Romilda Vane sat across from him, a not so pleasant smile on her face as she ran her fingers along a quill she'd plucked from her desk. "Draco—"

"Mr. Malfoy will do." Draco's tone remained flat, and he sat forward, his fingers threaded together. "It came to my attention that you were planning to run a story on me."

"Well," white teeth flashed as she talked, and it was a stark contrast to the dark red that painted her lips. "It's not so much about you as it is your new wife-to-be."

He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing, and was pleased to see her fidget in her seat. "Anything done to her, or said about her has everything to do with me."

With the glint in her eyes that formed at that particular statement, Draco knew it would end up in an article if it were published.

And he'd begun to doubt his luck when it came to preventing it.

"I'm here to ask you not to publish it." Draco said, keeping his voice level.

"That won't be possible, unfortunately." The word slipped off the tip of her tongue, but clearly, she didn't think it was unfortunate at all. "In fact, we've already formed a contract with the source, and as you know, wizarding agreements are unbreakable. Typically, anyway."

The jab didn't go unnoticed. "Typically," Draco agreed smoothly. "In this case, it would be in your best interest—"

"Is it not true?" She cut him off, and he didn't get the chance to reply before she was on again. "From what I remember, you were sneaking around an awful lot."

Perhaps his mother had been right—he and Granger weren't as sneaky as they'd previously believed.

Draco cleared his throat and it was lucky she didn't notice. "A better question is why were you watching me."

The witch in front of him didn't quite clam up, but color rose to her cheeks. "I would have never believed it, but now that I know, it makes sense."

Bloody hell. This couldn't happen, not with Granger finally starting to want to venture outside their flat.

"I remember once that Hermione Granger never returned to the common room one night. It was near Christmas, and it stuck out because it was the head girl."

Draco remembered the night, but it was far from the only time it had happened. "What can I do to ensure you don't publish this?"

She smiled. "Oh, there's nothing you can do. It's really my duty to report it, given the facts that she assisted in this project, isn't it?"

"Granger didn't discover a charm in order to snatch me up, Vane. I was the one who asked her to marry me, not the other way around."

"Miss Vane will do." She mocked. "I think that's all the time I have today, but thank you for your illuminating comments."

Kicked out of her office, Draco dug his fingers into his hair before returning to the Burrow.

Granger balanced at the top of a muggle ladder, and the reason why had nothing to do with an impending wedding. Lingering at the door, Draco watched her—and his eyes swept down her figure—reach for the fixture with a cloth over her hand.

Ron and Mr Weasley stood beneath her, both looking up in concern.

"Miss—Hermione," his mother's voice rung out. "Are you sure you want to climb up there? Perhaps one of the boys could—" The ladder gave a low creak and Narcissa's fingers turned white as she gripped a bowl. "You're going to fall!"

"I'll be fine." Granger laughed. "It's just changing a light bulb."

Surely, she realized that would do nothing to calm his mother, but Draco found it endearing the way his mother flitted about, her brows drawn in panic. He didn't say anything as he entered the room, worrying it might surprise her—and cause her to fall off the ladder.

She unscrewed the bulb, replaced it, and climbed down without a hitch.

His mother released a short breath once Granger's feet were back on the ground. "Draco," she smiled warmly. "We wondered when you'd return."

When Granger looked at him, there was something different. There wasn't a hue to her cheeks, or anything that was obvious, but she canted her head to the side before asking him to join her outside. She led him out the back door, and part-way down the grassy hill away from where the rest of the Burrow's inhabitants—and non-inhabitants—had gathered.

"Where did you go?"

He watched her reach up to tie her hair up. "It was—"

"And please don't tell me it was work." She interrupted with a smirk as she twisted an elastic around her hair. "I would know if it was because Ron and Harry would have told me."

Draco meant to tell her the truth. It had a way of coming out on its own, usually at the worst time, but he was struck by just how happy she looked. Granger had never quite stopped smiling, but a genuine curve to her smart mouth had been hard to come in the past few weeks. He reasoned to tell her later. "It wasn't important," he settled on. "Astoria is just—well, she's apparently not who I thought she was is all."

Granger reached for him, and laid a hand on his forearm. "I can't say I understand, but should you need to talk about it, I'll be here."

His throat was tight. "Thank you. I heard my mother call you by your first name."

"I asked her because I thought it was silly to refer to me as Miss Granger when I'm going to be Mrs. Malfoy if all of this still, well, you know."

He hadn't allowed himself to consider her with his last name since tracking her down.

Still, he couldn't deny the possessiveness that flared up.

"That wasn't the entire reason though." She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jumper, and gave a short huff. "Whenever Astoria comes up, she always addresses her by name, and being addressed by a title made me feel like an outsider."

It made him stop, and his mouth snapped shut. Not only did he call Astoria by her first name—and it did make sense because of their prior relationship—but he called her by her nickname too. "Do you want me to call you Hermione?"

She blinked. "What? No."

"I just meant that if you…"

Granger shook her head. "You can call me Granger still. You've always called me that."

"What should I call you if you become my wife?"

"We'll re-evaluate then." She leaned back on her heels. "Who knows. Maybe I'll hyphenate. Hermione Granger-Malfoy."

He wanted to kiss her.

He always wanted to kiss her, but the temptation right then was heavier than ever while she looked up at him.

"They've already set up most things, but Ron's carrying out chairs right now. There are a lot of chairs." She laughed, and apparently missed his change in demeanor. "Do you have any idea how many people she invited?"

"I have a pretty good idea."

"She invited her parents, did you know that?"

He hadn't.

Granger pulled him along by his sleeve, and her hand dropped as they neared the others. "They sound like terrible parents if what Ron said can be believed."

"They are." Draco nodded. "Absolutely fucking horrible, and for their sake, I hope they don't show up here."

"I'm sure they're smarter than that. Will you start on the right while I help with the left?"

After a long night of setting up the same tent—though with major changes—for Bill and Fleur's wedding, Draco and Hermione had landed in the flat. She swayed on her feet, bumping against him as she made her way down the corridor.

"I'm going to sleep. I'm dead on my feet." The door to the second bedroom had closed with a click.

Stubborn as he was to admit it, Draco had laid in bed for a long while after that, simultaneously wishing the door would crack open to reveal her, and realizing it would have been a bad idea if she had. And then he thought about what could have happened if she had—and realistically, nothing would have happened—but he certainly imagined what he would have liked to happen.

It was nothing that two friends would do. The fact that there was a pretty ring with a decent sized rock on her finger didn't matter, and neither did the fact that it had been picked out for her once.

Once.

She'd never known that their quiet conversations at the top of the Astronomy tower, or in the other's bed hadn't been empty thoughts. I think I could marry you, he had said, and he remembered it. Granger may have believed it had only been said due to the quiet afterglow of sex when they should have been in Hogsmeade, but he'd known it wasn't. Just as he knew how badly she'd wished it could have been true.

But she had ambitions, and he knew every single one of them, even the ones she'd never said out loud. The intention had never been to whisk her off her feet and march her into a binding ceremony after graduation, and it might have been a stretch to say there had ever been a real plan, but he'd thought eventually it was where they were meant to be.

He'd just never imagined it would have happened like this.

Draco spent far too long thinking about every moment, every memory she had ever starred in, and tried to ignore the hollow spot that had been carved into his chest as he rolled over.

When he woke, sunlight streamed through the room, and out of instinct as he pulled himself out of dream, Draco reached across the bed. Rather than finding a warm body, or his fingers brushing against the distinctly feminine slope of a hip, he realised with a start that he was completely alone. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his fingers into the rumpled sheets until eventually staring at the ceiling.

It wasn't a surprise that she was still asleep. The fact that there was no familiar sound of footsteps padding down the carpeted corridor, or the humming he often heard when she lingered in the shower for too long came as a reassurance.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see her.

In fact, Draco often felt as if he could barely breathe until he saw her in the mornings. While it had only been a handful of weeks since her world had been completely ripped upside down, mornings spent together were oddly domestic, and he wondered if it was as much of an escape for her as it was for him.

As a boy, he'd watched his parents closely, like more closely than either of them had ever stopped to notice. Barring the actions that had taken place in the war, and the events that had led up to it, including his father's nearly unforgivable mistakes, he'd had a clear impression of what love was meant to look like.

Their marriage had been arranged, beyond their control even if they had protested it, but there was little doubt that their love for one another had run deep. As he lay there, Draco wondered when that had come to form.

He had no clear idea of how long he remained in bed, only that it was long enough for the water in Granger's bedroom to turn on.

Imagining her in the shower did him little good, and even as he tried to shove the thoughts away, he couldn't prevent a vivid image of water running down her body from entering his mind.

Draco sat up quickly, swinging his legs over the bed, and stepped into his own shower.

By the time he dried, and dressed, Granger had turned off the water, and there was a knock at his door. Really, he didn't think to properly dress before opening it, but as her eyes dropped to the towel wrapped around his waist—rather lowly, he might as well add—Draco found that he was glad he hadn't.

A pretty navy blue dress hung off of her. She kept her arms crossed tightly across her chest in order to keep it from slipping off of her.

Part of him wanted to tug her forward by her wrist, and watch the fabric pool at her feet, but not only was that a terrible idea, Draco couldn't think of a better way to end up on the wrong side of a hex. And he knew all about her spell work.

Her teeth cut into her lip, and he saw that her breathing was shallow. "I heard the water turn off a couple minutes ago. I thought you'd be dressed by now."

Fool that he was, Draco almost admitted that drying charms irritated his skin, but he didn't. "Sorry to disappoint."

Granger's eyes darkened, and mildly, he thought she wasn't disappointed at all. "Could you zip my dress?"

Lazily motioning for her to turn around for him, Draco gathered her hair and pushed it over her shoulder. It was an accident that his knuckles brushed her bare back, but when she stiffened slightly, he did it again.

This time completely, obviously, on purpose.

Granger turned to face him after he'd slowly brought the zipper into place, and smiled at him. It was a quiet sort of smile, one he'd noticed that she reserved for specific friends. Maybe it had been for him once too, but it gave him pause. "Thanks."

He swallowed. He had to stop dwelling on the past. Comparing her from then and now would never get him anywhere, but she served as a constant reminder. "Pretty dress," Draco managed, and he wished—oh, how he wished—his voice hadn't sounded so ragged.

He ought to have told her that she was pretty, but that wasn't enough.

Gorgeous, maybe.

Even exquisite.

So fucking alluring that all he wanted to do was pull her into him, and drown in her.

"Thank you." He lips framed the words, but he hardly heard them. "I'd tell you that you look nice too, but…" Granger motioned to him with a laugh.

The immediate arch to his brow felt so much like him that he could pretend she didn't make every bit of him come alive in an instant—unlike how anyone else ever had. "What, Granger? Do I not look nice?"

Her swallow was visible, but she recovered. "Sure, you look nice in that pink, fuzzy towel."

He glanced down, and laughed with her. "Yeah, I don't think this is mine."

"It's mine. Make sure it finds its way back to me. It's such a big towel—not right now!" Granger's eyes shot open.

Draco snorted. "Well, you said—"

Granger rolled her eyes. "I'm going to make some tea before we leave. Would you like any?"

Yes, but only if we sit across from each other so I'm convinced you're actually here.

"If you don't mind," he said.

She shook her head. "Not at all. I'm making tea already, anyway."

When they arrived at the Burrow, Draco didn't curb the cursory glance to be sure that neither of Pansy's parents had shown up uninvited, just to cause a scene. As much as they probably wanted to be as far away from the affair as possible, it wouldn't have been a twist for them to leave the day in tatters out of spite, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Granger traced a line on the inside of his wrist, and pulled his gaze back to her. "I'm going to find Ron."

He nodded, and watched her push her way through the crowd of people that had taken over the sitting room until she reached the rickety staircase.

Potter bumped his hip against him. "They ought to be getting started soon."

"I'll wait for Granger." Draco said. He hadn't told her that he'd keep her seat, but surely she would assume that. "This house is going to fall apart if one more person steps inside."

Although the Burrow always looked like it was seconds from falling apart.

"Your father's coming this way, so I think I'll just go in the opposite direction. 'Mione shouldn't be long though; Molly will force Ron into his spot at the end of the aisle soon enough."

The moment his partner vanished into the crowd, his father reached him. "Did you know they've opted to combine wizarding and muggle traditions?"

"I didn't."

"It's rather interesting, but I suspect that while part of it was to appease Arthur, Pansy wanted to irritate her mother and father even further." Lucius chuckled.

Draco slid his hands into his pockets. "What do you think of that, father?"

His parents had come a long way from their previous views—and it had been anything but smooth—but sometimes, Draco still had to ask. "I think it's brilliant, quite honestly. Cassius will have a fit, of course, but that's the best part." Taking a drink from the glass clutched in his hand, his father continued, "Your mother has been looking into muggle wedding traditions as well."

That made him stop.

If his father noticed his sudden pause, and surely he did, Lucius said nothing of it. "Since Hermione is a muggleborn, she wanted to make sure that—Draco, don't stand there with your mouth open. It's unbecoming of you."

"I don't understand." Draco spluttered. "Two weeks ago, I was engaged to someone you clearly approved of, and then this—I—"

"What makes you think we don't approve of this? Your mother and I want you to be happy. Hermione Granger is a brilliant witch, and I admit it would have burned my tongue to say it not so long ago, but I've spent a long time unlearning beliefs and habits."

He knew that.

Draco knew that, but this was so far beyond the cusp of anything he'd expected.

"Once I learned of your relationship while you were still in school, I expected you would come to me at the end of the year to tell me you'd taken the ring from the vault." The ring.

The same bloody ring that currently looked brilliant wrapped around her finger.

"Imagine my surprise when I pieced together the two of you had broken up."

Air rushed up, heady to him, and unnoticeable to anyone else that passed them by. Draco had always wondered if either of his parents knew, but he'd never imagined asking them outright. Too eager to leave everything in the past even as he dragged himself out from under a mountain of shit that had cost a pretty galleon in therapy, he'd never stopped to consider that he could have had it all back then.

"Draco, you look ill." Lucius' fingers curled around his elbow, and his father led him outside the home.

Even with his feet solidly planted, Draco still thought he might blow over if there was a sharp gust of wind. "I left her before graduation."

His father's brows lifted. "Well, I admit I'd been curious, but it isn't my business even now."

"I didn't want to drag her down." There was no reason for him to keep going, but he couldn't stop. "She was going to do brilliant things, father. I lost track of how many job offers she received, apprenticeships. It was my idea to keep our relationship secret, and when I left her, she must have believed it was because I was ashamed of her."

There was a shout from inside the house.

His father lifted his chin, and exhaled. "You did that on purpose."

Silence.

And another sigh. "I'm not the one you should tell this to."

Draco knew that he ought to tell her the truth. Merlin knew she deserved it, but the aftermath of their break-up had been eye-opening. "She'll want nothing to do with me."

"Perhaps," Lucius said softly. "You made a decision on what was best for her, and I can't imagine she'll see it kindly. I love you, Draco, but do you have any idea what kind of pain you've put her through?"

He snapped, "Of course I—"

"Not to mention what you've done to yourself, or to Astoria." Lucius' voice hardened. "It'll be quite a bit of work to earn her trust again."

She did trust him.

It was the damndest thing of all, that he'd managed to win over trust that she gave so freely, twice. He could not expect to be so lucky a third time.

"Well, I've always been a coward." Draco muttered.

"No, you aren't." Before his father could begin his next thought, the door slammed open and Granger looked guiltily at them.

With his heart jumping into his throat, Draco stared at her. Had she heard?

Clearly, she had not, he reasoned since there was still a curve to her mouth. "Er, pardon me, but I was hoping to talk to you."

Lucius nodded. "Of course, I was just leaving."

"Oh," her brows knitted together. "I mean you, Mr. Malfoy. I had wanted to speak with you."

Smiling pleasantly, Lucius hung back and ushered Draco off with the end of his cane, leaving no room for questions. As the door swung shut behind Draco, he considered listening through the door.

But as it was, he'd already violated her trust enough.

In the first row of seats, reserved for immediate family, and close friends, Draco waited for Hermione. She hurried down the aisle just as soft music began to thrum, and her hand brushed his.

He wished he'd threaded their fingers together.

"You were gone for a long while."

"I was with Pansy." Granger reached up to fidget with her hair—spelled into an intricate chignon—and she pulled a few strands loose to frame her face. "She was upset," she leaned forward, shifting in her seat beside him, and whispered in his ear, "It's her parents, but I think I might have helped. Who knows, I could have made it infinitely worse too."

Her breath was hot against his ear, and even though he could ignore the delicious shiver that ran down his spine as it did, Draco couldn't ignore the urge to turn his face and capture her lips with his own.

He laughed. "I don't think you could make it worse if you tried. What happened?"

"Well," she met his eyes, still leaned in, and surely she didn't realize how it would look to anyone else. "There's no one to give her away. I'm not sure if that's only a muggle tradition, but Pansy was broken up that her father wouldn't be here to walk her down the aisle."

Oh. "How on earth did you fix that?"

The ceremony began, and guests rose to their feet, the two of them included.

Taller than nearly anyone in the room, Draco saw exactly how she'd managed to fix it when he spotted Pansy. Dressed in a fitting white dress that was only barely modest enough for a wedding, he noted the dress robes that went with it, and the sheer veil that covered her face.

Lucius Malfoy stood with Pansy's arm linked through his, and walked Draco's childhood best friend at her wedding.

Even from where he stood, Draco was certain his father's eyes were watering.

Kneeling down while no one was looking at them, Draco whispered to Hermione, "You've absolutely fixed it, you wonderful little witch."

She didn't look back at him, but he knew she was smiling as Hermione took a tiny step backward, her back resting against his front.

He. Was. Fucked.

While it was a wedding, and traditionally everyone couldn't keep their eyes off the bride, Draco couldn't stop looking at Granger. She was his date, technically even though he wasn't sure she'd be so willing to slap the label on it.

He tried to ignore his private streak of bitterness—and jealousy—but each look at the happy, newly married couple threatened to make his psyche spiral.

Draco was happy for Pansy, and for Weasley, but it drove home a sour truth.

Granger was holding out hope for the law to be repealed. She didn't want to marry him, and he knew that was utterly and completely reasonable; they didn't know each other anymore, not really, and no amount of baking at midnight or morning talks over tea could magically change it. The fact of it was that even if the law were repealed, the couple bound together today would still be together.

It was a heady thing to admit, albeit silently, that he didn't want to go their separate ways. Not that he'd ever be able to explain it well to her. Draco could already hear it now.

You told me you didn't want to get married. That's why you broke off your engagement, isn't it?

How in the bloody fuck would he form a reply with soft brown eyes peeking up at him? Which he could already see how they would snap to life, anger slowly simmering when he did admit the truth, if he ever managed it.

I didn't want to marry Astoria. But apparently—I have always wanted to marry you.

Naturally, she'd question him.

Granger cleared her throat. "You're scowling." She whispered.

True enough, he could feel where the corners of his lips had been dragged down.

"You look too intimidating." Granger added. "You should relax." As if to usher that reaction on, she brushed her hand against his. "Or you could tell me what's wrong."

He certainly wasn't going to do that. "Is this a muggle tradition?" Draco lifted his chin toward Pansy. The witch had turned around, and there were several witches gathered behind her. "What is she doing?"

"Muggle women throw their bouquet at weddings, right over their head, and the woman who catches it is meant to be the next woman to be married."

"That sounds like Divination." Luckily, it worked as well as anything else to change the subject. "You loathe Divination."

Her lips parted, an irritated breath passing between them, and a bundle of flowers hit her directly in the face. Granger spluttered, coughing as she fumbled for a good grip, and he burst into laughter. Red bloomed in her cheeks and she turned on the spot to glare at Pansy.

In an instant, Draco knew she'd thrown the flowers at Granger intentionally even if he didn't know how she'd managed it. From the look on Granger's face, she assumed as much despite not seeing it for herself.

"I do loathe Divination." She lifted the bouquet, and smiled. "Besides, any witch in the room could have caught this and it would be true. We're all to be married by the beginning of June anyway, which is absurd. Two months to find someone you want to have children with?" Her nose wrinkled, and he watched her mind catch up with her mouth. "Ignore that. We don't have to worry about that."

But there was a silent yet tacked onto the end.

"Do you—" His father caught his eye from across the room, mouthing something indiscernible. It was undoubtedly advice, not that it did Draco much good since he couldn't read lips.

She turned the flowers in her hands again.

Draco reached up while she looked down, and closed his fingers around the pin in her hair. Carefully pulling it free—and it was no easy task with how curly her hair was, even with Sleakeazy—Draco made quick work of the multiple pins that held her hair together in complicated layers that would have impressed his mother.

"Why?" She asked, and it was expected.

Trapping a pin between his lips, Draco plucked a flower from the bundle, and tucked it into her hair while shortening the stem before pinning it in place. "I've always liked your hair down."

She was silent, and he feared he'd overstepped.

Of course he'd overstepped. She doesn't care about what you like, you big-headed twit.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize. It was sweet." There were eyes on them, he knew. "I'm happy to be free of those terrible hair pins. They give me awful headaches."

As was his luck, they were interrupted before he could reply.

By his own father.

Traitor.

"Hermione, would you mind dancing?"

She looked at his father and then to him, her lips parting in a question before ultimately deciding she didn't need an answer. Sliding her hand into Lucius', Granger allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

Pansy had snuck up on him without him noticing. "You look jealous." She mused.

"Shouldn't you be with your husband?"

"Great Aunt Muriel asked for a dance. He looked to me for help, but I abandoned him to the wolves." She gave a short laugh. "I think I'll rescue him in a few minutes."

His laugh got the better of him. "It's reassuring to see that some things will never change, and no, I'm not jealous of my own father."

"Maybe you ought to be."

He turned to look down at her. "I thought you abandoned the silly crush on my father."

Pansy's smile reached her eyes. "All I'm implying is that no one could blame Granger for wanting an upgraded Malfoy. Think of the experience of an older—"

"I will kill you if you finish that thought."

Laughing not so quietly, she rolled her eyes. "I'm not completely joking, but you did look broken up to see her led away."

It had probably been for the best. He was almost positive he'd been on the cusp of admitting something he shouldn't, of spilling all his thoughts, and wants.

Draco watched his father lead her around the room, watched her head fall back as she laughed at something he'd said, and realized how surreal all of it was.

I could have always had this.

He didn't mean to say it outloud.

He'd have even sworn he hadn't, but Pansy patted his shoulder, and he knew he'd let it slip.

"You still can, if you want." Pansy whispered. "You just have to try."

Only after another half hour did he realize how desperately he wanted to have her pressed up against the curve of him while they danced.

First, she danced with Ron, and he watched with a mixed reaction of horror and humor as he learned that neither of them could lead.

Then Granger knelt down in front of a group of children as they twirled in circles and divided the flowers from the bouquet up amongst them.

He joined her and pinned flowers in each little girl's hair just as he'd done with Granger. By the time they were done, her cheeks were pink, and she could hardly pull her eyes away from him.

"For all of your surly act, you're really quite sweet, you know." Granger covered his hand with her own, warmth sneaking from her to him.

"Maybe it's just because of you." And even if he didn't mean to say it, he couldn't bring himself to want to take it back.

She stood with him, and let him lead her into the swirling couples that danced, and tilted her head to the side. "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard. Because of me?"

Draco considered pointing out that he'd never been so sweet with Astoria. Of course he'd been kind, but she would know that they were not wholly the same. Yet if he did admit that, it would only make him sound like an arse.

Which he was, and she probably already realized that, but she didn't need a reminder.

Maybe it was the way his father—and his mother—watched him, but he didn't bother to conceal the truth from her as his hand met the middle of her back, and they swayed together. "Silly?" Draco rumbled, and turned her, watching long curls spin with her. He brought her back to him, her chest to his, and didn't wince when she stepped on his toes and fumbled a whoops. "There's nothing silly about it, Hermione. You've always made me want to be a better person."

Her lips parted—and he was keenly aware of how often he noticed that particular motion.

It would have been the perfect moment to kiss her, to frame her face with his hands—calloused from his work as an auror—but it would have shattered any genuineness of the moment, he concluded.

"Even when no one else thought I could be better," Draco's lips brushed her temple, quite accidentally as he drew her in again. "And even when I didn't believe it myself, you did." The fact that he'd left her for a foolish thought that he would never have been good enough for her, that he had tried to convince her of that without telling her was on the tip of his tongue.

But then she spoke, and he was as gone as he'd ever been.

"I've always believed in you. I still do, Draco." Her fingers pressed into his shoulders, warm and solid. "Our relationship fell apart, but no matter what, that's always been true."

Fell apart.

What if I could put the pieces back together?

Thank you for continuing to read my little story. All mistakes are my own.

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