Here is chapter nine. ^_^ Thank you all so much for your reviews! They mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. I've skipped through a few days again. And, again, nothing in this is mine except the plot.

~          *           ~

Harry stared at the chessboard thoughtfully. His white pieces were being captured every move. Now, he needed a master plan. A movement caught his eye, his queen pointing slyly to an opening.

Harry grinned. Perfect.

"White queen, forward four," he commanded, knowing his pieces would do what he wanted no matter what he said. As his queen moved forward, he looked up into the smiling face opposite him.

"Checkmate."

"Well done!" smiled his opponent. Draco pushed his hair back with his hand and smiled at Harry. "I see you've improved since Hogwarts."

"Yeah. Still can't beat Ronnie-kins, though." Harry turned his grin to the redhead watching them.

"Nobody can beat Ron," said Draco, allowing himself a smirk. "But we can play some great games." He stood and accioed his cloak. "I must get going. Hermione asked me to surprise her with the flowers for the wedding."

"Cutting it fine, aren't you?" asked Ron with interest. "There's only five days until the wedding."

"I want the flowers to be perfect. I waited until all the other things have been bought first," said Draco, picking up his wand and tucking his chess pieces into his pocket. "Well gentlemen, see you later." He nodded his head politely, gave them a smile and elegantly swept out to apparate.

"Everything that man does, he does with style," said Ron admiringly. "I would love to do that."

Harry nodded his head sagely. "There's only one thing stopping you, Ron. You're common. He was brought up to be a gentleman. You'd have to learn." He ducked a pillow that was Banished at his head.

"Harry mate, I'm happy with being common," grinned Ron, clearing up. "Is everything ready for Friday night?"

"Yeah." They shared a smirk. "Draco is not going to have the night in he had hoped for."

~          *           ~

Hermione lay on her bed, staring at her dress. It was hanging on the wardrobe door opposite her. She admired the details, the materials, embroidery, and then went back to staring at the whole outfit.

It's such a beautiful dress, she sighed happily. I can just imagine walking down the aisle, going to meet him at the alter. Her mind played the image, but her dreams kept coming back to haunt her. She would walk down the aisle, both Harry and Draco there to greet her. Their voices played in her head.

Choose, choose, choose, choose, choose, they repeated with smiles, Draco's caring and loving, Harry's wild and daring.

Hermione turned over and lay on her back. She stared up at the ceiling. I shouldn't be having these feelings. I shouldn't be making myself choose, just to satisfy Harry. With a sigh, she turned over again, to lie on her stomach. Resting her head on her arms, she stared at her ring again, remembering the happy times she'd had with both.

I shouldn't be making myself choose. But I am.

~          *           ~

Draco strolled through Diagon Alley, trying to get rid of the crowd of reporters that followed him. He sighed. Now he knew how Muggle celebrities felt when they couldn't even go shopping without being photographed.

"Mr Malfoy, is it true that you're getting married?" Over the babble of questions, this one reached and amused him.

"I beg your pardon?" He stopped and turned, ever polite, but with a threatening look in his eye. The crowd fell silent, except the reporter who had asked.

"The Snitch has reason to believe that you're getting married," said the luckless reporter nervously. Draco gave a small smile.

"Why?"

"Sorry, sir?" The reporter was now shaking.

"Why do you think I'm getting married?"

"Well, sir, the past few weeks you have visited a jewellers, a florists and other, wedding related, shops." His voice trailed off.

"And it didn't cross your mind to think that maybe a friend of mine was getting married?" Draco drew his wand. "Which is, in fact, the truth?"

"Sorry sir," muttered the reporter. "It's my job to make assumptions." He backed away from Draco's wand.

"You're obviously new on the job. You just don't know when to be quiet," sighed Draco. He put his wand away. "If any of you follow me, ever again, you'll see your name plastered all over the Obituary page. Now shoo." On his command, the crowd dispersed and he sighed before continuing his walk.

~          *           ~

Harry drummed his fingers on the table. He felt so odd. I hate what I'm doing. I hate myself. I haven't treated her this badly since our fifth year in Hogwarts, when Sirius died. I hate myself for it. But, if I didn't, if I let her get married without letting her know how I feel, I'd never be able to be happy for her.

"Another drink, Harry?" Ron got up to head for the bar.

"Yeah." he emptied his Butterbeer. "Another one of these." He winked at a passing waitress, who blushed and shyly slipped him a free drink. Ron shook his head and went to buy his own.


"Harry mate, thats one hell of a trick. I've got to learn how to do that. Tried it once, and all the waitress did was scream." Ron shook his head ruefully and took a swig of his drink.

"Ron, you need a girl," sighed Harry. "Every single one of your brothers, and your sister, are married and have at least one child."

"There's not many people would marry an Auror," sighed Ron. "But I'm sure there's someone out there." He punched Harry lightly on the arm. "Speaking of which, when are we going to meet the lucky girl?"

Harry choked on his Butterbeer and started coughing. Ron, looking worried, hit Harry's back. The coughs died down and Harry stared at Ron incredulously.

"What?!"

Ron smiled wickedly. "Harry, mate, you're hung up over some girl. Thats why you've been acting so wierdly. So, when you start dating, let us know, eh?" He winked and emptied his Butterbeer. "Well, I've got to go into work in an hour. Can't have anything else to drink here. How about we go look at the new broom thats out?"

"It will never live up to the Phoenix," smirked Harry.

"Oh come off it Harry, it's better than the Firebolt's latest model," scoffed Ron.

"Nothing is better than the Phoenix yet. I play professional, Ronnie-kins. I should know," teased Harry. They continued arguing all the way to Quality Quidditch Supplies, where Harry was proved right.

~          *           ~

Hermione sat patiently as Lavender, Ginny, and a stylist worked on her hair, arguing over various styles. Her mind was racing, trying to come to a decision.

Draco, or Harry? Harry, or Draco? Draco? Harry? Draco Harry Draco Harry Draco Harry. Their names fought for her attention, as she tried to focus on what was going on around her.

"'Mione? Hermione!" Ginny poked Hermione's arm. "Are you alive?"

"What? Oh, yes. Sorry, what did you ask?"

Lavender sighed. "We asked, do you mind giving us your opinion? What do you think?"

Hermione looked in the mirror. The stylist had already tried out a style. Her hair had been straightened and then curled, to give a more even style. Half her hair sat atop her head, a small cluster of curls. The rest had been elegantly draped over her shoulder, with a few wispy tendrils framing her face.

"Uh, um," Hermione cleared her throat. "I like it. I like it a lot."

"Good!" Ginny and Lavender chorused. "Then its settled." Lavender got into a conversation with her stylist, arguing why she wasn't getting paid for this, and Ginny started clearing up the cups of coffee, directing them to the sink with her wand.

Hermione tilted her head, taking in the face in the mirror. This time on Saturday, I'll be married. Will I be Mrs. Malfoy or Mrs. Potter?