Hermione,

Great Aunt Muriel passed last night. Mom is devastated. As for me, I haven't really spend enough time around her to really feel much devastation. I understand that she was a family member, but I can't find any trace of sadness in me.

She had been pretty sick prior her death, and she had suffered through her illness. I guess she finally has an opportunity to rest. I am only telling you this because I was wondering if you'd like to pop by, Luna and I will be there. And no, Harry and Ginny won't.

Hope to see you soon,

Ron.

She received the letter, the tragic news accompanied by a shower of rain. Hermione sighed, as she set the letter on her desk. She couldn't say that she was saddened by the news, as she didn't know the elderly Weasley family member personally. Any prior interactions they had were at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and as far as Hermione was concerned, it wasn't all that positive. Despite that, she felt bad for Molly.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, after they had quite literally bumped into each other in the corridor. Draco extended his hand to Hermione to help her get up. She ignored this gesture and helped herself up. He awkwardly tucked it back into his pocket, a deep cough leaving his mouth.

"I'm just going off to the Weasleys. Ron's great aunt passed away." Hermione said, dusting off her jeans.

"Oh..." He muttered, his face stoic. "Send the family my condolences."

"Will do." And with that, she walked past Draco, her head down as she berated herself for allowing such an awkward situation to occur.

As Hermione walked away, Draco remained rooted to the spot, his head replaying their interaction. Almost minutes later, the crack of apparition sounded, confirming her departure. Draco exhaled; it was as though her presence restricted his breathing, like water gradually filling his lungs.

The tall, overgrown grass that surrounded the vicinity of the dilapidated yet exuberant Burrow rustled in the wind, each individual blade performing a serene dance to the quiet whistle of the breeze. Some of the blades clung onto Hermione's boots as she approached the entrance of the house. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the shiny, bald potato like head of a garden gnome, who moved with surprising agility and disappeared into a small hole in the ground.

Hermione sighed as she eyed the rickety door, her mind urging her forward while her feet remained fixed to the ground, refusing to let her advance forward. She gritted her teeth, annoyed at herself for having inhibitions about the house that was once beloved to her.

Go in, Ron said he won't be here. Her mind coerced.

What if he lied?

So what? You didn't come for him.

The last time Hermione had spoken to her ex, Harry, was during Ron's welcoming party, which was an interaction she very much wanted to bury in the illusive alcoves of her mind.

Hermione clenched her fist and raised it, but just as she was about to knock, the door opened, revealing the last person Hermione had wanted to see.

"Hermione?" Hermione's breath hitched and her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach.

Whywhywhywhywhy?

Trying to maintain her cool façade (albeit failing) Hermione dropped her hand, and raised her head, her eyes locking with his in a gaze she was sure would melt her eyes out of their sockets.

"Harry." She said curtly, voice devoid of emotion. "Nice to see you. Can I see Mrs Weasley?"

"She's taking a nap. Worn out from all the funeral arrangements she had to make and contacting family. Won't be up for at least three hours." Harry answered.

Hermione swallowed, her throat as dry as the Sahara. "What about Mr Weasley?"

Harry shook his head. "He's at work."

"Oh I see." She said in a small voice, before turning to leave, only for her movement to be halted by Harry who grabbed her wrist. Though the contact, a jolt of electricity ran through her nerves, jumpstarting her heart which began to beat rapidly. His thumb stroked over her skin.

"Can we talk please?" He asked, words seeping out of his mouth like a wisp of wind.

"There's nothing for us to talk about." She snapped.

"Hermione I...Please let me talk to you." He pleaded. Hermione could feel his gaze burn into the side of her head, so she turned, hoping to alleviate the feeling. She bit the inside of her cheek as she studied his face.

His lips had been tugged into a frown, his thick eyebrows furrowed. His emerald irises held sadness, regret and longing, which strangely fuelled her ire.

She let out a shaky breath as she wrenched her arm from his grip, and faced him, her chocolaty eyes solid and cold, like the dark mahogany of the door.

"You want to talk? About what? Are we perhaps going to talk about how you cheated on me and impregnated somebody I considered a sister? How you lied, and messed around behind my back, while I constantly berated myself for being the 'bad girlfriend' ? Or how you made me feel so fucking worthless? Because if we aren't talking about any of these things then I have no interest in speaking to you!" Hermione yelled. This time she wasn't fast enough to put up the defences that shielded her heart from the emotional blow. Her heart throbbed painfully, with the threat of tears.

"Or can we talk about how I regret every single fucking thing because bloody hell Hermione, even if it has been five fucking years I still love you so damn much!" Harry argued, taking Hermione's hand. She gave what was supposed to be a scoff, but came out as a dry sob.

"Love he says! You don't cheat on the people you love! You stay faithful to them!" Hermione yelled scathingly, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears threatening to sully her

Her heart was tearing at the seams, all the stuffing spilling out, like a ripped stuffed toy.

"Fuck it was a mistake Hermione! It was a mistake I-I didn't mean to cheat on you, let alone impregnate her!"

"A mistake is once, Harry," Her voice came out as a broken whisper, interrupted by small sobs that broke past her throat. A fresh stream of tears ran down her face in slim streams. "Once. You continued to sleep with her even after the party!"

Having nothing else to say to the man that broke her heart, Hermione turned to take her leave, her chest attacked by an unbearable ache. But just as she was about to walk away, he reached out, his hands latching onto her shoulders, eliciting an exclamation of surprise from her. He turned her, and without a second thought or moment of hesitation, he crashed his lips onto hers, his grip on her shoulder keeping her in place as she struggled against him, attempting to fight off the kiss.

Hermione balled up her fist and thumped it against his chest in a futile attempt to get him off of her.

"I love you so much, Hermes."

His voice was barely a whisper, barely audible, but miraculously she caught each syllable quite vividly.

And under the deep cloak of the night, she replied,

"I love you too."

Hermione's body became flaccid as she yielded to his kiss, the memories surging through her mind. Her arms snaked around his body and cupped his neck, as she responded to his kiss.

They remained for this for a brief moment, before Hermione got back to her senses, realisation of who she had her mouth connected to washing over her in icy bucketloads. She pulled away, effectively ending the kiss, and as swift as a seeker, her hand met his cheek, the sound of skin on skin echoing in her ear.

They watched each other, expressions identical. Harry clutched the cheek that had been struck, which would surely begin to discolour. Hermione looked as equally shocked as Harry. "Herm-"

"I-I'm sorry I-I didn't mean to..." She stammered, her voice as small as a mouse's. She then disappeared with the loud crack of apparition, leaving Harry with just the company of his thoughts.

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He couldn't tell whether his face was hot because of the smack or because he had kissed her...

"A mistake huh?" Harry jumped, startled by the disembodied voice behind him. He turned, met with the sight of his wife, Ginerva, who stood by the kitchen island, an expression of annoyance embroidered onto her features. Her stomach had grown tenfold since the party, now looking like she swallowed a watermelon whole. It was apparent the date of her delivery was approaching, a time the raven haired father to be wished he could postpone for eternity.

Harry's jaw locked as he slowly lowered his hand from his cheek. "Is that all James is to you? A mistake?" She pressed. Her auburn locks her danced in the wind. She sniffed, pushing an errant lock that had floated in front of her eyes.

"Lets face it Ginny, he was never part of the plan." Harry spat bitterly, before pushing past Ginny and entering the house. She followed him.

"Its always Hermione! What about me? Why marry me if Hermione's all you think about?" Ginny cried, hurt lingering in her voice.

"Oh Merlin Ginny, you know I only married you out of obligation! I didn't want you to be the laughing stock of the public because you had a baby out of wedlock and the bloke that knocked you up performed a disappearing act on you! I could have easily been a deadbeat and left you to care for him alone!" He yelled.

A sob broke past her lips. "Thank God James isn't old enough to understand that he isn't wanted by his father!"

"Sometimes I wished you had gotten that abortion." He muttered darkly, resentment dripping off his tone. "Then I wouldn't have been stuck with you and-and..."

"James?" Ginny concluded, her heart shaped face pale and wet with tears. "Gods Harry do you even love him?"

Did he?

The boy was the living testament of his infidelity, and would be something that haunted him for the rest of his life, but did he hate him?

Harry vividly remembered when he was born, five years ago.

Born premature, he was a tiny bundle in his arms, as tiny as a pygmy puff, small tufts of black hair protruding from under the pastel yellow blanket he was swaddled in, lids barely lifted to reveal emerald eyes. His tiny mouth had been puckered as he hungrily suckled at the air, hoping to be met with his mother's nipple.

He remembered only feeling hatred and annoyance as he watched her stomach grow, as he walked through each gruelling stage of her pregnancy with her, and then suddenly, as he finally held his son, he felt all that animosity dissipate.

Gods he was beautiful, he thought, all hate shoved to the back of his mind. He just adored his son, the beautiful baby boy he had christened James Sirius without much consultation with Ginny.

He remembered spending days with the tiny baby rather than his wife to be. Often he'd be found bent over the bassinet, breath baited as he watched the tiny figure slumber as a combination of awe and shock gripped him. He, ordinary Harry (well not so ordinary), had played a part in creating a life, even if it was a life created through means of betrayal. The week old baby was beginning to take centre stage in his heart, steering the audience away from the main attraction, Hermione Granger.

Now, as Ginny bore another product of his seed, the regret was beginning to kick in full force. This wasn't the life he had asked for. He didn't ask to have a son at nineteen, an age most wizard and witches explored their youth. He didn't ask to be married at twenty. It wasn't fair; why wasn't he as free as Ron, who was exploring the world.

Yes well you're the Boy Who Lived, I don't know if you remember but your life hasn't exactly steered in the right track since you were one. His a voice snapped in his mind.

"Don't question the love I have for my son!" Harry replied. At this moment, I'm not even sure if I do.

"Yes well the love you have for him is quite questionable!" She retorted, fists balled up against her sides. The she sighed, her demeanour growing languid. "All I wanted was for us to be a normal family. I had hoped one day that the past would just stay where it belongs: In the past." She whispered, voice coming out in broken fragments.

"Its hard to keep the past where it belongs when it clings to you tightly, refusing to yield it's hold on you. You may have easily let it slip to the back of your mind, but for me it's still there, at the centre, ruling my mind." And with that being said, the raven haired pushed past his wife and stormed into the house, leaving a distraught Ginny with just her tears and her guilt.

"Can I vent?" Draco lifted his head from the book he was reading and directed his eyes to the door, where Hermione stood, her demeanour frigid and her face pale and tear streaked. She was dressed in her pyjamas despite it still being noon.

Draco's jaw tightened. What had happened to the brunette to make her want to vent? And out of all people, to him? Where was the Weasel, where was Loony Lovegood, where was Scarface?

"Sure Granger." He muttered, setting his book on the table. They were currently in one of the libraries in the manor, the smallest of the lot, and one Hermione had the pleasure of admitting that she had raided for quality reads. The biggest was located in the east wing, and she often spent her free time there, sometimes for a read, sometimes for a power nap, and sometimes for a quiet place to think. Other times she bought Scorpius, on the days that he didn't want to go out (Hermione found that the boy wasn't much into outdoor activities and much preferred curling up in front of the fire like a Cheshire cat much like she did).

Draco moved his feet from the sofa so she could have a seat. Hermione hesitantly walked to where Draco was seated, biting her inner cheek. She took a seat, the cushion sinking with her weight.

Am I doing the right thing? Does Malfoy even care?

Hermione rubbed her arm nervously as Draco watched her. "What's eating you Granger?" Draco asked.

Her mouth opened, but words refused to spill out of it. She closed it with a sigh. Then she opened her mouth again in the hopes that it would produce words but still, nothing. Finally when she opened her mouth a few words managed to escape. "I-I just... It's..."

"Granger," Draco admonished, "It's not healthy to bottle things up. Just talk to me, I swear you can trust me." He placed his hand above Hermione's, which rested on her thigh. The contact sent a potent jolt of electricity through her nerves, jumpstarting her heart which began to thump against her ribcage in rapid beats.

Hermione lifted her head, and faced the platinum blonde, her eyes locking with his in search of some sort of evidence or proof that her woes won't fall on deaf ears. And there it was, presenting itself in the form of a passionate glint in his stormy irises. You can trust me, his eyes assured.

A deep feeling of assurance nestled itself deep within her, planting a seed of trust that would soon bloom into a pretty flower, similar to the ones in the Malfoy's garden.

With a deep sigh, drawing breath into her lungs, she began to speak.