Turning the key and stepping into her flat, it was a moment before Hermione looked up from the ground. When she did, however, she gasped, dropping her bag, keys, and iPod unceremoniously onto the floor. "….you!" she breathed, eyes wide. "You….git!"
Of all the ways Draco had planned his reunion with Hermione, this reaction was in none of them. He was expecting happiness, potentially shock, maybe even anger…but this silence. This was unnerving. Was he supposed to say something? Was she?
Her beautiful brown eyes were wide, confused, and her lips were slightly parted in an 'o' shape. Her lips are chapped, Draco noticed. She must have a stressful life working at that hospital. Never changing, Hermione's crazy hair was pulled back into a bun that it was desperately trying to escape, some small curls breaking free and falling down to frame her face. Her cheeks were red, flushed, whether it was out of embarrassment or heat or something else Draco couldn't tell. All he could think about was how beautiful she was.
As the silence stretched on, Draco realized how bizarre this situation was; he had basically pinned the Chosen One up against a wall to get him to tell him where Hermione was, then had performed cross-country apparition to attempt to hunt down his ex-girlfriend who had left him flat almost nine months ago, had found her living under an assumed name within a week of arriving in the Americas, and had then followed her around all day just to sneak into her flat and surprise her. Things had almost gotten awkward when he'd tripped on Hermione's jacket and stopped her from falling, holding on just a few seconds too long, but he was disillusioned; she hadn't directly seen him. It sure as hell didn't sound like a 'normal' situation by any stretch of the imagination.
He had been relying entirely on the famous 'Malfoy social prowess' to get him through this situation; he'd walk into the room, see her reaction, and then play his cards so that she'd be dying to go back to England with him after seeing him again. Or, contrarily, if she sincerely hated him, he would destroy her with words like she had destroyed him. Normally this plan would have even been a realistic one, but, for some strange reason, the words were stuck in Draco's throat. He couldn't act around Hermione, he couldn't pretend that he didn't want to take her in his arms and just keep her there forever…so, he improvised.
Faintly, Draco heard the strains of music floating up from Herimone's shiny white device that she'd dropped. It must be some muggle music contraption, he thought to himself. "What are you listening to?" Draco said, attempting to sound nonchalant.
"…I refuse to believe that you're here," Hermione said flatly, not answering his question. "In fact," she stated, picking up her music machine, bag, and keys off the floor, "I'm just going to pretend that you don't exist."
Draco was flabbergasted, but he attempted to conceal his emotions. Not meeting his eyes, Hermione walked right by him, very careful to avoid touching the Slytherin, and proceeded into the next room. Her smell floated in the air after her, and Draco took a deep breath. The scarf doesn't hold a candle to the real thing, he thought, closing his eyes. Vanilla, parchment, and cinnamon danced around him, and he felt like he could fly.
Draco followed behind her, keeping his distance but making absolutely certain that Hermione knew he was there. However, it was apparent that she was following through on her promise to ignore him; she was walking around her small kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and pulling out various ingredients to make dinner. Draco had no idea how to fill the silence. Well, honesty's the best policy, right?
Taking a deep breath, he said, "Harry asked me to say hi."
Hermione's aggravated actions paused, just for a millisecond, and Draco could've almost jumped for joy. She's listening. Without turning around, she said, "He…he told you where I was? Even though I strictly told him not to?"
The words shot straight to Draco's heart, but they didn't hurt him; his heart had been ripped out nine months ago, and he was determined to win it back. "I made a convincing case," Draco replied, shrugging. "And, if it makes you feel better, he didn't give me many details. Massachusetts is an incredibly large state you know."
A ghost of a smile crept onto Draco's face, and his brain jumped. A smile. A bloody smile. You've been back in this witch's presence for what, two minutes? And she's already got you right where you were nine months ago…bloody hell.
"How did you find me?" Hermione asked, grabbing a box of pasta and still not turning around to face Draco. Like he would disappear if she didn't make eye contact with him. "It's not like I leave a magical trace anymore."
Ignoring her self-targeted slight, Draco just raised a single eyebrow. "I have my ways," he said teasingly.
Hermione stopped moving. "Draco," she said lowly, "I can call the police you know. I may be an Almost but I still have ways of hurting you."
Trying his hardest not to laugh at Hermione's serious threat –apparently even nine months away from England hadn't tamed Hermione's temper – Draco reluctantly answered, "I checked the immigration records. They don't tell you who's a Semi-Competent, but they do give a list of those who moved to Massachussets during the time after you disappeared. It was just a matter of narrowing it down."
"Damn!" Hermione said to herself, obviously upset as she turned on her stove to get the water boiling. "They keep bloody records?"
Draco shrugged. "Apparently so."
"What a goddamnbureaucracy!" she shouted, staring into the not-boiling water like it was a pensive. "That didn't even bloody occur to me."
Draco just shrugged again. "Hermione," he said, recognizing the immediate tension that filled the air when he said her name. This is probably the first time in months she hasn't been called 'Harriet', he thought sadly. "Hermione?" he said again, hoping to prompt some reaction. "Where should I put my coat? With the stove on and such it's getting rather stuffy in here."
He watched from the back as Hermione flickered from emotion to emotion, going from rage, to sadness, to confusion, but Draco knew the one phrase that must be spinning around in her mind. The same thought was whizzing around his; if I take my jacket off, I'm staying. At least for a while.
Looking as if her neck was going to snap off, Hermione stiffly nodded to her pot of water. "Just chuck it on the coat-stand in the front."
Draco smiled as he turned away, walking into the small front entryway and hanging his jacket on the over-loaded coat-stand. Apparently Hermione literally threw everything on her coat-stand – there were a couple very long trenchcoats, a short leather jacket, and at least half-a-dozen cardigans just left haphazardly somewhere on the stand. She was never this disorganized before, he thought, concerned.
"If you're going to be staying," Hermione called out from the kitchen, sounding pained, "you could at least make yourself useful and help with dinner."
Draco's heart thrilled – I'm staying for dinner, he thought, excited. She's letting me stay for dinner.
Returning to the kitchen, Draco saw that Hermione was once again trying very hard not to look at him. He needed her to look. They couldn't get anywhere if she stayed this anti-social and awkward. So, turning on the Malfoy cunning, Draco slid up beside Hermione by the stove. He was very careful not to touch her, but he could feel the electricity in the air, filling the two inches of space between their sides.
As Draco watched, Hermione's back stiffened. The muscles in her jaw and neck were clenching, unclenching, like she couldn't decide whether to say something or remain silent. Finally, she turned her head to look at the blonde beside her. Her expression was neutral and calm, as if she didn't care that she'd had to turn and look at him, but Draco could read her emotions in her eyes; she was angry, and hurt, and excited…and she couldn't figure out what to do with him.
"So," he said slowly, turning so that his back was leaning against the counter. He crossed his arms. "What can I do?"
Hermione gulped, and Draco watched her eyes widen as she looked down at his crossed arms. His very visible, not-hidden-under-a-long-sleeved-sweater-arms. The light white scars still crisscrossed Draco's skin, and his dark mark stood faded but pronounced against his pale colouring, but his arms were bare. Flicking her eyes quickly away from Draco's arms and back to the not-boiling water, Hermione swallowed again. "You could make a salad," she said quietly. "The ingredients should all be in the fridge."
Anxiety flooded Draco's system. "Um…fridge?"
"Refrigerator?" she said, still looking down.
"Sorry," Draco said, trying his best not to sound embarrassed. "Not ringing a bell."
Exasperated, Hermione looked up from the water. "Really? You don't know what a fridge is? What do wizards do? Just conjure food spontaneously whenever they're hungry?" Draco opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off; "Oh nevermind. It's the large silver box, taller than me, over in that corner." She sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. "I'm changing out of my scrubs. Mind the pot." And with that, she walked quickly out of the room
Draco flushed, embarrassed by his lack of knowledge about the world Hermione now lived in. Step it up, Draco. You should've done some research before you came storming in here. Spotting a strange, humming silver box, Draco tentatively approached it. I can do this, he thought. This is just a…what's it called? A fringe? No…damn it all, how do you open this bloody thing?
Thinking there might be a secret button or trigger that opened it, Draco felt around the edges of the fringe. Finding none, the blonde gave the silver box a light push; the giant humming contraption swayed back and forth, causing Draco to jump back in a panic. "Be a good little fringe," he murmured, trying to stop it from rocking.
"Just pull it open like a door," Hermione called from behind him.
Ceasing his battle with the still-moving fringe, Draco whirled around to see Hermione standing in the doorway. She was dressed in tight-fitting jeans and an over-sized plaid shirt, with her hair still in its semi-fallen-out bun. That was a quick change, he thought, stopping himself from looking up and down her body again. Through his desperate embarrassment, Draco thought that he could detect… was that almost a laugh? …..in Hermione's statement. A flicker of a smile was hovering on Hermione's face as she moved away from the door and reached for vegetables on the counter, a crease in her brow as she obviously tried to figure out why she was smiling. Even if she was laughing /at/ him, she was still laughing in his presence! Progress!
Locating a small dent in the side of the fringe, Draco hesitantly pulled the box towards him…and was amazed as it opened, just like a door, to reveal a cold interior lit by a single panel of lights. "Ah," he said, attempting to make up for his mistake with the fringe, "electricity, right?"
Hermione sighed. Oops. Mistake. "Yes," she said quietly. "Electricity. There are no 'lumos' lights in this apartment."
As Draco rooted through the fringe to find the ingredients for salad – he quite liked the fringe actually, since every ingredient he wanted was right there in front of him, he didn't have to summon them individually – he replied, "Well, lumos lighting is overrated. Did you hear about that family in Surrey?"
Hermione was quiet for a moment, and the sounds of chopping stopped. "I don't get much news from England now," she said firmly. "Other than my letters from Harry, of course. But he mostly just talks about himself and Ginny and the ministry work."
The bastard's been sending her letters. What a bloody son-of-a – "Surrey is the county where Harry grew up though, isn't it?"
"Yes," Draco said, quickly shutting off his rather profane thoughts. He moved over to the island in the middle of the kitchen, dropping his armful of ingredients with muffled thumps "This witch who lived there had a kid who was scared of the dark, and she left him unsupervised with a lumos light."
"I don't like where this is going," Hermione sighed, tossing the chopped vegetables into a bubbling tomato sauce.
"Then I'll stop," Draco said flatly, pulling a head of lettuce out of a plastic bag. He contemplated cutting it with magic, but shook his head immediately. No magic tonight, Draco, he thought, ruffling around in a nearby drawer to find a suitable knife. A sudden thought occurred to him. "You're Americanized!" he cried out, turning around with a knife in his hand.
Hermione turned to face him, obviously a bit startled that Draco was pointing a knife at her. Noticing this, the blonde sheepishly lowered the sharp, pointy instrument. "What do you mean?" she said coolly. "Is it my reluctance to be told potentially disturbing news stories? I haven't pelted you with hamburgers or stars and stripes, have I?"
"Noooo," Draco said, the word drawn out and sing-song-y, "but you did just call your flat an apartment."
Now it was Hermione's turn to blush, the light red colouring her skin beautifully in Draco's opinion. "Well, I…I…" she stammered, unsure. "I have to immerse myself in the culture you know! I am going to be spending the rest of my life here." Obviously smug that she'd found a satisfactory response to Draco's accusation, Hermione smiled and turned back to her sauce mixture. "And close the fridge," she said as an afterthought, hearing a loud beep fill the room.
Fridge! That's it! Draco thought, pinning the word in his mind. He closed the glowing silver box firmly, giving it a small glare, and turned back to his salad. Draco couldn't help but notice how good Hermione looked in her jeans, or how those little wisps of hair fell perfectly onto her slender neck….SNAP OUT OF IT! Draco thought to himself, starting to vigorously destroy a head of lettuce.
He and Hermione worked in virtual silence for around five minutes. Neither one of them said a word, but the kitchen was filled with the clicks, hisses, and sizzles associated with cooking. Finally, just as Draco was about to call the silence 'unsettling', Hermione set down her wooden spoon. "I always listen to music when I'm cooking," she said firmly, glaring at Draco, "and I'm not stopping just because of you."
Walking brusquely out of the room, Draco slumped. What did I do? he thought. It's not like I told her she couldn't play music…Hermione came back in a few seconds later carrying the shiny device that she'd dropped on the floor earlier. Ah, a muggle music device. Is she self-conscious?
Another shiny box – this one bigger than the music device but smaller than the fridge – was sitting in the corner by the stove, and Hermione inserted the music device into it. Suddenly, the middle of a song started playing. Turning to face Draco, Hermione tilted her head. "This," she said, pointing to the small music device, "is an iPod. I can put all my muggle music on it and carry it around with me everywhere. This" – pointing to the larger box – "is a speaker. It allows me to play the music on my iPod very loudly. This is my favourite playlist of all time, so if you have a problem with my music, feel free to leave."
Draco shook his head. "This is a country song," he said, instantly recognizing the Florida George Line song 'Cruise'. "Why would I ever criticize a country song?"
Hermione didn't answer. Nodding slightly, she turned back to her sauce. Draco didn't think that she realized what she was doing, but a few seconds later Hermione started humming along. The blonde smiled as he tried a small taste of some strange mayonnaise dressing. She was so goddamn attractive.
The song came to an end and changed, and something inside of Draco tugged painfully. This song, he thought. We danced to this song. Flashes of skin, brown hair, dim lights, and a smile passed through Draco's mind. The smell of sawdust. The feel of her next to him.
Hermione obviously realized the same thing, and Draco watched as her posture re-stiffened and her muscles tightened again. Silently, she reached towards her iPod.
"Please don't skip this song," Draco said, very soft.
Strains of Lady Antebellum's "Friday Night" echoed through the room as Hermione stood, frozen, almost at her iPod, and Draco just stared at her back. "It's kind-of old, isn't it?" she said, painfully.
"Not really," Draco answered. "It's a pretty timeless song."
She has this song on her 'favourite playlist of all time'. That has to mean something, doesn't it? Does she remember this song like I do? Would she think of me when it plays?….Probably not.
Neither of them said anything, the song filling the room with its energetic notes that were much more than just notes. Still silent, Hermione took a small step back from the iPod and speaker. No one spoke until long after the song had come to an end.
"Are you almost done the salad?" Hermione asked too loudly, picking up her spoon and stirring the sauce again.
"Almost," Draco answered, putting way too much enthusiasm into his response. He winced. "I just wanted to add some lemon to this dressing."
Hermione turned around, one of her eyebrows raised. I taught her that, Draco thought proudly. She looked over at the bowl Draco had in front of him, but the blonde pulled it closer to himself so that she couldn't see the contents. "Nuh-uh," he said, wagging his finger. "This is a surprise."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione crossed her arms. "Honestly," she sighed, pretending to be exasperated, the twinkle in her eyes giving her true emotions away, "how ridiculous can you be? It's a salad, Draco. Lettuce plus dressing equals fine."
She said my name. "Still!" he said out loud, "I want it to be a surprise."
Hermione smiled slightly before turning back to the stove and dropping the pasta into the boiling water. "Well, after you're done adding your lemon, go be useful;" she said lightly, "can you set the table for two? I never entertain, but I also never like to do dishes - there should be enough cutlery and such for just us."
Smiling, Draco did as she asked, attempting to make menial conversation that wouldn't offend Hermione. "So, did you hear about Luna and Rolf?" he said, looking for a second fork in a very messy drawer.
"No," she said, checking the pasta. "That is, not unless this is about their trip to Germany?"
"Aha, it's about what happened on their trip to Germany," Draco said, his voice dramatic.
"…and?" Hermione said, encouraging him to continue.
"Rolf proposed."
"No, really?!"
"Would I lie to you?" Don't answer that, Draco prayed. "The ring was apparently made out of genuine Lumpy-Thrumple-mined gold."
Hermione laughed, the sound reaching straight to Draco's heart and warming the cold, dead flesh. "Did Rolf actually know what a Lumpy-Thrumple was?"
"I assume so," Draco replied dryly, putting down the placemats and cutlery. "Apparently it's quite hard to come by. They're obviously a match made in heaven."
"I suppose the wedding is in England?" Hermione said, a hint of sadness in her voice.
"I don't know," Draco said genuinely. "They're living together now, but I know that Luna wanted Rolf to wait until she graduates university and starts her work as a journalist."
"Weddings do take a lot of planning," Hermione supplemented, pouring the finished pasta into a strainer in the sink. "Hopefully they have it somewhere other than England."
"What's so bad about England?" Draco asked, covering his salad bowl with a cloth napkin. "It rains a lot, but other than that it's not too horrible."
"I'd rather not go back, if it's all the same to you," Hermione said, mixing the pasta with her elaborate sauce. "Too many ghosts, too many expectations."
"But it's not all the same to me," Draco said honestly. "There are lots of people who'd love to see you again, Hermione, even if it was just for a couple days at a wedding."
"Why wouldn't they just travel to America and stalk me?" Hermione said lightly, sort-of joking but sort-of not. "Apparently I'm not hard to find."
Draco shrugged. "I guess they just didn't care quite that much about you."
Silence filled the room, and Draco realized that he'd made everything awkward again. Hermione walked over to the table and set the bowl of pasta down, a forced smile on her face. "So," she said, obviously changing the subject. "Any news about Neville and Hannah?"
Draco smiled, sitting down at the small wooden table directly across from where Hermione sat. "They're happy and lovey-dovey, of course." He made it sound like he was bored and didn't care, but of course Hermione would be able to tell that he was genuinely happy for them. "They're both going on to study herbology at the wizarding branch of Cambridge – they're both eyeing some internship in South America."
"Are there two spots?" Hermione asked, scooping some pasta onto her plate. "It'd be lovely for them to work together rather than compete against one another."
Draco shrugged, reaching for the bowl. "I don't know. I haven't really had any in-depth conversations with them lately."
"Really?" Hermione seemed genuinely puzzled. "I thought that you and Neville were somewhat close."
Draco stayed silent, thinking of all the meals he had missed, all the times he'd yelled at or ignored those trying to help him, how Neville had eventually stopped trying. "The school year got busy," he said simply, putting the spoons back into the pasta bowl.
Hermione had obviously detected that Draco didn't want to talk about that, so she reached for the cloth-covered salad bowl. "I want to try this 'surprise salad'," she said, almost getting her hand around the rim.
Snatching the bowl away at the last moment, Draco made a 'tsk'ing noise. "No, Miss Granger, you may not," he said, putting on his most ridiculously arrogant expression.
"It's my bloody ingredients!" Hermione cried out. "I deserve to eat my own food, thank you very much!"
"And you shall," Draco answered, "just not like this. Close your eyes." Hermione raised her eyebrow, and Draco mimicked the action. "Close. Your. Eyes."
Hermione sighed, but did as he asked. "Fine," she said, "but if you pull any tricks I'm throwing you out onto the street."
Smiling, Draco lifted the cloth from the top of his salad. He speared a piece of lettuce, sure to get a bit of shredded carrot and some cheese on the fork too, before moving towards Hermione. "Now open your mouth," he said softly.
"You've got to be kidding me," she said, her brow furrowed.
"Dead serious," Draco said seriously. "Now open."
Tilting her head, annoyed, Hermione shook her head. "I don't like this," she said, obviously apprehensive.
"Trust me," Draco said lowly. "Just for a few seconds."
Hermione made no sound, but obediently opened her mouth ever so slightly. A grin split Draco's face as he moved forward and placed the food gently on top of Hermione's bottom lip. Her tongue flicked out slightly, feeling the edge of the lettuce, and Draco's heart rate skyrocketed. Slowly, he let her take the lettuce and withdrew the fork from her mouth, watching her expression carefully.
To put it in one word, Hermione looked delighted. She chewed, swallowed, and then her eyes shot open. "You made that out of ingredients from my fridge?" she asked, amazed.
Draco nodded.
"No magic?"
"No magic."
"That's…incredible!" she exclaimed, reaching for the salad bowl.
Draco let her take it from him, her fingers just millimeters away from brushing his. So close. "Well, I did manage to pass my potions NEWTS, so I should be able to throw together a decent salad."
"This is more than decent," Hermione insisted, taking a third spoonful of salad. "This is wonderful. You should be a chef, you would make zillions."
"A zillion. Is that like a muggle galleon?" Draco asked, puzzled by the word.
Hermione's eyes grew wide, and she laughed. Not just a light, fluffy laugh; a huge, deep, stomach-hurting laugh that echoed around the small flat. After a few moments Draco joined her, his heart pumping blood through his body for what felt like the first time in months.
After that, the conversation flowed seamlessly. Draco talked about his potions mastery, and how he was studying with an esteemed Master who was good friends with Severus – he neglected to mention that this friend was American, but he assumed there would be time for that later. Hermione talked about her job, and how crazy her supervisor and her friends were, and how she loved working with the children. Eventually, she even talked about how she was adapting to living without magic, taking public transit and listening to her MePod and such. Draco chimed in occasionally, talking about life in England or someone that she wondered about, but mostly he was just content to listen to her voice. That beautiful voice that he hadn't heard in so long, the voice that was filling that painful hole inside of his soul.
The salad was finished first, then the pasta, then the biscuits that Hermione pulled out of a cupboard, and then water was sent to boil for tea. Hermione kept trying to find food, and Draco kept trying to make the food last longer; both of them knew that as soon as that ran out, either he would have to leave or they would have to talk about the topic they were both shirking around. Then who knew what would happen?
All they had was there and then, and neither of them ever wanted it to ever end.
Too soon, however, the teacups were empty and the dishes were done, the music still playing and the clock showing that it was now past one in the morning. "I guess…I guess I should be going," Draco said slowly, not moving to stand up from the table.
"Yeah," Hermione said, clasping her hands behind her neck and bending her head towards the table.
Silence. Then, suddenly, the song on the iPod changed; the opening chords of Hunter Hayes' 'Wanted' floated out into the kitchen, and Draco knew that this song was their song, the slow one that they'd danced to at the country bar. One of them had to talk, now, or the song would end and he would leave. Fate had dealt its hand, and they now just had to play it out.
Hermione was the first to speak. "Draco…."
"Yes?"
"Why did you come here?"
Here comes the storm, he thought, knowing it had to happen but wishing that they could just avoid it for longer. "What do you mean?" he asked, speaking slowly. "You asked me to stay for dinner -"
"I don't mean here, at my table," Hermione said quickly. "I mean here, America, looking for me. Did you get my letter?"
He could lie. But not to her. "….yes."
Hermione looked up, her eyes burning. "I specifically asked you not to come find me!" she said, her voice bitter. "Now it's all ruined."
"Ruined?" Draco said, a flare of anger in his chest. "How have I 'ruined it all', exactly?"
"I can't pretend anymore," Hermione blurted out, her anger suddenly replaced with sadness. "I just can't, it hurts too much."
"What are you pretending?" Draco snapped. "That I don't exist? That you didn't rip apart my heart when you left?"
"Don't you dare do this, Draco!" Hermione shouted, standing up and sending her chair flying out behind her. "I have been pretending every single day for nine months, one week, and two days that I can survive without you, that I don't need you, that I can be normal without your presence in my life! So don't you dare fucking talk to me about 'ripping'."
Draco wasn't expecting this, and couldn't find any words to reply.
Hermione took a deep breath, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were falling from her eyes. "Every single day," she said, her voice low, "I feel this hole inside of me where you aren't. It's like…like part of me is missing. And I know, I know that I could fill that hole with you, but I can't."
"Why not?" Draco interjected, emotions bubbling in his throat.
"Because I can't condemn you to a life of this," Hermione said, throwing her arms out to gesture the room around her. "A life of fridges, and zillions, and iPods…this isn't nearly good enough for you Draco. I'm not good enough for you, and you can't…you can't tie yourself to me. Please."
At that point she closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands. Silent sobs wracked her slightly-too-thin frame, and Draco's heart screamed at him to take her in his arms, to hold her forever.
For the first time in forever, Draco listened to his heart.
Pushing the chair back with a loud scrape, he walked up to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist. Electricity crackled between them, and Draco felt his soul sigh in contentment. This, this is where you belong, it said. With her.
Hermione was stiff, her posture rigid. "Relax," Draco whispered, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear and sending shivers down her spine.
"I…I can't," she stammered, her voice thick from crying.
"What if I told you that you aren't condemning me?" Draco said softly, resting his cheek against hers. "What if I told you that I wanted to be with you just as badly as you wanted to be with me, that we could be unbearably happy living with your fridges and zillions and iPods?"
Hermione's crying had stopped, and she tentatively lowered her hands from her face. Red and swollen with tears, Hermione's brown eyes met his grey ones. "But…" she seemed to be searching for the words. "...this isn't your world," she finally said. "Your world is filled with magic, and leisure, and England. I don't – I can't belong in that world anymore." Her eyes darted down to the ground.
"But I can belong to your world," Draco said softly, lifting his hand and running his thumb over her cheek. "I want to belong to whatever world you're in, no matter what world that is. Hermione, I want – I need to be with you."
Hermione looked back up at him, searching for honesty in his eyes. "You shouldn't do this Draco," she whispered, "not for me. There has to be someone else for you, someone better."
"There can never be someone else for me," Draco said firmly, placing a hand behind Hermione's head and drawing her closer to him. "You, Hermione Granger, are my soulmate, and I am going to spend the rest of my life with you and your fridges and zillions and iPods."
Closing the remaining space between them, Hermione lifted her head until her lips met Draco's. The kiss was fabulously honest, filled with anger, tears, ecstatic joy, and love. When the two finally broke apart, Hermione had her arms flung around Draco's shoulders. Her lips red and swollen, she looked up at the man across from her. "You won't regret this?" she asked tentatively. "You won't think this is the wrong choice?"
Draco shook his head, leaning his forehead against hers. "Hermione," he whispered, "loving you is the best choice I've ever made."
Their lips met once more, and right there, in that moment, both Hermione and Draco were given exactly what they wanted; one another, their love, and a fresh start.
THE END
A/N: That's it everyone! Epilogue coming in the next couple of weeks, hopefully. Thanks so much for your support, and hopefully you're happy with where Hermione and Draco ended up. :) Please R&R to let me know what you think, how you feel, how much you hate me - all that jazz. I'd like to thank each and every one of you for reading my work, and I'd like to extend my deepest thanks to JKR for her beautiful writing and the world that she created.
And, also, as a quick note - the songs mentioned in this chapter don't belong to me. They're all amazing songs, and I recommend that you listen to them, but they belong to Lady Antebellum, Florida Georgia Line, and Hunter Hayes.
I cannot thank you all enough for your time. Hopefully I'll get another story up soon, should the muse grace me once more. Until the next time we journey back to Hogwarts: ~sneakyslytherin