November 27th 2004

I woke to your stare, index finger slotted into the helix of my curl.

"Draco," I said, running my tongue along the grooves of my teeth and grimacing. I tried to turn, conscious of my morning breath and hair.

You shook your head, placed a palm on the hinge of my jaw to still me.

"We should talk abou–"

Your pupils expanded, eroding the grey of your irises. You caught the rest of my sentence with your thumb, pushing it gently against my bottom lip. "Shh," you leaned in and I closed my eyes. "It's Saturday. Stop thinking so much."


I walked into the living room with wet hair, clad in sweatpants and one of your old quidditch jerseys. You were shirtless, feet up on the coffee table with a stack of documents in your lap.

"Hi," I said, the edge of the greeting tilted up in surprise. I had never seen you work here before.

You looked up, caught the way my gaze lingered on your exposed chest and smirked. Your lips pulled up further when you noticed what I was wearing. "I thought I'd work here today. Care to join me?"

You cleared the cushion next to you and I sat down, stiff and unsure. Should I lean into you? Was that what you had meant? Your legs were spread so that our knees almost bumped, but there was still a small chasm of space between us. I accio-ed a textbook and jumped when you scooted over, fingers landing across my scalp with your forearm resting against the back of my neck.

"Relax," you whispered, wetting a finger against your tongue before turning a page. "Just pretend I'm not here."

I laughed at that, shoulders loosening with my exhale.

Draco, you should have known, that's the last thing I would have wanted.


December 1st 2004

The light was on in your study. I could hear your voice, low and speckled with occasional laughter, through the slight crack in the door. The cup scorched my skin, a rivulet of darjeeling dripped onto my hand as I shifted from foot to foot.

I cursed and then froze, worried you heard me. You had a floo call of some sort, a business associate in Majorca.

I closed my eyes, brought my fist up against the door, where it hovered for a few seconds. Two scenarios played out for me.

In one, you smiled, gracious, and took the cup from me, signaling for me to wait as you wrapped up your call. I'd perch on your desk, our knees bumping as you leaned in and shared something about work with me.

In the other, you grimaced, embarrassed, mouthing at me as you took the tea and titled your head towards the dancing flames of the floo. "I apologize," you would say, as I backed out of the room, "that was just my wife." And the two of you would laugh, because wasn't it always a punch line: the wife who popped in unwarranted and unwanted.

Exhaling, I dropped my hand and bent down, placing the teacup near the door frame. You let out another laugh, said something unintelligible, and I turned and went downstairs.

Half an hour later, a knock bounced across my study. You stood in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, two fingers pinching the handle of a teacup.

When I didn't say anything, you lifted a brow and came closer, the ochre liquid in the cup rippling with your movements.

"Where is that infamous Gryffindor bravery?" You asked, depositing the cup on the edge of my desk.

My fingers spasmed against the open textbook. You sat on the desk, knee parallel with my chest; my mouth felt very dry from where my lips parted.

"I don't know," I finally said, and your mouth pulled up, but the smile seemed sad around its edges.


December 3rd 2004

"How have things been the past week?" Susan tapped her fingers against the open notebook, quill curiously absent. She seemed cautious; a divot formed in the canyon between her eyebrows as she studied us.

You had your ankle hitched against one knee, fingers dangling off the other, and you gave a shrug. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Well, I wouldn't have added the extraneous qualifier there, but yes things have been–"

"Good," I said and you both turned. "Things have been good. They've been...nice."

You looked at me, lips twitching before you dropped your gaze to the floor.

"So, um, I–well, thank you, Susan." I caught your frown in my periphery, but I continued. "I–we appreciate it."

"Oh," Susan sat up straighter. "Well, I'm happy to hear there's been improvement, but we still have quite a bit of work to do."

"Oh, yes." I shook my head. "Yes, of course–

You muttered something under your breath and the lines around Susan's mouth deepened.

"–But I actually thought maybe," I cleared my throat, bunching the camel hair of my sweater between my thumb and pointer finger, "maybe I could start one-on-one sessions with you, too."

You exhaled. I stared at the floor, watching the the halo of ceiling lights against the wood, wondering if I had said the wrong thing. As I counted the individual wood planks beneath my feet, your hand dropped into my lap, and I felt two quick pulses as your fingers curled around mine.

"Yes," Susan said. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Hermione."


December 10th 2004

I heard Susan's voice in my head from our personal session, saw her primly crossed arms, the lilt of her vowels as she gently prodded me towards some type of emotional catharsis:"If you could give yourself anything, what would you want?"

The question had rattled between us, useless and obvious. The sheer volume of things I wanted drowned in my lungs, locked between the bars of my ribcage. I wanted to feel like myself, to not be haunted by my guilt and shame. I wanted to cure my parents. I wanted you to look at me the way you used to. I wanted "To be able to ask for what I want."

You stood in front of the mirror, hands skimming down invisible creases in your suit as you prepared for a meeting. Adjacent to yours, my reflection stared back, mouth set in an uncertain line.

"There's a dinner at The Burrow tomorrow."

You paused while slotting a silver cufflink through your sleeve, the engraved snake glinting in the sunlight. "You should go." You resumed your movements. "I can get take-away or something."

We never took anything for granted anymore, did we?

"You can come, if you want." I licked my lips, tried again: "I'd like for you to come."

When I looked up, our eyes met in the mirror's reflection. My hand fisted the duvet, its soft material wrinkling under my hold. Your smile came upon your face slowly, like it had to look both ways before revealing itself– "Okay, then I'll come" –and I ducked my head into my shoulder to hide my too-wide grin.

I stopped by the hospital later. Dad was asleep, his face ashen. I could see the tiny cracks in his lips every time he exhaled through his mouth. Mum looked worse, the veins in her face branched into her neck, carving her skin into sections.

Dr. Marron arrived as I was reading about deep brain stimulation in coma patients, the page messy with my inked annotations. He glanced down at the book and then up at me, his lips strained into a tight smile.

"Hermione." I could tell from the way he paused around my name, tongue prodding against his lower lip, that he had bad news.

I snapped the textbook close, my thumb crushed between the thick pages. "Don't," I blurted out without thinking. He paused, hands thrust into the pockets of his coat, one foot in front of the other from where he stood in between the door and where I sat.

"Can it wait?" I picked at a loose edge of skin on my thumb.

He hesitated, and I continued: "Is it urgent? Will it change the course of treatment or plan of action within the next twenty-four hours?"

"Probably not."

"Okay," I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'll be here tomorrow and the day after and probably the day after that too." I let out a little laugh and looked out the window. "So let's just wait 'til then. Today was a good day. Let's not ruin it."


December 20th, 2004

I like your friends–I really do. I know it took some time in the beginning, but I've come to enjoy my time with the Slytherin crew. I like the way you are with them, how comfortable you get, the way you laugh. You probably think I don't notice these things, but I do. I always have.

Theo's the only friend I don't quite understand. The way he looks at me sometimes, like he's waiting for me to do the wrong thing. We're friendly, for you, but he doesn't look at me so much as scrutinize me. I sometimes wonder if he wishes you would have married Astoria. Then you really could have been brothers-in-laws.

I always dread the Christmas party at Nott manor. I never feel like I'm dressed right or saying the right things, and I end up huddled with Pansy and Blaise, counting the minutes until we can leave. This year, I felt nervous to even see them. How long had it been since I answered an owl? How long had it been since we'd been together?

I wrangled my hair into an updo, put on that green gown with the sweetheart neckline and the empire waistline; the one I wore last year. You wore the dark grey suit I liked, paired with a sapphire tie, a square of light blue silk tucked into your breast pocket.

"You look beautiful," you said, pressing a kiss to my temple, and I thought about our last date night and how different things could be in just a month.

The Nott Manor was Gatsby-ian in its excess. A sprawling fountain greeted guests in the circular driveway, the water charmed to stay frozen so flurries of imitation snow could blanket and build up around the icicle formations. Glowing dots–fireflies, maybe–speckled across the grounds, casting an ethereal quality to the whole night. As soon as we entered, a house elf appeared, Santa hat engulfing one floppy ear, gold name tag stuck to her elf costume.

Mipsy curtsied, a tray of champagne glasses in her left hand. "Mipsy interests Mistress and Mr. in champagne?"

"This is inhumane," I whispered, and you pressed a glass into my hand. "There's twice as many house elves as last year." A circle of cranberries bobbed merrily against the surface of the gold liquid.

"They're paid wages," you said, nodding to someone across the room. A burst of raucous laughter sounded out, and I winced. "More so than last year, from what I heard." Mipsy bowed low, the tray quavering as she straightened and scurried away.

I opened my mouth to retort as an ungodly shriek erupted from near the front hall.

"What the everliving fuck," Goyle shouted. A purple puff skated down the side of his head, yelping before disappearing inside his shirt

He was standing near the towering Christmas tree; a pack of pygmies hurried across the branches, jumping onto unsuspecting victims at random intervals before scurrying back towards their home base.

Blaise laughed, slapping the shorter man on the back. "See? I told you you'd get lucky tonight."

He wove through the crowd towards us, his jade green ascot acting like a tracker. He bent to press a kiss against my cheek–"Look who it is"–before stepping back and looking me over. "A vision in green. I imagine you grow more and more Slytherin each year."

His fingers were iced from the highball glass he carried, but when he squeezed my hand, I squeezed back, grateful for the olive branch. I never meant for all this time to disappear, but sometimes I felt like I needed the time turner again, or maybe to split myself into two: who I was and who I wanted to be.

I admit; I enjoyed the first part of the party. Blaise twirling me around the dance floor, Pansy's scoff at my hair, the haughty tilt of her head: "Oh, look who decided to finally show, and honestly, what is on your head?" And then just an hour later, her lithe arms around my neck as she breathed martinis next to my ear: "I will murder you if you ever disappear like that again, okay?" She stepped back a bit, smoothing down the front of her dress and sniffing delicately. "Hasn't anyone taught you how rude it is to ignore owls?"

Theo approached in the rare moment I was alone. Through the open doors of the garden, I was watching you and Blaise puff on cigars, hands slapping each other's shoulders in that way men like to show affection. I leaned down, hand wrapped around the railing of the staircase for balance as I discreetly tried to adjust my heels. When I straightened, Theo stood in front of me, grinning.

"Hello Granger." He always did that, called me Granger, even though he knew I hyphenated. "You look lovely."

"Theo, hello."

Only a dribble of champagne remained in his flute, and he held the glass bowl between his fingers. "It's nice to see you," he said. He smiled, the whites of his teeth winking at me in the golden lighting.

"Likewise." I took a sip from my own flute, feeling the jump of champagne in my throat. "It's a beautiful party."

Another house elf scurried by, and he exchanged glasses in one fluid motion. "And are you enjoying the party?"

"It's lovely. I've been waiting to give Daphne my congratulations on a job well done."

"You wound me," he drifted his palm across his chest, fingers splayed over his heart. "Is it so far out of the realm of possibility for me to have planned such an event?"

I smiled, my eyes drifting past his shoulder, searching for you.

"Tsk, tsk," he said, leaning over slightly so that he covered my view. "Already looking for another conversation partner? That's not very polite, Granger."

"Just looking for my husband." My cheeks hurt, the muscle stiff and twitchy.

"Oh, fascinating. Now you're interested in him? Most of the time you can't be bothered, but tonight you suddenly need him?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Granger. Smartest witch of our age, you know what it means."

"Theo," I gripped the glass stem in my hand so hard I worried it would shatter, "if you have something to say, just say it."

He put up his hands in mock surrender, lips pulled back and framing his teeth so I could see where his tongue peeked out between the top and bottom central incisors. When he dropped his arms, he leaned in close, mouth hovering a few inches adjacent to my ear.

"Remember Granger," I turned my head slightly, nauseated by the scent of his musky cologne. To a passerby, this might have looked like flirting. "Just because Draco married you doesn't mean he stopped having friends who care about him."

He pulled back, tipped his glass towards me and winked. Daphne walked by and he slid an arm around her waist, nodding towards the dance floor. He nuzzled into her neck, and the sound of her laughter rang out as she twirled her fingers at me in a quick, bright wave before they disappeared into the throng of dancing couples.

That's how you found me: both hands wrapped around my glass as I leaned against the imperial staircase, mouth parted and staring at the carousel of couples circling the ballroom.

The spice of cigars clung to your jacket, wrapping around me as you leaned in and kissed my temple. You smelled like my hands felt after a double herbology lesson, earthy and woodsy and like a scourgify wouldn't be able to get it all out.

"You smell you've been rooting around a greenhouse," I wrinkled my nose, "that's on fire."

You laughed, and then seeing the look on my face, you dropped your chin, cupping my face so our eyes met.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I rubbed at my temples. "I just have a migraine."

"I'll grab our coats. We can go home."

"Sure," I put the champagne flute down, pushing the rim back against the step it rested on. "Whatever you want."

Outside, the replica snow ghosted over my skin, stroking the goosebumps formed along my arm. We landed in our living room with a pop, and I shivered.

You muttered a spell and fire sparked in the hearth.

"I'll make us some tea." You pushed down gently on my shoulder. "Do you need a potion for the migraine?"

I shook my head, laid down on the sofa and pulled my knees towards my stomach. When you came back, you set two teacups down and drew my legs onto your lap, fingers dancing over my sore heels.

"Hermione, are you sure everything is alright?"

I watched the fire, counting the sparks that leapt off the wood, landing on the metal grate. "Do you tell Theo about our marriage?"

"Pardon?"

"All the details? Do you share with him?" My voice came out sharp, but half-muffled from where my cheek laid on the cushion. "Have you told him about these last few months? What a terrible wife I've been?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Theo's your best friend." I sat up, pulling away from you. "You obviously talk to him about us. So tell me, what exactly have you said?"

"Nothing. Theo and I–" You shifted, pulling at the knot in your tie. "I have never called you a terrible wife. I have no idea where this is coming from."

"Don't lie to me, Draco." I crossed my arms, felt goosebumps rise and kiss my fingers. "I had quite the interesting conversation with him today. I know he's never been particularly fond of me, but his vitriol was in fine form tonight."

Your teeth burrowed into your bottom lip. "Whatever Theo said, I'm sorry. I'll speak to him about it."

"Right, you'll talk some more; you can add in tonight's spectacle as well." I scoffed. A chunk of hair dislodged from my updo, and I thrust it back, a few strands coming loose from the pull of my rings. "Tell him how cold and uncaring–"

"I have never described you–

"So how do you describe me then." My voice stabbed my throat, the stark volume of it jolted like a shock of electricity. " Do you tell him about your poor, hysterical wife? Crying in the healer's office? Frigid at home?"

"No. For fuck's sake, Hermione–"

"So what is it then? What impression did you give of me–

"I said," you shouted, but almost immediately your shoulders hunched, shrinking into yourself like a wounded animal. "I told him once that I wasn't sure how to talk to you anymore...that I wasn't sure you wanted me anymore." Your voice broke at the end, the syllables crackling before you cleared your throat and looked away.

"Draco," I reached for you, but you pulled away.

"Whatever Theo has said, I am genuinely sorry." You closed your eyes, the lines around your temples deepening. The tips of your eyelashes were so white they appeared camouflaged into your pale skin. "But I've only said to him things I wanted to tell you."

I dug my nails into my palms, watching crescents form against the skin. The words felt gummy in my mouth: "He said I couldn't be bothered with you, that I shouldn't forget you have friends who care about you, even if I–" My chest hurt; a bruise formed at the back of my throat, the words clogged up against it "–didn't...Draco, is that what you really think? That I don't care anymore?"

You looked away, and I wanted to reach out and touch you, but the space between us felt like an electric fence, the railing barbed in warning. My nose started to sting, the taste of salt water trickling into the back of my mouth. I knew I only had a few seconds before I started to cry, and I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry for earlier...but it's not true, what Theo said. It's not. And Draco, if that's how you feel, I am so sorry. I-"

I broke off, and you nodded. My pathetic sniffing fractured the silence, and you curled your fingers over my knee cap.

I exhaled, counted to five in my head, blinked rapidly. "It's just sometimes I feel like...like I'll never be the type of wife you should have."

You looked at me, mouth parted, and I shook my head and continued: "When I come to these parties with you, I'm surrounded by the types of women you grew up with...It makes me wonder if you wish I were different."

"Hermione," you said. "You are different from the woman at that party–"

I looked away; the bruise at the back of my throat throbbed, like you were pressing against it.

"–But I have never wished you were anything or anyone else. Hermione–Hermione, look at me. I love you. Even though things have been hard, I love you. All I've wanted to do is love you the best way I can, and I don't know if it's enough sometimes."

"It is." My voice trembled, your face blurring each time I blinked. "It is."

You swallowed. Your chin tilted upwards, disclosing the bob of your adam's apple as you ran a palm down the side of your jaw. Then you exhaled and reached over, wrapping your arms around me. I fell into the crook of your arm, against your rib cage, cheek pressed into the wool of your suit. Why didn't I say I love you then? The words were there–they always were–but I just wanted to exist in that moment, your breathing synced to mine, your hands linked against my shoulder. I didn't trust my own voice. I thought there would be more time to tell you.

But then, a few days later, the phone call came and there wasn't. Everything fell apart all over again.