Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Massive thanks to my betas, ravenclaw-sass and littlered1992. I promise one day I'll stop overusing commas and OTT descriptions… maybe in my next long fic? :p xx

Draco knew that he was asking too much; knew that he sounded absolutely crazy. He understood that his best friend hated the very idea of monogamy, and that asking something like this of him was unfair at best, and stupid at worst. Draco had never been one for taking a leap of faith—not before Azkaban and certainly not afterwards—and he didn't believe in placing your bets all on one broom… It was bad business practice, his father had taught him, but his father was also the reason he was here, pacing his study and ranting passionately as if he was trying to convince...well, like he was trying to convince an eternal bachelor to get married, and to a girl he barely knew, at that.

To his credit, Blaise listened, the ghost of a smile on his face as Draco ran quickly through the contract and what Hermione had said. Draco didn't mention that Hermione had been kidding when she suggested the solution, or that the brunette witch had also implied that the idea was insane.

Well, if it's insane to want to protect your ailing mother and keep the girl, then load me into the fireplace and make room in the Janus Thickey ward…

"I know this sounds nuts," Draco said, shooting Blaise a sideways glance as he wore a path across the room.

Blaise snorted indelicately. "Just a bit."

Draco ignored him. "It's the only way I can get out of the contract." Have I said that already? His head was practically vibrating with the speed with which he was envisioning telling his father that he wouldn't be signing the contract after all...

"And you think I'm your answer?" Blaise's voice snapped Draco out of his thoughts. The Italian was smirking, mirth dancing in his eyes.

Hot desperation settled over Draco like a cloak; if Blaise didn't take this seriously, he was doomed. "Yes," he answered carefully. "I saw the way you looked at Astoria, and it wouldn't have to be a forever thing—"

"No," Blaise interrupted firmly.

If he was being honest with himself, Draco had expected this reaction. The thought of Blaise being married was almost terrifying, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He just had to make Blaise see that it wouldn't be that bad, and didn't he—as his best friend—want to help Draco out? Draco opened his mouth to articulate all of this, but Blaise cut him off again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I understand the situation isn't good for you and Hermione… but I'm sure that between the two of you, you'll find a way out of this—" he waved his hand as he searched for the right word "—mess."

Draco scoffed. "You're being unfair to Hermione," he said stiffly. "If there was another way out of the contract, she would have found it already."

Blaise offered him a pitying look, an expression which seemed out of place on the Italian's face. "Even if I agreed to get engaged—" Blaise arched an eyebrow pointedly "—to Astoria, that wouldn't solve your issue. Lucius would just shove another witch under your nose and draw up another contract."

Draco's shoulders slumped as the reality of Blaise's words hit him full-force. He couldn't imagine Lucius setting him up with any of the remaining Sacred Twenty-Eight, but he supposed that if push came to shove, his father would consider Pansy an adequate punishment. He grimaced at the thought. "I'm sorry," he said. His tone was more formal than he intended, more monotonous, too. "I shouldn't have asked."

Blaise grimaced and then stood, stepping forward to clap a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I'm glad you did," he said. "It shows how much you care about Hermione. That counts for something."

"It counts for nothing if I can't get out of this engagement, Blaise." He lifted his chin so that he could look his friend in the eye. He shrugged Blaise's hand off of him and began to pace again, his hands held tightly behind his back.

"You haven't signed the contract yet," Blaise said slowly, carefully.

Draco barked a harsh laugh. Surely, Blaise wasn't that stupid. "You know as well as I do that my signature is just a formality—Lucius is still my father, regardless of how I may feel."

Blaise swore softly under his breath and Draco grunted in understanding. The Malfoy family, just as every other Pureblood family, made use of ancient magic dating further back than books themselves. The contract may simply be written on a flimsy piece of parchment which would burn upon being set alight, and Draco could indeed refuse to sign it...but that wouldn't set him free of the betrothal.

As Draco was 'single'—that is, he had not found a witch his parents deemed suitable for marriage—it was up to his parents to find him a bride, and because his mother was still unconscious, Lucius held all of the power. The fact that Draco was in his mid-twenties did little to help his case, given that in Pureblood society, the parents held full custody of all decisions their offspring may have to make, thanks to the ancient magic of millenia past.

It was a barbaric practice, not often used, but Draco wouldn't put it past Lucius to have ensured that severe punishment would befall him—or his mother—should he disagree to do as his father wished. He was as good as married.

Blaise attempted to smirk, but it came off as more of a grimace. "Come on," he drawled. "You managed to convince the brightest witch of our age that you're a halfway decent bloke; convincing dear ol' dad to let you out of a miserable union should be a walk in the park compared to that."

While Draco appreciated the sentiment, he couldn't quite bring himself to join Blaise in a state of faux-cheerfulness. "I think I'll just go to bed."

"Wait!" Blaise said, dropping the act. He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his insistent cry. "I'm leaving for Italy first thing in the morning." He fiddled with the button on his suit jacket as he made eye contact with Draco. "I probably won't be back for a month or so…"

Draco nodded curtly. "Okay," he said. "Safe travels."

With that, he turned on his heels and strode from the room, not bothering to look back over his shoulder at Blaise's attempt at calling him back. He was not one for goodbyes at the best of times, and right now he just needed to be alone. He would miss Blaise, but he was also irrationally angry at the Italian right now.

It's not like it would have to be forever, Draco thought savagely as he reached his room and began to undress. All he'd have to do is ensure an annulment clause was embedded in the contract so after a year or so, they could divorce and be on their merry way.

Now dressed in only his briefs, Draco threw back the covers with more force than strictly necessary before climbing in and pummeling his pillow until it was more flat than fluffed. He exhaled forcefully through his mouth and tried to focus on conceiving another plan. His brain, stuck in the throes of childish entitlement, would only allow him a few moments reprieve before it would drag him back to the face of his friend, taunting him with the fact that without Blaise, Draco would be forced into a marriage neither he nor his bride-to-be wanted.

Fatigue had well and truly settled into Hermione's bones by the time she collapsed on to her couch on Friday night. She was spending all of her free time researching Pureblood family magic pertaining to marriage contracts, and so far she had come up with nothing. The only viable way Draco would be released from his obligation was if Lucius suddenly had a change of heart.

Draco had simply scoffed when she told him that, and Floo'd back to the manor without a backwards glance. Hermione, though hurt, also felt relieved as the emerald flames swirled around him and then took the blond wizard away from her grate. She had received an apologetic owl this morning, but at this point she was too exhausted to seriously worry about the ever-changing emotions of her highly strung boyfriend.

The TV had just blared to life when a knock sounded from her front door. Hermione paused the screen with a wave of her hand to be sure she had heard correctly; as the rapping noise came again, she sighed heavily and threw her head back into the soft cushioning of the couch, before forcing herself from her comfortable sitting position. She padded towards the door, intent on giving whoever was on the other side of it a piece of her tattered mind.

"Ron!" Whoever she had been expecting—salesman or hitman—it had not been her anxious-looking ex-fiancé. "What are you doing here?"

He squinted down at her, the rain misting in the glow of the streetlamp just behind him. "Er… hi," he said. "Hermione…" he added, seemingly as an afterthought. "Can I come in?"

Too shocked to refuse, Hermione stepped backwards and allowed him to pass her. She shut the door and then turned to face him, wiping her suddenly-clammy hands on the front of her jeans. "S-sit down," she said, gesturing robotically towards the couch.

Ron shook his head. "This won't take long."

Hermione waited, watching him as he clenched and unclenched his hands at his side and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He would not look at her, instead taking in the knick-knacks lining the shelves of her living room. His gaze finally settled on a moving picture of Hermione, Harry, and Ron taken during their first year of Hogwarts.

Hermione had contemplated smashing it along with all of the other memories of her adulterous ex, but Harry had stopped her in time to save this particular photograph. He had said that she would regret it, eventually… He had been right, and Hermione felt an odd surge of gratitude towards the black-haired wizard.

"What can I help you with?" she asked. Usually, Hermione would have offered tea, but Ron had said it wouldn't take long, which she took to mean that he didn't want to stay. She folded her arms across her chest and watched as Ron mimicked her movements.

"I wanted to apologise," he said quietly—so quietly that Hermione thought she may have misheard him.

"I'm sorry?"

"Exactly." He dropped one hand to his side again, and the other came up to rub the back of his neck. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean anything," he hastened to add, and Hermione realised that her face had pinched up into what was inevitably a scowl. "But I need you to know that I am sorry for what happened between us."

Hermione's stomach dropped to her knees. She had waited to hear these words from Ron for so long, and now that he was here, speaking them, she wasn't sure what to do with herself. "Are you sure you don't want to sit down?" she asked, her voice unnaturally high. Her heart was beating furiously against her ribcage and she hugged herself tighter, using the movement to wipe her hands down her sides as they overheated again.

"No!" Ron said emphatically. "I just—I just need to… say this." He ran a hand through his hair and allowed his head to tip back with the movement, until he was staring at the ceiling. "I know me being here is weird, and too many years too late." He exhaled forcefully through his mouth and Hermione noted that there were tears in his clear blue eyes as he met her gaze again.

So many emotions were swirling within her chest, and Hermione wasn't sure if she was simply overwhelmed or perhaps having a heart attack. Her own eyes burned with the telltale signs of tears and she blinked them back furiously; this man didn't deserve any more of them, regardless of how remorseful he was.

"Ron, I—"

He held up a large hand, palm facing toward her and Hermione snapped her mouth shut. "I know I was a terrible boyfriend, and an even worse fiancé, and I am so sorry for what I put you through," he whispered. He took a deep, rattling breath before continuing. "But what I regret the most is that I threw away our friendship; you were my best friend and you—and Harry as well—deserved so much better than me. I'm glad that you have better than me now." Tears were freely running down his face, and he used the back of his sleeve to swipe harshly at them. "I didn't mean to get so emotional." He sniffed and then chuckled thickly.

Hermione offered him a watery smile in return, shaking where she stood and unsure of how to proceed. What was one to say to the man who had broken her heart into a million pieces and then used the shards to continue stabbing her over the better part of a decade? What was the correct response when he was in your living room, crying and apologising? Hermione had always imagined that she would slam the door in his face, or throw something at him—perhaps use one of Ginny's signature Bat-Bogey Hexes—but now it seemed all of the anger and all of the resentment had given way to...relief?

"I'm glad you came by," she heard herself say.

Ron shrugged, more composed now. "It's well overdue."

Hermione nodded. "Well, thank you."

"I'm divorcing Vivienne," he blurted out, his eyes wide as if he hadn't meant to tell her that. "Er—"

"Oh." Hermione blinked, watching as the tips of his ears tinged pink.

"Yeah." He coughed forcefully. "So, um, she shouldn't be giving you any more trouble; her father's sent her off to Prague."

Hermione nodded to indicate that she had heard, but was unsure what to say to that. She couldn't pretend that she was upset to hear that the woman who had made her professional life—as well as her personal life—far more difficult than it needed to be had finally received her comeuppance.

"I just thought you'd like to know," Ron said weakly in an obvious attempt to keep the conversation flowing.

"I would...I mean, I do." Hermione cleared her throat. "Um, because it means that she won't be bothering me..." she hastened to add, glancing at her feet and then back up at the red-haired wizard, an uncomfortable smile stretching across her face.

For a moment, they both hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. The conversation had run its course, but neither knew how to end it. Ron finally stuck out his hand in a sloppy offering of a handshake, as at the same time Hermione stepped forward, her arms lifted slightly in preparation for a hug. They stopped and then giggled, the sound reverberating around the space and easing some of the tension.

Ron lowered his hand and stepped forward, enveloping Hermione in a warm hug. She had forgotten just how comforting his embrace could be, and though the action held a different meaning than it once had, she relaxed as he held her against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was somehow familiar, as was the smell of his soft laundry detergent and spicy cologne.

She inhaled deeply as they stood there, the world seemingly righting itself around them. Hermione knew she would never again have romantic feelings for this man, and they may never be best friends again—some things just could not be undone, no matter how sorry one was—but for now, this was enough. This was healing.

"What the buggering fuck is going on here?"

Hermione jumped backwards out of Ron's reach as the ginger-haired man turned with a frown on his face to greet the intruder. "Malfoy," he said through clenched teeth.

Hermione groaned. Of all the possible times—

"Well?" Draco pushed past Ron to stare accusingly at Hermione.

She noted that his hair was dishevelled, uncombed and ungelled, hanging limp across his forehead. He was wearing worn Muggle jeans and a well-fitting knitted jumper, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. If it hadn't been for the murderous glint in his eye and steady tic in his jaw, Hermione would have found the whole image incredibly sexy.

"R-Ronald was just—"

"Mate, I wasn't—"

"I'm not your mate, Weasley!" Draco spat, rounding on Ron.

Instinctively, Hermione grabbed his arm as if to stop him from lifting it and planting a knock-out punch along Ron's jaw. "Draco, he came to—"

"I don't know what game you think you're playing—" Draco ignored Hermione's failed explanation and was intently staring at Ron with a level of hate Hermione had never witnessed on his pale face "—but if you think I'm going to let you swoop in and—"

"I'm not swooping anywhere!" Ron shouted in order to be heard over Draco's outburst. "If you weren't so insecure—"

Draco growled and Hermione gripped his arm tighter as it twitched under her palm. "Fuck off, Weasley."

"Ron, maybe you should just—"

"Hermione, I don't feel comfortable leaving you here with—"

"Oh!" Draco wrenched his arm from Hermione's grasp so that he could poke Ron in the chest. "If anyone should feel uncomfortable it should be me—I'm the one who's walked in on my girlfriend canoodling with her piece of shit ex!" He sneered up at Ron, rage rolling off of him in waves.

Ron's expression was thunderous as he glanced over at Hermione, who nodded jerkily towards the door. "Whatever." He huffed. "If you need anything…" he said to Hermione as he passed her.

"She won't be calling you!" Draco yelled after him.

Hermione would be forever grateful that Ron did not turn around and instead stalked towards the door,disappearing over the threshold.

Silence descended eerily over the living room as the echo of the door slamming dissipated. Hermione folded her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow at Draco, who had the decency to look slightly chastised.

"What did Weasley want?" Draco was so clearly biting down on his anger that Hermione almost laughed.

"He came over to apologise," she said pointedly.

Hermione was aware of Draco's feelings towards Ron—even before the epic fail that was the relationship of the 'golden girl' and Harry Potter's 'right-hand man', it was no secret that the Malfoy heir had never had a nice thing to say about the Weasleys, and least of all the youngest son. That didn't mean, however, that he could just waltz into her apartment and start an all-out war.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I see."

"Do you?" Frustration bubbled in her chest as the question passed her lips. The fact that she had to force the truth from Draco annoyed her. She knew that he had never liked Ron—or Harry, for that matter—but Hermione had thought that he respected her at least.

There was a moment of pause, and then: "No!" Draco exploded, throwing his arms wide. "I came over to discuss my predicament—which concerns you too, by the way—and I find you hugging Weasley!" He was now pointing towards the spot where he had caught the pair in an embrace, as if the scene was replaying to underline his argument.

"Which concerns you too?" Hermione repeated, anger building within her gut. "As if I haven't spent the last week—every waking moment, Draco—researching and poring over books and talking to anyone I thought may be able to help? Seriously, you're going to throw that in my face right now?"

"That's hardly the point!" Draco seethed, his eyebrows raised as if he could not believe her inability to grasp his view.

"Oh, but it is!" Hermione spat back, her hands now dropping back by her side and clenching into fists. "That's exactly the point! You've hardly looked at me all week, and when I last saw you and told you that I hadn't miraculously pulled an answer to your problem from thin fucking air, you stormed off!"

"I sent an owl!"

Hermione lost the ability to speak. She threw her hands up in the air and made an infuriated grunting noise, turning around slightly as if the answer to all of her problems lay on the couch behind her.

After all she had done to help Draco, he was going to ungratefully throw it back in her face and try to make out that she was the bad guy? Hermione knew that he had always been a bit possessive, coveting what was his and always trying to outdo those around him, but she was not a possession and would not be treated as such.

"I'm not a plaything, Draco," she told him quietly, still facing the couch. "And I'm more than capable of looking after myself where Ron is concerned. I don't need you to save me, and I certainly won't thank you for keeping me from anyone I consider a friend."

"You consider Weasley a friend?"

Hermione didn't have to look at him to know that Draco's face was caught between a look of incredulity, and an ugly sneer. "I'm not sure," she replied honestly. "But if we do agree to move past our issues and decide to be friends, you won't be able to stop me."

When she turned back to face Draco, chest heaving with the exertion of trying to contain all of her emotions and fighting the burning sensation at the corners of her eyes, she noted that his face had softened slightly.

"I know," he said after a few seconds of silence. "I'm sorry for losing my cool with Weasley—" he spat the name as if it were something that tasted particularly foul "—but as you can imagine I'm under just a bit of pressure right now." He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest. "And walking in to see my girlfriend in the arms of another bloke—a bloke who once ripped her fucking heart out and stomped all over it—didn't do much for my state of mind." He took a step towards her and Hermione swore she saw the corners of his lips quirk up. "Please forgive me?"

He closed the distance between them and Hermione sighed as she leant in to the hug. He allowed her to tuck herself beneath his chin for a few moments before he pulled back slightly and tilted her chin up. His lips were soft against hers at first, quickly becoming more insistent. Hermione matched his movements, threading her hands into his hair and holding him close. She knew that he had behaved irrationally upon spotting Ron, but it was so good to really feel him again.

Too soon he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. "Granger?" he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek as he continued to hold her to him.

"Mmm?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"That was our first proper fight as a couple."

At the sound of the obvious grin in his voice, Hermione pulled further away and opened her eyes. His expression was sheepish, but his eyes were heated and she couldn't help returning his smile.

"I guess we never really discussed the whole Pansy debacle…"

"Because there was nothing to discuss," Draco said firmly, the hand on her waist tightening its grip.

"Just as there isn't anything to discuss in terms of Ron." She arched an eyebrow to underline her point.

Draco rolled his eyes and then planted a kiss on her forehead. "Fine," he said.

Hermione didn't believe that he meant that, but she appreciated him trying. She knew there would always be tension between Draco and her friends; she only hoped it would lessen with time. For now, she was content with forgiving the blond whose arms were still wound tightly around her middle.

As Draco walked her backwards, his lips now connected to the sweet spot just beneath her ear, Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. She wanted to help him more than anything else—the problem was that even with the wealth of knowledge contained inside her head, there were some things about the Wizarding world that could not be learnt from books. Pureblood rituals and ancient magic developed and held as sacred secrets by those families were beyond her scope.

"Are you sure you want to—?" Hermione managed to gasp as his teeth sank into her flesh.

"Definitely," he whispered, his lips ghosting across her skin in a way that made it tingle in the most delicious way. "No matter what happens, I'm not going to let this go…"

And with that, Hermione stopped thinking. Their problems would still be there after they properly made up for their little lovers spat.

THANK YOU for jumping on this crazy journey with me! I have now completed NE and will be updating on Wednesdays and Sundays until it's done. It is 32 chapters, so 6 more to go. I hope you enjoy it and thank you again, from the bottom of my cold little heart xx