Taming of the Shrew
...and then there were two.


"You despise espresso without milk and something sweet," accused Malfoy tightly after the door shut behind Andrew,

"Things change," came Hermione's solemn reply. "Stop grouching, Draco. You just hate losing."

"What I hate is having lost you."

She startled at his quiet admission. It had been nearly half a year since they'd last seen each other, and even more than that since they'd had a kind word to say to one another.

"You should have thought of that before you took Astoria up on her invitation to share her bed."

"Hermione, that ended almost as soon as it began. She meant nothing to me."

A lip bite and a head shake rid Hermione of the heartfelt desire to forgive him yet again.

"It didn't mean anything, Hermione. Please believe me. You mean everything to me."

A small eruption of pain exploded in her chest. How many times had Hermione convinced herself of his trustworthiness? How much time had she wasted on helping him toward redemption? How many times had she sworn to Harry and Ron that she loved Malfoy wholeheartedly only to have to run into the comfort of their arms when he failed to live up to her expectations? How many times did Draco have to rip her heart asunder before she realized his inner turmoil was simply too great a challenge for their meager claim of love to surmount?

"The thing of it is, Draco, I do believe you," Hermione replied, the pang in her chest not quite as debilitating as before. "I just don't think you want me to be your everything. I'd also wager that you don't yet realize that Astoria does mean something to you," she found herself amazed that she wasn't gulping at air as she continued determinedly. "Each time you do this, it's with a pureblooded witch and this time... this time you chose the apple of your mother's eye."

Hermione willed her own eyes to remain dry. "I can't weather this again, Draco. I just can't. It's unrealistic to expect fidelity and respect from you in marriage if you can't give those things to me now."

Hermione was truly surprised at her ability to speak to Draco about his infidelities without breaking down. She winced internally at the memory of having saved that particular embarrassment for the dressmaker to witness when she'd gone in to return her wedding gown and dress robes two months prior.

"You shattered my heart, Draco. Now you have to live with the consequences of that. Please respect that I'm doing my best to move on without you. If you do truly love me, you'd let me go. Please, just let me–"

She watched him abruptly swivel his chair around so she couldn't see his face. He'd done this before. Hiding his emotions from her was classic Draco. It was a wonder they'd ever managed to get together when they'd turned 21. One year after the end of the war Hermione and Draco at last acknowledged a mutual love for one another, one that far outweighed their half-hearted shows of hatred which had kept them in denial about their shared attraction for nearly two years.

After Harry's final meeting with the Ministry, it became public knowledge that Draco had foresaken his father's fortune to continue Snape's work with the Order through to the end of the war. He'd saved countless lives, Hermione's and Ron's included. She had effectively run out of reasons to deny their obvious attraction to one other, so, when things had at last settled into a tremulous post-war peace, Draco suggested they give their equally wobbly relationship a go.

Unfortunately, the blaze of passion that ensued from their union made Hermione blind to all else that was still wrong with Malfoy. Many of their peers continued to suffer the after effects of war. Draco never spoke of his deepest hurts with her and she knew he had no other outlet to mend his mental state. Instead of taking care of this, Draco had taken what little gold his mother had managed to squirrel away for him, invested it wisely in Muggle England and poured all of his energy into building a multi-million dollar conglomerate that served both the magical and Muggle worlds.

Still examining the bookshelves, Draco's mini-retreat from Hermione's sight signaled that her rational, earnest request might have slightly thawed Malfoy's rediscovered icy exterior. Something inside her twisted, wanting desperately to reach out to him, but Hermione knew that this time she wouldn't be the one to heal Draco's hurt.

"He's Muggle," Malfoy unexpectedly groused.

"As am I, Draco. It's my history, my culture." A small sad smile played on Hermione's lips. "I think my Muggleness and your Pureblooded-ness was always part of the unscalable wall between us.

"Does it have to be with him?" his voice gruff with emotion.

"Draco, it's not as if you really get a say in who comes after you," Hermione sighed tiredly. "It really shouldn't matter who–."

He swiveled around to stare at her. Steel grey eyes, to her surprise, somewhat watery.

"It does, Hermione," he admitted sorrowfully. "It matters."

"Well then, you should be thankful it isn't Harry," she retorted smartly, hoping her want to run back to him wasn't evident in her half-feigned belligerent stance. A wry smile touched his lips and he nodded.

Some things never changed.

But there were some things that did.

After all, Hermione had. Irrevocably. She'd at last discovered she couldn't save every lost cause. She'd finally learned how heart-wrenching it was to so deeply love a boy still struggling to become a man. Malfoy's self-destruction almost wrought hers and in her self-inflicted separation from him, she'd slowly and surely come to terms with the fact it was over between her and Draco. All that was left to convince was a small part of her heart which she secretly believed would always belong to him.

""You'll have your things in the morning, love."

"I said tonight, Malfoy," her voice rising, prepared to do battle again.

"If I heard correctly," he offered quietly, with an unfamiliar look of defeat in his gaze, "you have a date tonight."

In the resulting silence, a clock ticked and Hermione could nearly count the seconds it took for an impossibly forbidden love to unravel and begin to reknit itself into an altogether different sort of relationship.

"Thank you, Draco."

"Your gratitude is misplaced, Granger. I do believe it is I who should be thanking you... for a great number of things," his voice hitched as he pulled himself from his chair. His long stride had him in front of her within seconds, claiming her hands in his. Draco's finger beneath her chin didn't send the usual thrill up her spine. Soon enough, she found herself gazing into the familiarity of his pewter eyes. "You're quite wonderful, Hermione. I do hope your Mr. Wright is less of an idiot than I am and realizes your true worth far sooner than I ever did."