Disclaimer: I did not write the Harry Potter series. If I had, I assure you, it would have been much, much smuttier and not nearly so brilliant. Mad respect to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Nine: Options

Hermione nervously paced the floor of her uncharacteristically messy bedroom, weaving her way through the discarded outfits littering the floor. She pulled her hair into a loose bun for the hundredth time, only to yank it down again and toss the hair band away unceremoniously. She stilled her frantic movements long enough to study herself in the floor-length mirror, surveying her flushed features. She practiced a dozen different expressions, but every look seemed to scream 'I let Draco Malfoy put his mouth in a very naughty and un-hygienic place yesterday, and god-damned if I didn't love every second of it!'

She let out a frustrated growl, burying her head in her hands. A soft knock at the door brought her out of her moping. "Yes?"

Harry peeked his head in, taking in the disturbed room with suppressed amusement. "You almost ready?" When her only response was another growl before flopping down on her bed, Harry picked his way across the cluttered room to sit beside her.

"You can't avoid him forever, you know. And wouldn't you rather see him in front of Molly, where you know he won't want to make a scene?"

Hermione raised herself onto her elbows to glare at Harry. "Since when has the presence of Molly Weasley ever lessened the likelihood of a dramatic emotional display?"

Harry just laughed in response. "Touché. But come on, it won't be that bad. Besides, we haven't been over since…well, a while. We have to go, Hermione."

She looked away for a moment before speaking again. "They'll know. He'll know."

Harry studied her carefully. "Know what? About you and Draco?" She nodded silently before collapsing back onto the bed, so Harry continued. "I don't see how, unless you've told someone other than me. I mean, it's not like Ron's some brilliant occlumens or anything."

She rolled onto her side to face him. "I just feel—"

"Guilty?" She nodded, unable to look him in the eye. "Well you shouldn't. You're not together; you never really were. Ron had nearly seven years to stake a claim, but he dropped the ball over and over again. Don't get me wrong; he's my best mate and all, but I know how difficult he can be." Harry shook his head thoughtfully. "I just want you to be happy, both of you."

"So, you really don't mind…about me and Draco?"

Harry looked slightly disgusted before replying. "Oh no, it's completely weird, but I'm not about to hold it against you or try and change your mind or anything. You're the smartest girl I know; I'm sure you know what you're doing."

Hermione felt comforted a bit. "Thanks, Harry."

"You're welcome. Now, get your cowardly little bottom out of bed and try for a little of that Gryffindor courage everyone's on about, yeah?"

Hermione grabbed her pillow and whacked him across the face with a satisfying 'thwump', knocking his glasses to the floor.

He just winked back at her. "There's my little lioness."

***

Dinner at the Burrow was a strange, unsettling affair. Things were almost the same; close, but with something subtle and intangible missing that threw the whole evening off just slightly, leaving everyone feeling uncomfortable and nervous.

Molly cooked a beautiful spread, but served it with an empty smile that never reached her eyes. Arthur welcomed them both warmly, yet he seemed so much older and frailer than he had just a month before. Ron, Ginny and Charlie joked and bickered like actors in a well-rehearsed play, dutifully playing the parts they knew so well. Bill had taken Fleur home to Shell Cottage, and neither Percy nor George spoke at all that evening. George seemed detached, his expression eerily empty behind laugh-less eyes.

Hermione thought her heart might collapse in on itself from the weight of it all. At times, she would clasp Harry's hand, gaining strength from the reassuring squeeze he would send her, a silent little message: 'I know. They'll be okay, they'll be okay…'

After pudding, Hermione excused herself to take a walk through the moonlit garden. She was standing alone, watching a pair of wrestling garden gnomes, when she heard approaching footsteps.

Ron tentatively stood beside her, studying her features. She looked over to him, offering a small smile.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Nice night."

"Mm, beautiful." She admired the sky, taking in the pale moon and bright stars behind wispy, silver clouds. She looked down when she felt Ron take her hand in his, threading long fingers between hers.

"Hermione…"

She tensed and started to pull away, but Ron held onto her hand, gently but firmly. "No, wait, I just need to say something." Hermione nodded for him to continue. "I know you need time, and I understand that, I do. I just need to make sure you know…well, everything. I've never really said it and all, and I thought maybe I should. Say it, that is." He let out a heavy gust of air while he struggled for words.

"See, the thing is, I love you, Hermione. I have for a long time now. I know I'm a bit of a prat sometimes, and I don't really deserve you and all, but I thought you should know. See, you're sort of wonderful, and powerful and brilliant and beautiful and kind, and well…I love you."

Hermione stared at the moon while he spoke, chest aching and eyes burning with unshed tears. She couldn't bring herself to respond; she didn't even know how to respond, let alone how to feel.

Ron watched the emotions play out across her face. He released her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek, whispering "I just thought you should know."

Hermione closed her eyes at the contact, her feelings raging against one another beneath the surface. When she opened her eyes again, she was alone again in the overgrown garden, the moon shining down on her like a mournful gray eye.

***

Draco sat alone in his cell, morosely picking at his cold, bland dinner. He thought of Hermione at the Weasleys'. He thought of the large family, their warmth, their passion, their honor and courage. He thought of all of the things Ron Weasley could offer her that he could not. He thought of the future she would share with the temperamental redhead; they would be one of the most celebrated couples in Britain, second only to Potter and the Weaslette. Draco knew that even if he managed to escape a prison sentence, his social standing was destroyed. He would have to live as an outcast, hidden away in his manor like the coward he was.

He gave up on eating and climbed into bed. He lay awake for hours, contemplating the future, Hermione, and whether or not he was too selfish to let her have the life she deserved.

A/N: So, yes. I've been experiencing technical difficulties that are hopefully under control now. I actually wrote this chapter by hand, which is probably why it turned out to be so short. Sorry. I'll get to work on ch. 10 right away. Thanks for reading; reviews rock my socks off!