Chapter Four

With feet and heart sore, Hermione finally stopped. She had made two turns that placed her on fields and hills of green. It retrospect, it was a beautiful day, the sky was perfectly clear and bright with cooling breezes of autumn's reminder. It would have been the perfect day to be married.

Miles away she had taken off her heels. She had the right mind to throw them in the pond she had passed, but they looked painfully expensive with their glittering jewels (that she could not be sure weren't real diamonds). She would hate to have to tell Mrs. Malfoy where her prideful generosity swam.

It turned out to be the right choice. There was a pub. It seemed misplaced among the farms and it gave her pause to see how empty the place was. However she was surprised upon walking in, the bartender being rosy cheeked and friendly. He welcomed her in, taking in her dress and general depressing state.

"Hard day," he asked with humor she could appreciate.

"Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully, then brought out a bottle of gold liquid that reminded her of Harry's Polyjuice potion. "This is on the house," he said as he poured her a tall glass.

Four Days Ago

Draco was working late and so Hermione did what she usually did when she was alone. She poured a small glass of wine and laid out her work on the coffee table. She wrote letters, signed agreements. Then, she settled with whatever happened to be on television.

As those nights went, she had fallen asleep, the television left on, blinking its colors over her sleeping features. Time slipped from her consciousness, and for all she knew, she had been asleep for seconds or hours, but a blanket was sliding over her bare arm, and there was a hand on her head. It felt odd. It wasn't the hand she was used to. It was larger.

What truly woke Hermione that night was the crash. She bolted up, the blanket pooling at her waist, and she saw in a heap at the bottom of a scuffed wall was Ron. His red head was bowed and he groaned when he touched the back of his neck.

Draco was at the door, his wand raised, his eyes a molten fire of fury. "Don't. Move."

She stood, groping for her wand left on the couch. "Draco... Lower your wand."

"How dare you," he spat at Ron, "come into my house, touch my wife."

With her wand in her waistband, Hermione moved to help Ron, but stopped, seeing a wrapped plate on the island in the kitchen. She could see it was a small pile of chocolate cakes, wafting their warm and sweet scent through the rooms. Putting it all together, she slid an arm under his and got Ron to his feet, but he quickly pushed her away. He went for his wand, but Hermione snatched it from his pocket and backed to the wall.

"Stop it. There's been a misunderstanding. For Merlin's sakes, Draco, lower your wand!" Slowly, he did as she ordered and she exhaled a deep breath. "Ron was delivering something from Mrs. Weasley. She baked us cakes, look there." She pointed to the kitchen, and Draco's eyes lit in comprehension.

Ron stood straighter, chest puffed out importantly. "I should have you arrested, Malfoy!"

Draco glared. "Go ahead then."

"No one is getting arrested," Hermione said.

"I have the power to do that," Ron told her as if she didn't know.

She brought herself to her full height, even though it did not near match his, but she was right indignant. "I'm a lawyer, Ron, and you have no right to arrest him. This is our house and you did break-in. I remember taking your key."

Ron, flabbergasted, raised his hands in surrender. "Have it your way, Hermione. Have Malfoy and have your perfect house. You could've had different - better." He rushed out, Draco clearing his way, although there was murder in his stony expression.

The greatest form of love Draco could have shown to her at that moment, he did: He did not killing her best friend. Draco pocketed his wand, and looked her over. "What aren't you telling me?"

Hermione looked away.

Presently

Draco apparated to every place he knew. Her favorite library, her favorite restaurant, and lastly and most unlikely, their house.

He called out her name, but expected no answer. Hermione was too smart to go home, knowing very well that it was the place he would go. Regardless, he checked every empty room, ending his search in their study, staring at their two desks at either side of the room. His a mess of paperwork and hers neat and organized pens in cups and labels on every drawer.

There was one thing different on hers: A letter.

His heart sped up. Maybe she had been by, he had thought, but his heart dropped when he saw that it wasn't her handwriting, and it was addressed to her, not to him.

Draco respected her privacy, and he had not once touched her desk. Okay, that was not true. They once had some fun on its lacquered surface. Okay, that wasn't true either, it was more than once. Yet, there was the opened letter, and she was gone, and he was looking for her. In his defense, he was a desperate man in search of his wife.

Hermione,

I do stupid things, don't I? I kiss you and make you cry; I mess everything up. Forget it, will you? You have my blessing. Marry Malfoy. You're the smartest Witch I know; he must be a good man now.

Your Best Friend, Ron

P.S. If you change your mind, run and I'll wait for you at the back of the church.

Draco crumpled the letter in his fist. Breathing hard, his heart beating fast, he threw the damn thing to the side and stormed out of the house.

He would kill the Weasel.