A/N: Chapter Forty-Three!

One Week Later

"Paris?" Ginny asked, astounded.

I nodded, ignoring the arch in her brow and the way she folded her arms, as soon as she heard his name. "Don't look at me like that. You're the one who told me to go out and see someone new."

"Draco Malfoy was not the person I had in mind," she retorted, matter-of-factly — as though my mother had possessed her. "What did you do, anyway?"

I thought back, from the beginning. London to Paris. Carrousel du Louvre, to the restaurant, to his flat. "He arranged for us to view to the closing show at Paris Fashion Week, and then we had a bite."

" — of each other?"

" — food," I voiced, tossing her a knowing look.

She mirrored that look, arms still folded, as we sat in her lounge with James asleep in his rocker. "What happened after that?"

In that moment, I faced the floor, knowing she could see right through me, as she usually did. "After that, we went to his flat and had some wine, and then we danced a little, and then we kissed a little…"

Ginny didn't respond.

Instead, she waited for me to continue, as though she knew the story wasn't over.

"For some reason, I feel horrible about it," I explained. " — like I used him, like I don't have it in me to properly be with someone —"

Again, she didn't respond.

" — and maybe I don't have it in me, after everything that has happened, but what does that mean?"

"It means you're human," she told me, speaking the truth, as though she were light years beyond her age. " — and although I admire your talent for seeing the best in people, maybe it's time to explore other options."

I looked to her then. "What do you mean?"

"Draco Malfoy doesn't deserve you," Ginny told me, flat-out. "Yes, he showers you with gifts and whisks you to different countries, but if that's his idea of trying, then he clearly doesn't know the first thing about you, Hermione."

I thought about what she said for a long time, thinking, pondering, asking the same questions, landing on the same blank spaces, as per usual, where he was concerned. It had been years since the dress shop run-in, and, still, there was so much I didn't know about him.

From there, the conversation fell into silence, as Ginny rose to lift little James from his rocker and situate him on her lap. I couldn't help but watch, envious that she had it sorted: beautiful son, beautiful marriage, beautiful home. If there were one person to know the ins and outs of relationships and romance, it was her — right?

Perhaps not.

Perhaps she was one of the lucky ones.

Perhaps she didn't have to work as hard as I did, at maintaining a relationship, because there was no more maintenance to be had. I thought about her life and her choices, and the sacrifices she made.

Ginny, once an accomplished athlete with a bright future, had been reduced to a shadow of her former self. She was no longer gracing magazine covers, nor was she traveling the world with her Quidditch team.

She had given up those dreams for another.

In realizing that, I realized something else.

I could never do that.

I could never bind myself to the idea of marriage, if it meant sacrificing myself and my dreams in the process.

"Erm — Ginny?"

The former Quidditch star scrunched her mouth with disdain, as she lifted her son's bottom to her face and took a whiff. "Someone needs a change," she voiced, giving James a disciplinary look, before redirecting her attention to me. "Sorry — did you say something?"

I nodded, gathering my things and rising from the sofa. "Just realized," I started — clearing my throat, trying desperately to think of something believable. "I've got a ton of work to do. Speak tomorrow?"

Ginny tossed me a knowing look. "You're going to see him — aren't you?"

I scoffed at this, aware that my cheeks and neck were beet red.

"Hermione," she started, moving James to his changing table. "I'm not trying to be a nuisance or anything, but I honestly don't see the point in entertaining so much as an evening with the man, when it's clear you're not right for each other."

"Well, I don't see why it's such a big deal to you," I countered, arms folded, feeling ridiculous as we were discussing this amid James' poopy nappies. "First, you broke me up with — with one bloke because I was too invested. Now, you're telling me I'm not invested enough and should therefore steer clear. Please, Ginny, shed some light on the situation, as my peasant ears simply can't comprehend your logic —" I took a deep breath then, uncertain as to where all of that had come from.

Ginny changed her son's nappies with care and concentration, though I could tell the wheels in her mind were turning, as those words left my mouth. "I didn't break you up with anyone," she then said, slipping James into his onesie. "I would never do that."

" — but you knew he was going to break up with me," I furthered, having tip-toed along the edge of this discussion for the past year. " — and you didn't say anything because?"

"Fine —" she decided, reaching her limit, setting James into his crib and turning to me, hands on her hips. "You want to have that talk? Let's do it." The stress lines on her forehead deepened. "Nott owled Harry the night you left for New York and told him, he'd been losing his magic for months. That's why he wasn't home as much."

My eyes widened, and I opened my mouth to say something but she cut me off.

" — I didn't know the details of their correspondence, as Harry kept me out of it at Nott's request, but I knew something was wrong," she voiced. "That's why I owled Nott the morning you decided to see him and that's why I tried my absolute best to convince you not to go. I had no idea he planned on breaking up with you. Though, now that we're discussing it, I'm not sure I would have opposed the idea."

I swallowed hard. "Why?"

"Because he wasn't the only one losing sleep and dropping weight by the truckload —" Ginny furthered, the fire in her eyes losing steam, replaced with deep, unyielding concern.

In that moment, my eyes found the floor. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't look at her, knowing she was right and that I had reached an unhealthy state during the ten months that I had spent — with him. I tried not to think about it as a bad thing, as I was due to lose some weight and could finally fit into my favourite pair of jeans — but there was no denying the obvious.

Ginny moved a little closer to me — tired, tired of arguing, tired of the stress this topic had placed on our friendship. "I was worried about you, Hermione. Harry was worried, too. Yes, it was cruel to keep such a crucial piece of information from you, but it wasn't our secret to tell. I'm sorry for the way things happened. Believe me. I had no idea he would have your visitor status revoked. I was furious with him for a long time — and with Harry for his involvement — but really, what would you have done in Nott's position?"

The thought had occurred to me — were the roles reversed, would I have acted the same? I knew the answer. I knew within seconds.

"You're right," I decided. "You're absolutely right."

"No —" she countered. "What I am, is sorry. I should have explained everything to you, the moment you returned from the Hospital Wing. I should have, but I didn't," she then voiced, searching through my eyes for understanding. "I'd never seen you so heartbroken, Hermione. It terrified me to see you like that, and maybe that's the reason I'm so opposed to you dating Malfoy. Not because I don't think he has it in him to care — because he does and it's plainly obvious when you're together that he can't tear his eyes away from you. I just — I can't stand the thought of seeing you like that again, so heartbroken, when you've only just started to heal."

I breathed in, listening to her, absorbing the information and knowing, deep down, that it was all true.

In the year since the breakup, it had never occurred to me that the state I had been left in had not only been hard on me, but on my friends, as well. I didn't just owe it to myself to recover. I owed it to them, to those that stood by me and helped me through such a difficult time, and perhaps jumping into another relationship wasn't the best or brightest idea, but I couldn't stand idly by and let things carry on a moment further, not without knowing for sure.

In the worst case scenario, the feelings I had repressed for over four years would be resolved and I could, for the first time in a long time, move on. I explained this to Ginny, and she gave me her blessing, both reluctant and understanding, as she knew this was something I had to do.

From there, the decision was made.

Later That Night

It was dim in the flat, something I had done on purpose, as the dimness helped me focus on one thing at a time. I paced the lounge, dressed in a casual outfit of skinny jeans, matched with a white camisole and a cream-coloured, loose-fitted jumper. It was around midnight, about four hours after I'd returned from dinner at Harry and Ginny's and sent the letter, that there was a knock on my door.

I breathed in, levelling the stress and the nerves and the overall jittery feeling that tugged and twisted in my stomach, before moving to the source of the commotion and opening that door. Standing on the other side, was a tall, blonde-haired wizard, leaning against the doorframe with a look about him that told me he'd rushed here, through the rain, as his hair was tousled and his trench coat was soaked. Burberry, I think.

"Come in —" I urged. "Sorry to call you here so late. I just — I —"

Draco said nothing, and simply watched as I took his coat and hanged it, struggling to find the right words to explain why I'd called him to my flat.

"I've been thinking a lot," I explained, sounding rather redundant. " — and — erm — I think it's time we discussed what's going on here."

"What do you mean?" he asked, though I was sure he knew.

I ushered him to the lounge, where we sat on the loveseat, a safe distance apart, but close enough that I knew he could see the twitch on my lip, each time I tried to say something. It seemed easy to me, at Ginny's and then afterwards, when I'd written the letter, but having him there, in front of me, waiting for me, created a knot in my stomach the size of Jupiter.

"Sound it out," he teased, mirroring the twitch on my lip with one of his own, though his was one of amusement.

I grimaced. "Hold on. Just — wait here."

I rose from the loveseat, aware that his eyes were on me as I made my way to the kitchen and, away from his line of vision, took a shot of fire whiskey in an attempt to settle my nerves. It didn't work. I had no choice but to take a moment and ask myself — was this nervousness or was this my mind and body telling me that I had made the wrong decision?

Draco sighed, having followed me into the kitchen, and without a moment of warning, he took the bottle from my hands placed it on the counter.

"What's wrong?" he asked me. "What's going through that mind of yours?"

I closed my eyes, slowly, doing everything I could to ignore the waves of blue and to instead focus on the grey.

It was smoky and unpredictable and everything I thought I didn't want — but in all the chaos surrounding this moment and the one in Paris, something dawned on me.

"Maybe we're wrong for each other," I suddenly said, finding the words as I went, eyes open. "In fact, I know we are — like square peg, round hole wrong — but that doesn't change the fact that, right now, you need me as much as I need you."

His eyebrows rose, surprised, as he listened to the last bit.

"I won't ask her name, nor will I ask what she did to leave you so broken," I said to him. " — but I also won't believe you, should you tell me I'm wrong and that there isn't a woman somewhere whose lips you imagined when you kissed mine, in Paris, and maybe before that, too."

From there, his eyebrows lowered, and an unexpected wave washed over his facial features, leaving him across from me, with his hand still clasped around the fire whiskey. Moments later, he brought it to his mouth and had a drink.

I waited, watching as he downed about a third of the bottle, before setting it down. It was worrisome behaviour, sure, but I understood his disposition. I understood his relationship with alcohol and that it was similar to mine.

Perhaps we weren't so different after all.

I moved closer to him then, the smoke, the questions without answers, the feelings that made no sense but refused to disappear, and exhaled. "Paris was your attempt at proving to yourself, you could feel something for someone other than her," I said to him, staring between his eyes. "Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't. I don't know. I just — I guess I called you here to — to find out."

He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to answer, but I wasn't finished. I carried on.

" — and I know it seems stupid and unrealistic to think I could compare to her or that you could compare to him but —"

I stopped then, startled, as he held me by the shoulders, silencing the voices in my head, snapping me out of it, using the look in his eyes to centre the thoughts that had plagued me since Paris.

"You're right," he interjected. "— about everything."

I calmed, breathing in and out.

It felt good, hearing those words, as though an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

"It does seem stupid and unrealistic," he echoed, confirming to me that someone, somewhere had broken him in the same manner that someone, somewhere had broken me. " — but that doesn't make it impossible."

Something changed, as those last words left his lips, leaving the vibe between us in a place that was uncharted. Part of me was firm against this, but another, not too distant part of me, was coaxed an inch or two forward.

It wasn't about romance or love. It was about feeling something. It was about using the connection we shared and exploring it, for better or for worse — because what else could we have done?

He moved even closer to me then, so close that my next breath was filled with the scent of his cologne…dark chocolate, black currant, and sandalwood. I exhaled, causing my eyes to flutter shut, in rhythm with the moment his hands moved from my shoulders, down my sides, to the small of my back, where he drew me towards him, so close, so close.

"In about five seconds, I'm going to kiss you," Draco told me. "— and then I'll come back here tomorrow and I'll take you on a date, and we'll give this thing between us a proper go, because I don't know about you, but I don't want to live another four years, wondering if things could have been different, had we started on the right foot."

I listened, and then I waited, and then it happened.

A/N: In case you're wondering, the woman he loves is in their circle of friends. Guesses? Also, the song I would use for this chapter is "Jump Into the Fog" by The Wombats.

Cheers

xo.