Chapter Seven

It was raining and Hermione was soaked. She sat on a bench at the corner of a street that she didn't know the name of, waiting for... Nothing. Perhaps it was clarity to see her mistake or perhaps it was strength to get up and do something about her miserable self. She was not one to wallow, but she had never left anyone before. Not Harry during the Horcrux hunt, not anyone or anything.

She mourned for Draco in a way that was completely foreign to her. It wasn't like saying goodbye to Crookshanks two months ago, or to anything that had to go. It was her choice. She let go. She had no right to feel the way she did, but she did anyway.

A bus pulled up. She wondered where it would take her.

One Day Ago

"Tomorrow, you'll be my husband," Hermione said gleefully, watching Draco lift containers of food out of a brown paper bag.

He sighed, "tomorrow you'll be at the mercy of my mother and her attendants. It's the honeymoon I'm looking forward to."

Heart plummeting, she sat at the table, her chin in her hand. Draco knew that look all too well.

"We're getting married. It's all that matters."

She wasn't listening. With the tip of her finger she traced the rough carving of their table. It was a housewarming present from her father. He had recently taken up the art of wood-crafting, but he had a long way to go. She stayed focused on the deep lines rather than think about the horrendous day she would have - a day which was supposed to be the happiest of her life.

Draco sat a swirled-patterned plate in front of her. She was more than happy to eat out of the containers, but Draco called the act barbarous.

"You never thought you'd be marrying me," she teased.

He laughed, dipping out rice on her plate. "Not a bit, no." He then frowned. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

She looked into those kind gray eyes and shook her head, lying. "Not a bit, no."

Satisfied, he nodded. "Good, because my dear, I am never letting you go." He speared a piece of diced chicken, feeding her, and she smiled, but her heart stayed lodged in the pit of her stomach.

Presently

It was raining, and Draco was drenched like a damn rat. He swiped his hair out of his eyes. There was a bus, and he didn't care where it went as he truly had nowhere to go. He went aboard and thanked Merlin that Hermione insisted he keep a few muggle coins on him. If he ever saw her again, he would thank her too.

He walked down the aisle to the back of the bus, where he stopped short upon seeing the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. She too, was sopping wet; her white wedding dress clinging to her beautiful body. His breath hitched, and he sat next to her.

She spoke softly to the reflection of them in the window. "Hi."

"Hi," he responded hopefully.

They were quiet for two right turns and a red light, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Yes, they were in ruins, but he had never desired her more. He saw the hurt in the mirrored image of her face, and he hurt too. He forgave her without a whisper of an apology, because he knew that it was his fault. He admired her, because she always had the guts to stand up and say, 'no.' If it wasn't for his happiness, she would've done it ages ago.

"You didn't kill Ron, did you," she asked.

"Of course not, don't be absurd. I made you a promise I wouldn't."

There was a flicker of a smile - or at least he thought there was. It could have been the heavy drops of rain that pattered and trickled down the window. "I suppose I should keep mine," she said.

"What?"

She turned to face him, and suddenly, he could see everything. The bloodshot and sticky cheeks of a girl who had been crying. It broke his heart in a way that didn't break when he watched her run out on him.

"Lets get married today," she said.

"Hermione, are you demented or inebriated? All the guests have left. The minister has left."

"Draco, we should have done this our way. Lets do it our way."

"What is our way?"

"Privately, with our closest friends. Lets tell Ginny, Harry and Ron and Nott and marry at this chapel I saw." She said it all very quickly in the way he was so accustomed to hearing anything that excited her, she told him where exactly the chapel was at and that she was fairly certain that they would be open still (night services or some nonsense).

"You're serious."

"Yes! It's perfect."

"You're barmey."

She finally took a deep breath. He smelled alcohol on her breath. So she had been drinking. "We did it their way," she said.

He wrapped a strand of her dripping hair around his finger, and tucked it behind her ear. "Who will walk you down the aisle? Your father left."

"Harry will. That is," she paused in worry. "That is if you still want to marry me."

Taking her hot face in his cold hands, he spoke slowly so her racing mind and heart could feel every syllable. "There is nothing in the world I want more."

"Then say yes."

"Yes."