgusting. Poor Ginny.

"Listen to me, Harry Potter. Did. You. Know. About. This. Law?" Her voice was quiet now, laced with fury. There was a long pause on the other end. Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. Finally Harry spoke.

"Yeah. But really there was nothing I could—"

"No. Harry. Listen to this," Her voice was growing steadily louder. " 'Dear Miss Granger…' and then they go on about how grateful they are for my 'brave and effective contributions to the War Effort' and then they say 'we are aware you do not subscribe to the profit, so we took the liberty of providing you with a free copy' GET THAT HARRY? I GET A FREE COPY OF THE FUCKING PROFIT! And then they say 'it is our duty to inform you that in light of the extreme depletion of the Wizarding population, we have instituted a new marriage law. We have reviewed your case and found you to be eligible for this law'" Hermione paused, her voice shaking. She could hear Harry breathing heavily on the other end. She continued, the anger building in her voice. " 'Like all other wizards and witches, you are required to report to the ministry no later than December fifth to declare your fiancé, and your marriage must be conducted by the end of February. Childbearing requirements will be explained further at a later date' Harry! Do you get that? That have imposed fucking CHILDBEARING REQUIREMENTS on us! We'll be breeding like rabbits! It bloody disgusting!"

"Hermione…" Harry seemed to be at a loss for words. Multiple consecutive sleepless nights had left the war hero with a less brain power than usual—and even if he'd been all there, he couldn't have kept up with Hermione's mental fire. "They're so few of us left…" Harry mumbled numbly.

"You support this? YOU? You're the boy who fucking lived. They love you. You're the youngest auror in FOREVER. You have power. Why didn't you stop it? WHY? Tell me now, Harry James Potter!" Hermione growled. "I'm giving you fifteen seconds!" There was silence for a couple seconds. Then Harry spoke, his voice quiet at first, then gaining conviction.

"Maybe I want to settle down, Hermione. Maybe I don't want to be the boy-who-has-tons-of-fans-to-sleep-with anymore! Maybe this will give me a chance to straighten out my life again! This could be what I need! You'll work it out, Hermione. I know it. Ron still loves you, and you still write back and forth with Krum!" Hermione was silent for a moment, fiddling with the phone cords.

"You disgust me, Harry Potter." She whispered finally, her voice utterly broken. "They're using us. The ministry is. Scrimgeour is. They all are. We fought for our freedom, for their freedom, and this is what they give us? We gave up our childhoods. We gave up our innocence. Some of us gave our lives, because the adults—the ones in charge—were utterly incompetent. And now they're trying to gain control over us again. They're taking away our freedom. And yet, you don't see this, do you? All you see is that maybe this could benefit you! You are the most fucking selfish boy I've ever met!" Hermione was crying now. "And Ron, I don't love him. He FUCKING CHEATED ON ME. And Krum and I are friends. I will only marry the man I love, and I haven't met him yet."

"Hermione…marry me." Harry's voice was full of hope, and slightly choked. Hermione was struck by how much he still was a boy inside, even though he was technically a man. Then the power of his words struck her.

"WHAT?" she instinctively held the phone away from her ear for a moment. "WHAT?" Harry's breaths were audible again on the other end.

"I said 'marry me'. I think we can work it out. I've always liked you Hermione. Now you're beautiful, and mature, and I think we can work it out."

"Are you kidding me, Harry? Please tell me you're joking…" Hermione pleaded. Now she was scared. Tears dribbled down Hermione's face; tears of anger. "Come ON Harry. I don't love you like that; you're my friend. You seriously thought…?" She trailed off.

"Yeah, I 'SERIOUSLY THOUGHT'!" Now Harry was angry, too. "Why not, Hermione? I never cheated on you, and you know me better than anyone else! Gin is going to marry Colin, and I NEED someone. What's with the swearing by the way? Channeling Ron are we? And what are you going to do otherwise? Marry a stranger?"

"My God, Harry." Hermione was practically laughing now. Harry's comment about swearing was just so immature. "You should know I'm really angry because I'm swearing at you. And I would never in a million years marry YOU! You were like a brother to me, but maybe not anymore, if you're really this insensitive… and besides, you probably have a fucking STD from all those bints you slept with…" Hermione trailed off, thinking seriously. When she spoke again, Harry had to strain to hear her voice. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Harry Fucking Potter. I'm going to take option 3; line 27 of my letter; 'Those who fail to comply with the ministry's request will be required to turn in their wands and leave the wizarding world'". Hermione hung up the phone with a decisive click. Her mind was made up. Whatever chance there might have been of her dealing with the law had been erased by Harry's insensitive and downright illogical proposal.

*****

Hermione stood up from her chair abruptly, realizing that she had been in the office for nearly ten minutes. Damn! She thought. Now it's going to be nearly impossible to dance with Malfoy and forget about your problems…

Stepping out of her office, she found she had an excellent view—of Draco's toned legs and butt as he stretched. Blushing a deep peachy crimson, Hermione cleared her throat.

"I think that's enough stretching, Mr. Malfoy…" She said, trying valiantly to erase her blush. Think of something highly unattractive Hermione—Now! Think of glaciers, or ducklings, or sumo wrestlers… Just not Malfoy's ass… Feeling startlingly daring, Hermione made a split-second decision. "Let's start with a rumba, Malfoy. The rumba is the slowest of the latin ballroom dances, but often includes complex and challenging figures… and it must be very sensual…" she paused here to assess Malfoy's expression, just catching the surprise on his face before his expression turned blank. Clearly he'd been expecting her to pick a tamer, more 'platonic' dance… well he was sure in for a surprise. Hermione turned the music up.

I HOPE Y'ALL LIKED IT! PLEASE REVIEW! IT'S EASY, SIMPLE, AND KEEPS ME GOING- I don't understand why people favorite my story, or put it on alert, but don't review- so REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!