Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Huge thank yous to the wonderful ravenclaw-sass and littlered1992 for their brilliant beta-ing!

I hope you all enjoy this update! xx

The days after Hermione's impromptu midnight visit to Draco's bedroom passed in a blur. The Malfoy-Greengrass wedding date had been set for the beginning of January, which gave them a little over six weeks to prepare. Draco was still adamant that he would find a way out of the mess his father had created and Hermione was humouring him. He was grateful for her optimism as it gave him the strength to retain his.

People came and went from the manor; witches and wizards dripping in expensive jewellery, some of them with entourages of over twenty personnel made up of both humans and elves. Draco's head spun as he tried to remember who was here for what, but then gave up; he wasn't personally invested in the wedding—what did he care if the napkins were off-white or beige?

He spent as much time as possible at Hermione's apartment. He sat on the end of the three-seater couch while Hermione sprawled out with her feet in his lap, reading through mind-numbing case files. Unfortunately, Lucius' contract was airtight and after a week they were no closer to finding a loophole.

When he was at the manor, he was usually sitting with Narcissa. He had taken to talking to her out loud for hours. He told her about Hermione, about his time in Azkaban, and about the wedding planning she was missing out on. He tried to keep things lighthearted, even when talking about the darker topics such as his time behind bars; he focused on the relief and gratitude he felt since getting out of the place, and the fact that his time in there hadn't negatively affected him too much.

Time seemed to be speeding up as each hour bled into the next. Draco's optimism was slowly being dissolved by the acidity of panic, though he worked hard to keep his true feelings from Hermione. His witch was slowly pulling away from him, he could feel it. She had stopped visiting the manor, and when they made love—a rare occurrence as they spent most of their time researching the unresearchable—desperation had replaced the lust which had once driven them to ecstacy not that long ago.

A few days before Christmas, Draco locked himself in his study and opened a bottle of Firewhiskey. It was barely nine o'clock in the morning, but he had spent the night tossing and turning between dreams of married life with Astoria. His hand shook as it lifted the bottle over a crystal tumbler, only settling once the amber liquid had poured to an inch-deep. As he capped the bottle with a flick of his wrist, the orange flames in the grate of his fireplace glowed suddenly green.

He turned sharply, his first instinct being to smile in greeting as his mind conjured the image of Hermione, but the hope of coming face to face with the brunette witch dimmed instantly as his gaze settled on his visitor.

"Pansy," he said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Hello to you too, Draco," Pansy said, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes, he noted, held less malice than usual, but it wasn't enough for him to let his guard down. "I've just seen Blaise."

"Is he back?" Draco blurted out, glancing quickly at the door and then back at the fireplace as if the Italian wizard was going to appear at any second.

"No." Pansy's lips, which were painted a frightening shade of pink, stretched into a wide smile. "I've been in Italy for the past few weeks; I figured I'd give you time to cool off after our… spat." She waved the word away as if the fact that she had tried to destroy his relationship before it properly started was of no consequence.

Draco ground his back teeth together. "What do you want?" he repeated.

Pansy simpered and draped herself elegantly across the nearest armchair. "Draco," she said in a pitying tone. "Blaise told me all about the contract and how your father is making you marry Daphne's little sister." Her simper melted into a full-on pout and Draco's fingers itched with the urge to wipe it from her face.

"And?"

"And—" Pansy arched an eyebrow at him "—I'm here to offer my help."

"Your help?" Draco scoffed and raised his glass to his lips, taking a long pull of the burning liquid. "And what, pray tell, are you going to do to get me out of the blood-binding contract?"

"I'm going to offer you an out," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "The same solution I've presented to you over and over again, Draco; marry me instead."

Draco choked on his drink, droplets dribbling down his chin; he wiped at them savagely as he fixed the witch with a pointed stare. "And how would that fix my predicament? I'd still be married to someone I have no interest in being with, and—"

"First of all, ouch," Pansy said sarcastically. "And second, if you're married to me, you'll at least be with someone you know." She wrinkled her nose, indicating her distaste for Draco's current impending nuptials.

"I think I'd rather be with Astoria," Draco muttered, placing his glass down on the table beside him.

Pansy's eyes narrowed and she used her hands to push herself into a standing position. "Think about it," she urged. "We're friends; we've known each other for years. I know what you like—" she pressed the tip of her forefinger lightly against his chest and ran it down towards the waistband of his trousers.

The lack of sleep and the very immediate effects of the Firewhiskey on his otherwise empty stomach made his reflexes slower than normal, but his hand closed around her wrist before she could reach her destination. Pansy sighed but did not make a move to free her arm from Draco's grasp; Draco continued to hold it in place, contemplating whether or not he should use this leverage to throw her back into the Floo.

"Pansy," he said instead, "I don't want to marry you. You're one of my oldest friends, that much is true. But I feel like you're expecting more from me than I can give." He kept his tone light and neutral, but Pansy's eyes were taking on a glassy sheen. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline."

Pansy exhaled forcefully through her mouth and Draco braced himself for the screaming match which was sure to ensue. "I think you're making a mistake," she said quietly, folding her arms across her chest.

"Am I?" Draco blinked, slightly confused at the anticlimactic response; he had been so sure he was going to need to restrain his feisty friend.

"Yes." Pansy jutted her chin out as the first tear rolled down her cheek. "It's no secret that I love you Draco—more than a friend." She added the last statement unnecessarily; a blind man could see that Pansy had pined after Draco for most of their adolescence. "Astoria is only marrying you because she's being forced; I, on the other hand, would always put you and your needs first, and—"

"Pansy!" Draco said loudly, holding out a hand to stop her rambling. "No," he said, his voice softening as the witch snapped her mouth shut. Desperation still radiated from her eyes, but at least she was silent now. "I won't marry you; it's unfair knowing how you feel about me, when I…" he trailed off, releasing the air from his lungs in a harsh breath. Draco bit down on the inside of his cheek and ran a hand through his hair. "Pansy, I don't love you in the same way you love me, and I can't think of a crueller act than accepting your proposal, knowing full well that I will only break your heart."

"You wouldn't—"

"I would." He shook his head, his hands finding their way to her shoulders and gripping them tightly as he forced himself to look into her eyes.

Tears were making wide tracks down her cheeks, but her voice was steady as she spoke. "I know what I would be getting myself into, Draco," she said seriously. "I accept that I can't have you for real, but you're still my friend and I want what's best for you."

"What's best for me is something I can't have," he whispered.

Pansy offered him a sad, watery smile. "I know," she replied, and in that moment Draco understood how Pansy felt; love was desperate and messy and blissful agony all rolled into an imperfectly wrapped package made of paradoxical happiness... and it hurt like hell when it was being held just out of one's reach.

He tugged the now sobbing witch into his arms and held her against his chest, remaining silent as her tears seeped through the material of his button-down. They stood like that for minutes, which felt like they dragged forever, lost in their own thoughts, until Pansy's shoulders stopped shaking and she gave one last, shuddering breath. When she pulled away, her eyes were red rimmed but she swiped at them impatiently and then smiled up at him.

"You'll always be my friend, Pansy." Draco leant forwards and pressed a kiss to her forehead and she choked out a laugh.

"I don't think I can be your friend." Pansy's mouth was stretched tight in a would-be smile, but her eyes were leaking again and her lower lip trembled dangerously. "I have loved you for so long—" she choked and a wracking sob threatened to completely strip her of the ability to speak. Draco dropped his hands from where they were still resting against her arms and he frowned at her. "I-I can't be friends with you anymore," she whispered, shaking her head as she retreated backwards towards the fireplace. "I know that makes me an awful person but—" she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to regain her composure "—I just c-can't."

Draco followed her movements and gathered the distraught woman in his arms again. He crushed her to him and whispered apologies in her ear, but Pansy's sobbing was too loud for them to be heard. It didn't matter though; Draco knew that this was goodbye, and as much as it hurt him to lose a friend, he knew that it wasn't fair on Pansy to keep her around just so he could rub his happiness—or lack thereof, once his marriage to Astoria was finalised—in her face. He would miss her, and he would always hold out hope that she would get over him and find someone who would love her back... but for now, it was time to let go.

"Goodbye, Pans," he said, bending slightly to kiss her on the cheek, his lips coming away wet and salty.

She offered him a half-hearted smile in return, her hand reaching up to cup his face. Before he could really lean in to the gesture, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the fireplace. She swiped at her eyes before taking a handful of Floo powder, disappearing amongst the green flames and leaving Draco alone once more.

When silence wrapped him in its cold arms again, Draco slumped against the armchair Pansy had occupied when she first arrived. He ran a hand over his face, exhaustion settling into his bones and mixing with the empty sense of despair. His whole life was crumbling around him before it really began; if ever there was a time for that miracle, now would be the time for it to appear.

Three days had passed since Pansy's visit, but the hollow feeling in Draco's chest had not dissipated. If anything, it had only grown larger as he had not seen Hermione in that time, either. Between wedding planning and caring for his mother, Draco had not had the opportunity to visit her, and while they owled at least twice a day, he was missing her terribly.

He woke early the day before Christmas, determined to sneak over to Hermione's apartment when the witch suddenly appeared in his bedroom. His jaw dropped as she stepped from the grate dressed in stretchy black leggings and an oversized knitted jumper with the letter 'H' on it.

"Hi." She smirked as she took in his appearance; he was still getting dressed and was in the process of selecting a shirt for the day.

"Hello," he replied, some of the shock easing as she made her way over to him.

Her lips were soft as they met his and Draco dropped the green Oxford he had been holding so his arms were free to wind around her waist. He pulled her against him, shivering slightly as her fingernails teased their way down his chest and over his abdomen. Draco longed to turn her around and throw her on the bed, but she pulled away before he could do so.

"I missed you," she breathed, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Draco felt his heart constrict with guilt as he tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "Me too," he said. "I was just coming to visit you, actually."

"Oh?" She pulled away from him completely and went to perch on the end of his bed.

"Yes." He nodded and then summoned his shirt wandlessly. Dressing himself slowly, he smirked at the way her lower lip jutted out in an obvious pout as his bare chest was covered with the emerald-coloured material.

"What for?"

"Because I wanted to see you." He tucked his shirt into his trousers and threaded a belt around his hips, buckling it deftly at the front.

"How are you feeling about the Pansy thing?" Hermione asked, ducking her head as the question slipped from her lips.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Fine, I suppose," he said. "It was a long time coming, I think. Pansy and I have been friends for a long time and sometimes it's hard to recognise when a relationship has run its course." He paused, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. "We haven't been friends—" he wrapped the word in air quotes "—since our Hogwarts days; I clung to her because she was familiar and I thought I could keep her as a friend the same way I had during first and second year. Pansy allowed it because she was harbouring romantic feelings for me, and I finally realised that the whole situation was entirely unfair on both of us."

"I understand," Hermione said quietly, her gaze once again meeting his. Draco sighed in relief. "It's the same with Ronald and I; we're not able to go back to being friends because the last time we were actually friendly towards each other was when we were children—over half a lifetime ago." She smiled sadly and reached for his hand.

Draco took it and squeezed. "So what brings you here?" he asked, pulling her to her feet. "I can't imagine you came over to discuss Pansy, or Weasley." He pulled a face and Hermione laughed.

"No," she said. "I just wanted to see you…" she trailed off and exhaled a sigh through her nose. "I still haven't found anything," she murmured. "And I'm starting to think that—"

"Don't." Draco placed a finger over her lips, effectively silencing her. "Please; it's Christmas time and I'd much rather focus on that before we have to face the reality of the new year."

Hermione looked as though she wanted to argue, but Draco ducked his head, slanting his lips over hers. For a moment, he thought that she would push him away. Her mouth remained hard and unmoving beneath his, but then he stepped into her and placed his hands on her hips. She came to life beneath him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down towards her.

It was once again desperate, an unspoken understanding of what if this is the last time, surrounding them and permeating their souls as they came together. He pushed her down on to his bed and crawled on top of her; usually, he would look into her eyes as he did so, offering a smirk or a look of smoking intensity, but this time he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. Emotions still unlabeled and unknown swirled in his chest as he kissed his way down her neck, to the curve of her collarbone.

His fingers had just curled around the neck of her jumper, intent on pulling it down so he could sample the taste of her skin across her décolletage, when they were interrupted by a loud cracking sound.

"Miksy is so sorry, Master Draco!" the small elf squeaked.

Draco jerked away from Hermione, whose hands had flown to her lips. His head snapped up to look at the small creature who was now trembling at the foot of the bed, the elf's long fingers clenched tightly across her eyes.

He swallowed thickly and then cleared his throat, moving so that he was standing beside the bed. "It's okay, Miksy," he said robotically. "What do you need?"

"Master Lucius is wanting to see you in the ballroom, Mister Draco, sir!" Miksy answered, her eyes still covered. "He is saying you must decide on the floral arrangements for the party, sir."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut against the instant headache that began to pound in his temples at Miksy's words. "Tell Lucius I will be there in five minutes."

"Yes, sir!" Miksy bowed low, her sight still blocked by her hands, and then Apparated away.

Draco exhaled slowly as he turned back to address Hermione. His witch was sitting on the edge of the bed once more, her cheeks decidedly flushed and her eyes fixed on him. His heart clenched as he approached her and took her hands in his.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "If I don't go, Lucius will—"

"I know," she said quickly, offering him a sad smile. Her eyelashes fluttered towards her cheek as she rose on tiptoes to kiss him; Draco ducked his head immediately and crushed her to him as he took what she offered. "Happy Christmas," she whispered against his lips as they pulled apart—far too soon for Draco's liking.

He did not return the sentiment as his throat closed over, obstructed by all of the emotions which chose that moment to make themselves known. Instead, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, breathing in the calming scent of her lavender shampoo, and then pulled away. He nodded once, then strode from the room without looking back; he was terrified that if he did, he may do something as stupid as beg her to run away with him.

Dawn broke over the manor on Christmas Day, the grounds covered in a thick blanket of snow, the sky clear and blue. It was the sort of Christmas that Draco remembered loving as a small child; he would run from his bedroom at the first sign of daylight, not stopping until he reached their third floor living room which housed the tree and all of the presents.

Despite his horrid attitude as a child, he had never opened his gifts before his parents rose. His mother would force his father out of bed before he had waited too long, and they would enter in their monogrammed robes. The elves would then appear with coffee and tea; his father would snatch at the rich-smelling mugs of coffee and then settle himself in one of the wingback chairs with the same air as a king might take to his throne. His mother would kneel beside the tree, inviting Draco to sit beside her while she handed him presents and watched him open them, delight in her eyes.

It was the one day of the year he could trust that his father would leave him alone, for the most part. He had never much enjoyed the stuffy party they held in the ballroom on Christmas evening, but he could pretend, using the happiness of the morning to get him through the night.

Today, however, held none of the joy of his youth, and only dread for the evening curled uncomfortably in his chest and stomach. It was like a serpent, thrashing and hissing between his organs, making him both restless and nauseous.

Miksy appeared soon after he woke with a tray of tea. Draco took it from the elf silently and ordered that she go and check on his mother while he drank it and then got dressed. Miksy bowed low and then obediently left the room.

As Draco was pulling a jumper over his head, his Floo roared to life and he almost choked on a sob as relief flooded through him.

"Hermione?"

"I'm sorry." The witch shrugged her shoulders as she stepped towards him, a playful smile curling at her lips. "I just couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you on Christmas Day."

Her eyes were decidedly red, Draco decided as she came to a stop just in front of him. He ran a thumb over her cheek softly before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I'm glad you couldn't," he whispered, lips curving up into a smirk. "I was just about to go and see Mother, but—"

"I'll come with you," Hermione said, slipping her hand into his.

Draco beamed at her, squeezing her fingers gently with his own. "Let's go."

They made their way silently down the hall and took their places either side of his mother's bed. There had been no change in the past few weeks, and despite the fact that Draco had been talking to her every day, she had not had another moment of lucidity. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest as he took one of her hands in his and then lifted his gaze to meet Hermione's; she was looking back at him encouragingly.

"How has she been?" she asked.

"Fine," Draco said as he began to draw circles with the pad of his thumb against his mother's cool skin. "She hasn't woken again, though."

Hermione bit down on her lower lip. "And the Healers have nothing else to offer in the way of an explanation?"

"No." He shook his head. "They're still keeping a close eye on her brain activity, but there's nothing abnormal to report."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Hermione spoke again. "How are the preparations coming for tonight?" Her voice was controlled and her tone light, but Draco noticed the way her eyes narrowed as she asked the question.

He sighed. "I guess I should be thankful that Lucius has decided to merge our annual Christmas party with my engagement party, but I am absolutely dreading it, if I'm being honest."

Hermione giggled and he shot her a playful grin. For a moment, it was as if they were just a normal couple, having a normal conversation about something that they found annoying yet hilarious as if it were a private joke, but then the flimsy illusion shattered and the mirth faded from their features.

The room sat starkly around them, the whole scene a reminder of what they were up against, with no way of actually winning. The forces that wanted to keep them apart were succeeding and Draco had never felt so hopeless in his entire life.

He dropped his gaze to his mother's face as he spoke. "I don't want to go to the party any more than I want to marry Astoria," he said quietly.

"I know it's not what you want, Draco," Hermione's voice floated across the bed towards him.

He ran his free hand through his hair roughly. "I have been ignoring the reality that in a few weeks I will be married to someone I have no feelings for, and I don't know how we're going to…" He trailed off, gesturing weakly between them.

A sharp intake of breath from the opposite side of the bed brought his attention back to the brunette witch. She was not crying, but her chest was rising and falling in quicker successions than normal. Draco hated himself for doing this to her; he felt personally responsible for the entire mess and he wondered that if he had been honest about his doubts earlier on, Hermione would have been able to move on from him before they both became too attached.

"I'm sorry that I—" he began.

"Don't," Hermione bit out, her tone lethal. "I'm not an idiot; I knew that the chances of being able to find a solution to this mess were non-existent before I agreed to help you."

Draco bit down hard on his lower lip as he stared at the vision across from him. She was beautiful. He thought that in any circumstance, but when she was defending him—to himself, no less—she was absolutely breathtaking. Unable to help himself, he rose from his seat and made his way around to her in long, quick strides.

He dropped to his knees and took her face in his hands as she turned towards him. "I don't deserve you," he said, leaning his forehead against hers. She chuckled, a soft, wet sound as the first tear rolled down her cheek, He swiped it away with his thumb. "I mean it; I know that the possibility of me getting out of this marriage before it happens isn't high, but I promise that I will never stop fighting for you."

His own eyes were burning now and the vision of Hermione's wide smile swam before him as he pressed his lips roughly to hers. A foreign feeling swirled within him, taking over all of his other senses as he kissed her; he was unable to label it in such a state, instead focusing on the way his witch moved against him.

He pulled back, using his thumb and forefinger to tilt her chin up. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes leaking, but he didn't care; she was his and it would take more than a contract and another witch to change that.

"I know that this wedding is more than likely to go ahead," Hermione said, her lower lip trembling as she gripped his shoulders. She opened her mouth to continue, and Draco's eyebrows knitted together as he listened intently, but then from beside them came another voice—

"Over my dead body it will."

Draco whipped around to face the bed, where he was met with the heavily-lidded gaze of his mother.

"Fucking hell!" he rasped.

"Draco Lucius M-Malfoy—" His mother coughed, a soft, dry sound, effectively cutting off what was to be a severe reprimand. As her ability to speak left her, she turned her face more fully toward him and glared.

He had never been so excited to be chastised by his mother. "Granger," he said without tearing his eyes away from the figure in the bed. "Please send an owl to the Healers; they must come immediately."