A/N: I made some timing changes.

Instead of being 19, Hermione is 23 during all the wedding stuff. Feel free to go back and read the other chapters to get a better grasp.

I've also changed some things in the description. Instead of being 30-something, I've made her edging 30. (around 28/29)

These changes are due to pacing issues. I felt the story was progressing too fast for someone so young.

Everything else is the same.

I took one, hard look in my bedroom mirror, and cringed. It was no good. I would never find something suitable to wear; not on such short notice. I considered sending Daphne a cancelation letter, claiming I had personal matters or important Auror business that needed tending to — but even the slightest chance that she would misconstrue such a thing as something to do with Ron was enough to keep me from doing so.

It was clear to me, that I had no choice.

I had to go.

I had to show the world I wasn't bothered by Rita Skeeter's public crusade against me — and attending the annual Harvest Moon celebration at the Greengrass Estate would certainly make that statement. If there was one thing the Greengrass' were known for, it was their reputation for being the wealthiest, most envied pureblood family in Britain.

Meaning: I owed it to myself to attend this gathering and see what all the fuss was about. The invitation alone was probably worth more than my rent each month. It was smooth and sleek, and carried with it three beautiful words.

No cameras allowed

In this moment of clarity, there was just one problem, one facet I had overlooked.

It somehow hadn't occurred to me that Daphne could still be friends with a certain someone — or that he would be there.

Three Hours Later

There were no floating lanterns or country dances at the Harvest Moon party. There were no autumn decorations either. It was less about reaping and gathering and leaves changing colours, and more about interpretations of all those things. I swear to you, it was like I had stepped foot into the modern art museum from hell. Oh, and did I mention dress code? I showed up dressed in an apple red cocktail number with maple leaf earrings (that I can assure you were adorable) whilst everyone else was dressed in neutrals.

Had it not been for the open bar, the nerves in my gut would without a doubt have multiplied tenfold. I stood there, feeling eyes drift to me on a second-to-second basis. I did what I could to ignore the stares, knowing people recognized me and undoubtedly wondered why on earth the famed Greengrass family had permitted a desperate, depraved sex fiend such as myself to attend their gathering.

I mean, I couldn't argue with the last bit — but desperate?

Rita Skeeter had been reaching when she published that. I'm sure even her uptight arse couldn't argue with the fact that there was nothing desperate about having sex with Oliver Wood.

But those events were far from my mind.

I turned, champagne in hand, and spotted Harry and Ginny chatting with some old bloke from the Russian Ministry. No, thanks. I, then, glanced about ten feet from them and spotted Ronald on the other side of the courtyard — alone. It wasn't the ideal setting, but another reason I had attended the party was to put an end to the silence between us. As fate would have it, the moment I mustered enough confidence to approach him for the first time in over four years, was the same moment I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Around that time, the background instrumental turned louder, echoing the raucous beat in my chest as I fixed my attention on the source of the tap.

I glanced up and simultaneously stumbled backwards — startled.

If there was one person I did not expect to see at this gathering, it was the young man standing across from me. I expected blonde hair and smoky grey eyes, but this young man had dark hair and crisp, blue eyes.

"NOTT?" I blinked, staring at him.

Those crisp, blue eyes danced across me from head to toe. "Granger," he greeted, wearing the same sideways grin from seven years ago. "Nice earrings."

I grimaced. "Thanks a bunch."

Nott smiled, but didn't laugh. "Tell me," he then said. "What have you been up to all this time?"

"Apart from hanging on balconies in the nude?" I asked, casually sipping from my champagne flute. "Nothing, really…"

This time, he did laugh. "I was afraid to mention that."

I arched an eyebrow, tossing him an obvious look. "Why? Nothing you haven't seen before."

There was a distinct change in his expression, but it lasted only a moment before his usual calm, mellow vibe returned. I then fell into step with him, as we made our way from the bar to the other side of the courtyard, away from prying eyes.

"So…" I started, filling the silence. "Do you…still…erm…"

"Smoke weed?"

I nodded, panning around to gauge whether or not our conversation been overheard.

Nott stared at me, amused. "I don't have any on me right now, but I'm sure Astoria has something we can take once the bonfire is lit."

"Bonfire?" I repeated. "Sounds…a little sacrificial, if I'm honest."

He laughed. "Well, you are at a pureblood gathering…"

"…and I am the only Muggle-born here…"

"…put two and two together and…"

I laughed with him, unable to hold back any longer. "Please tell me none of that was serious."

"Guess you'll have to wait and see," he teased, hands in his pockets, turning to look at me every now and then, as we continued to walk. "Shit. I think I've actually missed you."

"Actually?" I repeated, rolling my eyes. "How touching."

"I'm serious," he chuckled, nudging me a little. "I've been wanting to get back in touch with you for ages but…I didn't know your situation with Weasley."

For a moment, I had no idea what Nott was talking about. "Oh," I realized. "You didn't know we —"

"Broke up," he finished. "Should I even ask?"

"No," I quickly said. "There isn't enough alcohol in this hemisphere to get me drunk enough to tell you that story."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really."

Nott flashed me a devilish look. "Now I have to know."

"You really don't," I assured him, cursing myself for even bringing it up. "Enough about me. Tell me what you've been up to all this time."

"There's nothing to tell, really. I've been in Healer School for ages."

"Healer School?" I repeated, amazed. "That's brilliant!"

He smiled at my enthusiasm for academics, something we mirrored in one another. "It will be, once I'm done."

"I'm eternally jealous. I was thinking about going to Healer School myself."

"You would love it," he told me. "It's all about revision and exams, with no socializing whatsoever."

I glared at him. "Funny."

"It's true," Nott laughed. "No social life. No love life. Nothing."

"Wait, does that mean you've been single all this time?"

His expression wavered a little. "I dated Astoria for a couple months."

"What happened there?"

"She was into someone else."

Something about the manner in which he spoke, told me there was more to the tale. "Do I know this person?"

Nott glanced across the courtyard, towards a large group of our former classmates, unbothered, as though this were old news. "He's over there."

I should have guessed this would happen — but the moment I turned to meet his line of vision, I was startled to find a pair of eyes already on me. These eyes stared between myself and Nott, as though determining our acquaintance. I swallowed hard and watched, recognizing the grey in those eyes and the edge that was so sharp, it all but knocked the air from my lungs.

"Marcus Flint," Nott remarked, dismissing my presumptions.

"Wait —" I paused, looking at him. "She dumped you for Marcus Flint?"

He nodded slowly. "Is that…unusual?"

"Marcus Flint has less personality than the glue that holds Pansy Parkinson's false eyelashes in place," I blurted, unabashedly. "…whereas you're fun and intellectual and charming and witty and a fucking pleasure to be around — not to mention that hair."

Nott flashed me an amused look. "Did Hermione Granger just use the f-word?"

"Oh, please," I scoffed, unbeknownst to the person around the corner. "I know for a fact you've heard me use that word at least — four times, was it?"

"Seven times easy," Nott countered, looking from me to the person behind me, in a flash. "Draco! Mate, where the fuck have you been?"

I blanched, looking behind me for a moment, before noticing a brush of blonde in my peripheral vision. I, then, turned away from them, listening to the old friends as they engaged in small talk and caught up with one another, before silence fell over their conversation and their attention drifted squarely to me. Again, the instrumental changed pace. This time, it turned slower, in rhythm with me as I reluctantly faced the young men. Nott stared at me with a curious look about his face, whilst his friend regarded me with enough cool indifference to give Sirius Black a run for his money.

"Hi," I muttered to him.

The blonde scanned me up and down, undoubtedly criticizing the ensemble I had chosen for the occasion. "Evening," he replied, rather terse.

Nott stared between us, with an arch in his brow. "I'm sensing some tension here."

"There's no tension," we fired back, in unison.

"Right…" he cracked up. "Well, I'm going to the bar if anyone needs me. You kids behave."

I opened my mouth to stop him, to prevent this moment from happening, to do absolutely anything — but he was gone before a single word escaped my lips. I then glanced to the floor, refusing to look anywhere else. It was humiliating enough that I had dreamt about the prejudiced little shit, but to be left alone with him was absolute torture.

I thought distantly of the time he showed up on my doorstep with the film canister, as I had been too stunned at the time to say anything — even to thank him. It was only a month ago.

It seemed he was equally speechless, because the silence between us carried on for an excruciating three minutes, until finally he decided to speak to me using words that consisted of more than one syllable.

"Those earrings are rather…festive," he remarked.

I swallowed hard, cheeks flaming hot. "I'll just — yeah —" I made motion to take the damned things off, going for the backings, before freezing in horror as my hair was caught in them. "Oh my — shit — erm —"

Malfoy watched me struggle with the earrings for a couple minutes, before deciding it was too unbearable to witness. "Let me," he interjected, sounding more annoyed than concerned. "There."

I held my palm out for them, realizing seconds later that he left them on.

Sensing the confusion, he showed me his cufflinks, which were cleverly hidden for the most part, but still silver and still in the shape of birch leaves.

"Festive," I should have remarked, in an equally cold tone as he had done. Instead, I stared at those cufflinks and smiled.

He didn't return the smile — not that I expected him to.

"Thanks," I added, feeling it necessary. "For everything."

The wizard stared at me, before nodding his head once. "I imagine many things get caught in that hair."

"Er —" Pause. "I was actually talking about the film."

He blinked. "Oh, that."

"Yes, that. I didn't get the chance to thank you then, because, well, you know how hangovers go…"

It appeared he wasn't amused.

"Right…" I furthered, staring at the bar, where Nott was seated. "I guess I should get going…but…it was nice…chatting…I think."

There was a rather long silence, wherein he said nothing, before I turned with my eyes pursed shut, unable to handle the awkwardness any longer, and lifted one foot from the floor to move to the bar, before I felt a brush of something on my shoulder. I glanced to the left and found his hand there.

"Wait —" he spoke. "Do you — Do you think we could talk somewhere? In private."

I was stunned. "Erm — sure. Yeah."

A/N: Thanks for reading! I wonder what's going to happen at that bonfire... hehehehe

Cheers

xo.