She approached the gate slowly. "Gryffindor courage," she reminded herself once more. She touched the gate cautiously. He hadn't yet reset the wards. That was promising. Still.

The job search had gotten better than she expected. Apparently, despite the hoards of witches and wizards applying for jobs abroad, her resume had floated to the top and she'd received offers for positions in the ministries of France, America, Australia, and Iceland. She hadn't even applied to work in Iceland so that was interesting.

Worse come to worse, she could be watching the northern lights this time next year. That was something.

The offer in Australia was the most interesting but also wanted to hear back within a week and she'd have to start in a month. It was too fast. She been at this stoop only three days ago and hadn't heard anything from him since then. So here she was. Again.

This time when she rang, Draco himself opened the door.

He slumped against the door frame in his obnoxious, careless, handsome way. "Yes?"

His poker face was phenomenal. If he was feigning nonchalance to hide that he was still hurt, she couldn't tell. It rattled her.

"I wanted to talk with you," she hedged.

He raised an eyebrow. "You are."

She rolled her eyes. "Could I come in?"

He still wasn't smiling at her but stepped away from the door and retreated into his home. She caught the door before it shut and followed him. This was progress, at least. She had made it into the house.

He was in the drawing room pouring a finger of whiskey when she found him.

"Why are you here, Hermione?" He asked as he swirled the whiskey in his glass, eyeying the amber color. Damnit, she wanted a drink too.

She struggled to find the right words. She might never get another chance so she wanted to say it before she lost her nerve. "We haven't spoke in three weeks," she began.

"No, we haven't," he agreed, and took a sip of his whiskey. "That tends to be how it goes when a man proposes to a woman and she rejects him."

Fuck. It hurt, to hear it put that way. "That's not exactly what happened."

He cocked an eyebrow. "That is exactly what happened," he corrected.

She shook her head. Who was she to tell him how to feel about what had happened? He had a right to his feelings. He wasn't had said no. She had told him she loved him and she wasn't ready but one day she would be and technically, that was still a no. But it hurt, his version of events. It was too... to the point. "I didn't 'reject' you," she argued. "I just asked for more time. I loved you but I wasn't ready. And you haven't spoken to me since."

"You said that in the past tense," he suddenly.

This wasn't the response she expected. She was momentarily caught off-guard. "What?"

He persisted. "You said that you "loved me", in the past tense."

She shut her eyes. "I still love you, Draco. I wouldn't be here otherwise." He had to believe that. She tried to will it into him.

He did not accept her earnestness and he snorted. "To tell me to marry you ,or else you'll find someone else?"

She shook her head. It made him want to vomit even more, coming from him than it had coming from Harry. "I couldn't do that. Speaking to me or not, I still love you. I'm sorry about what happened. I understand if that's it for you, if you can't do this anymore, if you don't want to marry me anymore. But there's not anyone else for me. There will never be anyone else. If you don't want this, I'm not going to just marry myself off to anyone who will look twice at me. I have a job offer in Australia as my alternate plan." She paused. He was still looking into his glass and she didn't know what that meant.

She was so out of her element. She had always known how he was feeling. Happy, usually, but even when he was sad or angry or upset. And now she couldn't read him out all. Three weeks had lasted a lifetime. Her rejection had broken something between them and she didn't know how to fix it.

He wasn't saying anything so she kept going. "I know it's not fair to you. I know this doesn't seem genuine. But I do still love you. The law changed my timeline but not my feelings in general. You're it for me."

He dropped his whiskey and suddenly he was across the room. "You're not going to Australia," he snarled.

He didn't leave her time to ask another question or protest. He kissed her. Hard. It was all-consuming. It was teeth nibbling and tongues probing and fingers searching. It was moans and gasps and breathlessness. It was three weeks of pent up frustration and anger and love.

It was heaven.

His hands found their way to her bum and she was hopping and he was picking her up and they were stumbling to the couch because the bedroom was too damn far.

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