ֳThe sunset of next day found Hermione sitting in a recliner, rocking sleeping Emmeline and watching the red glint of the dying sun on the surface of the sea. She let out a contented sigh. The peacefulness of this place was like balm for her soul after the busy bustle of London.
She saw the tall, manly figure of her husband approaching her, a smile on his lips and two glasses of red wine in his hands. Hermione carefully pulled out one hand from underneath Emmy's sleepy little body, took a glass of wine from Draco, and took a sip. The wine was like velvet on her tongue.
Draco took a seat in the recliner next to hers and sipped his wine. Even now, after a year of marriage and a child, both of them felt this is like a dream.
"I'm so glad we bought this place," said Hermione.
"Me too," replied Draco, "the area was highly recommended by Professor Snape, though he did warn me that he has sentimental feelings towards it. This is where he and Mrs. Snape spent their honeymoon all those years ago."
When Anna told Lavinia that Hermione had had her share of misgivings about marrying Draco Malfoy, she did not exaggerate. After his divorce, Draco, still very good-looking and almost ridiculously rich, became once more one of the most eligible bachelors in the British wizarding community. He was expected to remarry, of course, but people thought he was sure to choose a young carefree beauty, not a widow nearing her fortieth birthday, weighed down by the care of two children and disconsolate in-laws.
Everyone around Hermione kept telling her just how lucky she is to be courted by such a man, a quite a few eyebrows were raised when it became known that Draco, a pure-blood heir, is going to marry a Muggle-born. But only the people closest to Hermione knew she was marrying not the rich and handsome Draco Malfoy, but a man who had become her friend in the year following her husband's death, who had loved her with silent devotion for most of his adult life, and who had sacrificed his father's freedom and the good name of his family to avenge Ron Weasley's murder.
Still, it was not without a doubt that she walked down the aisle a year and a half after losing Ron.
Hermione closed her eyes. She remembered this like it was yesterday. The ceremony was to take place at Malfoy Manor, and Hermione, who was supposed to come downstairs in half an hour, was making last-minute preparations with the help of Ginny Potter, who was lacing Hermione into her snug dress of green satin which she had chosen for the wedding. Both women were crying, because they couldn't help but remember the previous time Ginny was Hermione's bridesmaid, nearly twenty years ago now.
"Oh, Ginny," whispered Hermione, "I do hope I'm doing the right thing."
Ginny looked straight at Hermione, dropping her pretense of fussing about the lacy cover of Hermione's dress.
"Hermione, you are supposed to be downstairs getting married in thirty minutes. Don't tell me you are having second thoughts now."
"I just wonder," Hermione's voice was barely audible, "whether this isn't – isn't... too soon."
Ginny's expression softened, and she gently stroked Hermione's hair.
"It isn't an insult to Ron's memory to be happy again," she whispered, "Ron loved you, he would have wanted you to – to move on... it's just that -"
"That you wouldn't have expected me to move on with Draco Malfoy," concluded Hermione.
"It does take time to get used to," Ginny said gently.
Hermione knew that. All the gossip-lovers had savored the idea that Hermione Weasley was marrying the son of her husband's murderer, and those who remembered the enmity between them at school had even wilder guesses about how and why the match might be taking place, ranging from Amortentia to the Imperius curse. Finally, why fool herself? It took her some time to get used to the idea as well.
She didn't quite remember the ceremony, which was very quiet and forever remained like a blur in her memory. There was no music, no dancing, just a small reception for their limited number of guests, about half of whom were the Weasleys.
Once they had been left alone in Draco's old bedroom, which had been spruced up and decorated for the occasion, Hermione felt her knees weaken as she gave in to the strain of past weeks. She sank onto the great canopied bed, on which, she now knew, the young Draco Malfoy had spent many sleepless nights thinking about her. It still all seemed surreal, and even more so was the gentle way he took her hand as he sat next to her, allowing her to rest her head against his shoulder. Well, what did she expect, Hermione chastised herself, that he would rip her clothes off then and there? They were not teenagers anymore, after all.
"Hey, Granger," she heard his quiet voice and smiled.
"Yes, Malfoy?" she replied playfully.
"I know what you are thinking right now."
"And what would that be?"
"You are wondering whether you have just committed an act of madness."
Hermione looked at him, startled. She surveyed his handsome face, the clear gray eyes. She didn't expect him to be so blunt.
"You are wondering whether you should have married me, and that's understandable. But Hermione, I believe in healing. I believe it's never too late to change things. Otherwise I wouldn't have proposed to you – twice, until you accepted me, to be exact."
He had been right, Hermione thought as she stroked Emmeline's silky hair. She was happy now, even though she often felt confused about her new identity these days. As Hermione Weasley, she led a quiet life. As Mrs. Malfoy, she had all money could buy and was constantly in the spotlight, in the company of old, well-bred wizarding families, to some of whose norms she was forced to conform, as much as she disliked it. However, she stayed true to herself in refusing to have a house elf.
She had avoided, as much as possible, comparing her new husband to Ron, although she couldn't help noticing, of course, how vastly different they were. Ron, her childhood friend, was reassuringly familiar – when she had married him, she already knew everything about him. With Draco, she felt as though they were just getting to know each other after a year of marriage. Ron was funny, goofy and often tactless; Draco was handsome and dashing, elegant and well-bred and very self-controlled.
She had gotten used to the idea that she would probably always miss Ron, and Draco had never attempted to replace him, as he understood that would be impossible. But she had also found happiness in her new marriage, in her new life.
What concerned her most was the children from the previous marriages of them both, and the relationships between them. Astoria kept poisoning the minds of her son and daughter against Hermione, Lavinia became cold and distant with her father, and Rose and Scorpius seemed unable to be within five feet of each other without fighting. Hugo was very apprehensive about his mother's new husband, and insisted on calling Draco "Mr. Malfoy."
It will all be set to right sooner or later, Hermione assured herself. The children will get used to the new situation. As for herself... she will let go of the guilt for having fallen in love again, and with the man everybody would least expect, too.
She smiled, savoring the first night of her long-awaited vacation.