A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews! This is one of my favourite chapters to date. Please enjoy.

November 1st, 1999 - Monday

Java Corner is busy.

He slips inside easily, heading to the counter without hesitation. Granger is nowhere to be seen, though he is a few minutes early. He orders two vanilla lattes and settles himself into the same seat he chose the first time they met. Back to the corner, two exits in sight, his wand pressed against his leg.

He sips his latte quietly, and he waits. He's good at waiting; at making himself invisible, no movements or twitching to give him away. The skill had been invaluable with the Dark Lord only a few moments away for the entire war.

He doesn't begin to worry until he glances at his watch and sees Granger is ten minutes late. He's known her for years, and despite their first meeting when she had been a few minutes behind, he's never known her to be anything less than punctual.

It hits fifteen minutes past, and Draco is debating on drinking the latte he ordered for her and then leaving when she finally appears.

She looks… well, her hair is bushier than he's seen it since the third year. Curls reckless and springing straight out into the sky. She's got dark bags under her bright brown eyes, and though she's sporting a half-smile, she looks like hell.

"What happened to you?"

She frowns but sits in the chair in front of him all the same. He notices she twitches herself towards the window, turning so she can see the entrance out of the corner of her eye. She'd done the same the first time they'd met as well, keeping the exit in her eyesight.

"I beg your pardon," she snaps. "Nothing happened, though I am sorry for being late."

Draco huffs, "you look like you got in a fight with a bird. Your hair is insane."

She flushes, a splotch of pink appearing high on her cheekbones, and Draco drinks in the sight of her.

"You're an arse, Draco Malfoy," she hisses, "I… I just lost track of time."

He realizes he's antagonizing her, and though he appreciates how flustered she gets, it's probably better not to insult your future wife's appearance. He heaves a sigh.

"No, I mean… you look fine, I didn't mean it was bad." He backtracks, sliding the latte a little closer to her in a peace offering. "I just haven't seen your hair so… well, curly. Since school."

She glares at him, and after a tense moment she reaches out to take her latte. She sips it, finding it lukewarm, and a bit of rage drains from her expression.

"Sorry I kept you waiting."

He waves the apology away. "It's fine, I hope it's not too cold."

"It's good," she takes another sip, her nose crinkling in a way he's embarrassed to admit is cute. "I didn't sleep very much."

"You don't say," he mutters, and though she scowls, she doesn't reply. Instead, she opens the beaded bag he's seen her carry everywhere and summons out three familiar books.

"Your books," she slides them towards him, "they were helpful. I don't suppose you have more?"

He can feel his jaw go slack, and it takes immense self-control for him to maintain his expression. He grabs the books and shrinks them down, sliding them into his jacket pocket.

"You… you finished them?"

"Obviously," she sniffs, "which is why I look frightful, I'm sure."

He wisely decides not to comment on her appearance again, and instead asks, "What did you find out?"

She lights up —

It's exactly the way he remembers it.

Her hands come forward as if she can physically push the information at him faster than explain, and her eyes are sparkling. She's half-smiling, even as she speaks; the pure joy of knowledge and learning so obvious in her expression.

He's watched her do this a thousand times. Since that very first charms class; Flitwick had levitated a feather, and there she was, glowing brighter than anything he'd ever seen.

"Malfoy, are you even listening?"

Her voice drags him back to reality, and she's scowling at him with another familiar expression. Annoyance paints across her face, covering years of hurt. She curls in on herself a little, shoulders hunching as if to take a blow. He wonders how many times she has tried to explain something, only to be torn down for being a swot. How many times was it him making her feel inferior? Making her feel stupid for liking things.

Almost unconsciously, he reaches out and traps her hand on the table. It's steady, for once. Her glare is interrupted to stare at their fingers together.

"I'm sorry." He sincerely is. "Tell me again."

When she looks at him this time, she looks scared. It hits him like a fucking sledgehammer.

"Did you know that the Parkinson family is considered one of the best potioneering family's in Britain?"

"Yes," he frowns, "I did, actually. Why?"

"Neville Longbottom is the best herbologist I've ever seen aside from Pomona Sprout. Admittedly, I don't know a lot about herbologists abroad… but does it seem… convenient to you that she got placed with him?"

He can feel his brain kicking into overdrive; the same way she has probably spent the past day. Though no one would suspect it, Pansy was also an excellent herbology student. If Neville Longbottom was as good as Granger said, they would be a talented team.

If they managed not to kill each other first.

"Okay," he allows, "that is… interesting. But what about the other matches?"

The fire returns to her eyes, "I can't figure it out. Your books didn't mention everyone. Did you know the Nott's were renowned for Thestral breeding?"

"That was ages ago," Draco warns. "Before Theo's father got a hold of the business and sold it all away."

"Luna… Luna is very good with creatures," Hermione mutters, "I know she sometimes seems to talk about make-believe, but she knows her stuff, mostly. I've seen entire herds of Thestrals follow her willingly."

"That's not enough evidence," he argues, "to say that the Ministry is rigging these marriages for business purposes."

She shrugs, "Isn't it? They say they match us based on our compatibility in personality and magic. What does that even mean? Why won't they share the exact process? Kingsley needs the economy to pick up, and what better way than to pair up the perfect business associates?"

Draco scowls. "Give me another example."

"I don't have enough information," she allows, "Dean Thomas and Katie Bell are matched."

Draco winces at the memory of Katie, but he nods. "So they are."

"They're both excellent Quidditch players. In fact, Katie plays for the Falmouth Falcons."

"That hardly makes for an economic business powerhouse," Draco scoffs, "there's a lot of people good with a broom out there."

Hermione smirks, "True. But did you know the Bell's go way back? All the way to the Ollerton's?"

Draco gapes, "Are you telling me that the Bell's are somehow related to the Cleansweep Broom Company?"

"I'm telling you they're a silent partner and own over 50% of the company."

Draco can hardly do anything but stare at her. She looks triumphant, sipping her latte and telling him information he should know. He should know, because Malfoy Estate holds half of Nimbus Racing Broom Company, and the only competition they have is the Cleansweep Broom Company and the Comet Trading Company.

"How do you know this?" He demands.

Hermione clasps her hands and stares at him. Her eyes are golden in the sunlight streaming in from the window, and she looks ready to battle.

"I can't tell you." She says.

He takes her in; the way she's ready to defend this information. The way she's ready for an attack, ready for him to doubt her.

"Are you positive the information is true?" He asks.

She nods.

"Alright," he sighs. "You may be onto something. We'll keep finding things to link the other couples. Tell me, though. What about your Weasel and the girl?"

"Ron and Hannah?" She asks, surprised.

"Sure," he finishes his now-cold latte.

Her brow crinkles. "Honestly? That's where I'm stuck. There are so many pairings that seem to lean towards some influential match, but there are some that have no rhyme or reason. Ron gets Hannah… they're both nice, but I can't find anything else. What am I missing? Why are both Greengrass' tied to Weasley's? Isn't that odd? Am I even making sense, Malfoy?"

Draco laughs almost unwillingly at her rambling. "Yeah. I get it."

"Help me," she asks, suddenly. Reaching her own hand forward to touch the back of his. She doesn't linger, just presses gentle fingertips to his skin. The bracelet shines from her wrist.

"With what?"

She laughs, "With taking down the WPG? You're smart, Malfoy. You can help me. Don't deny it… plus, I know your library is huge."

"Well, size matters," he jokes, waiting for the inevitable blush.

She goes scarlet, but snaps, "Books, Malfoy, I am talking about books."

"Say I help you," he says, "what's in it for me?"

Hermione Granger scrunches her face at him, exasperated. She slams the last sip of her latte, and then nearly crunches the cup in her fist as she sets it down. It's easy to tell she's annoyed, and it's such a relief. The last time he had seen her, she had been scared.

"What's in it for you?" She folds her arms across her chest, "How about you get to rid yourself of an unwanted wife? How about you get to be free again?"

Instantly his good humour is gone. He leans forward intensely and watches as her pupils dilate and her hand snaps to her pocket, ready to draw if he's aggressive. Battle ready.

"Free?" He spits. "There is no such thing. Not anymore."

Her expression softens minutely, "There is. There is, Malfoy. He's gone."

Draco chuckles darkly, "Haven't you ever heard that as long as you remember someone, they live forever? They become a part of you. I'm not forgetting. He got exactly what he wanted."

He almost shakes his arm at her to stress his point, the wretched brand hidden under layers but still somehow a glaring difference between them. Her eyes have gone soft, nearly damp. He can't stomach another moment of her crying.

"That's a very muggle belief, you know." She clears her throat.

Draco stares at her, watches as she composes herself. She stands abruptly, and he flinches so hard he hits the wall.

"Another latte?" She asks, weakly.

He nods.

She returns only a few minutes later, stoic. He feels wrung out, but he knows his face gives away nothing. Taught by the best.

Hermione slides a fresh cup towards him, the foam in the shape of a little latte heart. It's so absurd he wants to laugh, but somehow it only comes out as a little choked sound.

"I know," she mutters, "it's stupid. They think we're on a date."

He glances over to the coffee baristas, their eyes watching them surreptitiously from behind the counter. He can't imagine how they have seen Granger and him together and thought it was a date. He wishes he knew how to be the people they think they are.

"It is, isn't it?" He says dully. "I mean. We're getting married."

She looks positively heartbroken. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because I threatened Kingsley and somehow you got stuck with me."

He sighs, "Granger, you're not stupid, so stop acting like it. It's not your fault. It's the Ministry's fault. It's the Wizengamot. It's the whole bloody world's fault, but it's not yours."

She smiles; it's small, but it's there. He's never seen her smile at him the way she is now. His chest feels warm.

"Thanks."

He shrugs self-consciously, "It's nothing. Besides — you're not so bad. You're not unwanted, anyway. Could've been worse. I mean, have you met Millicent Bulstrode?"

Hermione cringes away, and Draco laughs. He vividly remembers Millie bragging about 'giving the Mudblood a beating' in the Slytherin common rooms on two separate occasions.

"You're right," she shares a conspiratorial grin, "I am going to be a better wife than her."

He can't help it, he tilts his head back and laughs. Granger laughs alongside him — perhaps for the first time. Sobering, he watches her, amusement floating through him.

"Will you do something for me?" Her question is unexpected, in the wake of their shared joke.

Draco watches her. She doesn't seem angry, or even sad. She seems — nostalgic, perhaps.

"Okay." He agrees. If his father were here, he'd hex him into oblivion for agreeing to a deal without knowing all the details. A favour in the Malfoy world was an unforgivable sin.

Still — though he doesn't know Granger — he knows this. She won't ask something he can't give. She's many things, but she is not cruel.

"Will you marry me in a muggle church?"

He nearly drops his new mug of coffee, barely hanging on at the last possible second. Her face is as smooth and placid as glass, and he can't tell at all if she's serious.

His father would murder him. His father would avada him and then bring him back, only to do it again.

"You know that the Ministry won't recognize it unless we go to them to get the paperwork there first." He tells her, cautiously.

"I know."

He watches her — the way her fingers shake against her cup. He thinks about the way he had joked their wedding would be small, and she had agreed easily, only mentioning that she needed to invite Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. No parents. No siblings.

"Okay." He says.

Shock washes over her features, "Really?"

"Sure." Agreeing is easier now that he can see how pleased she is. "Can I ask why?"

She plays with the bracelet he got her for a moment, avoiding his eyes and the question. Silence descends on them, but Draco waits.

He's good at waiting.

"My parents got married there," she finally answers, "and I always said I'd do the same."

He doesn't ask about her parents — he's not stupid.

"What if you want to get married again? One day?" The question falls out of him almost unwillingly, and something inside of him feels soaked in acid.

Her brown eyes, calculating.

"You do know that Malfoy's don't divorce, don't you? Ever."

He swallows. "Yes. I suppose I'll be the first."

"Malfoy. The sanctity of your blood wards are based on this. Half of your magic and estate is powered by—"

"Granger," he snaps, "I think I know how my family works."

Her lips turn down, displeasure coating her voice. "We don't have to divorce. I can just quietly move out and move away — I don't want you to—"

"Granger," he slaps a hand on the table. "Stop. I'll figure it out. Drop it."

He's known Granger long enough to know by the stubborn set of her mouth that she's not letting this go. Still, she is silent, and he takes advantage of her momentary pause.

"Send me the name of the church," he demands. "I'll take care of the Ministry papers. Is the Sunday after next acceptable for you? It's November 14th."

She nods, "I can help, the Ministry forms are a nightmare! And, oh, they're so expensive." Her voice has gone slightly panicked and high pitched, and for the first time in this entire conversation, Draco Malfoy feels in control.

"Granger. You forget already?" He laughs and her eyes snap to him. "I'm Draco Malfoy. Of all things to worry about, money isn't it. What's mine is now yours — you're rich." He knows he sounds sarcastic, as if she's some gold-digging nightmare after his fortune. He knows that isn't what she is — and even if she were, he honestly doesn't care about the money. Granger could spend exorbitantly for the entirety of their marriage and it would hardly affect Malfoy holdings, but it's so ingrained in him to watch for fortune hunters. He can practically hear Lucius in his head right now — mudblood gold-digging whore —

"Oh good," her voice interrupts, "so you're saying you have an account at Flourish and Blotts? Can I charge to it?"

He looks at her — she's smirking — and he realizes he's suddenly got an inside joke with Hermione Granger. She loves books. She loves books, and he has an enormous library and he's rich and any book she could ever want could be hers and suddenly it feels like Draco can finally do something fucking right.

"Yeah," he's too serious for her joke, "Yeah. Charge it. Buy the whole damn store if you want, Granger."

Her eyes soften a little, humour gone but something else remaining. "Perhaps I'll settle with just the Centaur Fiction section. Someone has to save the remaining populace from ignorance, right?"

Draco laughs again.