Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Disclaimer: I don't support Voldemort.

Disclaimer: When I was at Hogwarts, I was in RAVENCLAW. Represent!

. * . * .

I looked at the watch (on my wrist, naturally) for the tenth time. It was only one o'clock in the afternoon? How could it only be one o'clock in the afternoon? That made next to no sense. Surely my clock had found a way to change times as we traveled through different time zones. Surely this was not the time of my homeland—because that would mean…sixteen more hours until I was off this treacherous thing?

I could kiss taking a nap goodbye. I was wide awake. I begun to nervously pull at the necklace I was wearing, twisting the beads around.

"Stop fidgeting." Draco snapped. I narrowed my eyes at him and slowly crossed my arms over my chest, "Sorry, but that sound is so annoying."

"You didn't have to snap at me," I commented, "And that sound is annoying? I think you're annoying." I instantly regretted saying that, as soon as the statement left my lips I could hear how childish it sounded.

"I said that I was sorry." He replied. A few moments passed, and neither of us said anything, "So when's the wedding?"

Oh, that was a fantastic subject change.

"What wedding?" I asked icily.

"Oh, don't act like that party the other evening wasn't a pre-engagement party. '…A toast to a wedding in our future!'" He even made air quotes.

"Nothing has yet to be decided." I replied, "Not that it's any of your business." He laughed coldly at my attempt to wound him emotionally.

"So you're telling me that Flint hasn't even given you a ring?" He asked sarcastically. I didn't say anything, but I suppose even after so many years away he could still read my silence, "Oh, so he did?"

"Why does it matter if he did?" I bitterly turned to look out the window, facing away from Draco.

He laughed—like he was truly enjoying this, "Oh, that's hysterical. Let me guess—he gave it to you the last time he saw you before you were leaving to spend all this alone time with me? He probably said something lame, like—just look at this ring anytime you question your future. Know that this ring is a reminder of what our future is going to be like," he continued laughing, having no idea how close he was to reality.

"For your information it was very sweet."

"That's not sweet." He objected, "That's stereotypical. It's not romantic at all. He gave you the ring as a promise to the future. But if you're not feeling that way now, how can that be a promise to the future?"

"How do you know we're not feeling that way now?" I barked, "And just because that's a promise to our future doesn't mean that we're not feeling anything for each other."

"So you love him?" He asked simply.

I closed my eyes, afraid that I might cry. Because right now, deep in my heart I knew that I didn't love him, "We'll have the rest of our lives to learn to love each other."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Flint is handsome, he's caring, he's sweet. I like him a lot."

"But like isn't the same thing as love," He quickly responded.

"Why do you care?" I turned to look at him. He opened his mouth sheepishly, and then closed it suddenly.

"I—" He stopped, "I, well, I don't care. So what's your ring like? Emerald, isn't it?"

"I fail to see how that's important." I crossed my arms over my chest, getting frustrated at his inability to let this go.

"Sure it is. Why?" He shrugged his shoulders, "Because I happen to recall a certain girl ranting one afternoon in my backyard about how she didn't want a traditional engagement ring. She didn't want emerald, if she ever got married. She wanted something huge and sparkly."

"That little girl had a fascination with anything shiny," I defended, "I happen to find tradition refreshing."

"Which is exactly why you ranted previously about your excitement of the next two weeks—the fact that you were free from a stone age society. Free from the traditions that anchor us into behaving without passion."

"I didn't say that last part." I remarked, not even bothering to comment on anything else. He was right. And he always called me on my bullshit.

"You didn't have to."

I took a deep breath, "I hate the ring. It's not that I don't like Flint, like you'd like to believe but that this whole ordeal is moving way too fast. But that's the way it has to be in our reality, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"We don't get a say in our future. We don't have the luxuries that someone like…like, Granger would have. Our parents decide for us. My parents have decided on Flint. And I have to be happy with that."

"My parents are pushing me into an engagement with Pansy."

"Pansy would be more than thrilled to be given that opportunity." I remarked, "She's only been dreaming about it for the last six years."

"How do you know?" He looked at me oddly. I had said too much.

"Well, I'm just guessing. I don't know how long her infatuation with you has existed, but trust me. She'd sell all of her shoes to get the chance to marry you. You might have to invest in extra mirrors for your home though. Other than that, you two will be perfect together."

"Are you saying I'm shallow?"

"No, that's not it at all. You and Pansy just don't enjoy deep conversation." I knew even before I said it that it wasn't true. Or at least it hadn't been years ago, things could change, right?

"You've been gone for seven years. Don't pretend like you were just gone for the first summer. Don't pretend like you completely forgot about me. I know that you didn't."

I sat completely speechless, yet at the same time so infuriated. From this frustration, I felt my eyes begin to water up—like the girlish girl I was.

"Are you crying?" He asked softly, turning my face to see his.

"No," I stubbornly pushed him away, crossing my arms. "Why would I be crying?" I spat.

It was his turn to be speechless. He just watched me, his face full of concern much to my disgust. I didn't want him to be worried about me; I was much too frustrated with him at the moment for him to model such behavior.

"I'm—"

I cut him off, "Don't say that you're sorry. It's not needed. Stop apologizing about everything. It's frustrating."

"Why?" He asked, seeing through me yet again, "I can tell that you're upset."

"Let's just drop it, okay?" I asked, "I want to have fun. We're going to America. For all intended purposes this is a vacation."

"Did you read the itinerary?" He asked, I was thankful that he had gone along with my request to change the subject—once and for all. I was baffled at his question though, and I nervously begun spinning the beads on my necklace again. He gave me a warning look, I rolled my eyes.

"There was an itinerary?"

"Yeah. Bella planned the whole trip, she kept saying—it has to be believable, right?"

"Just like the fact that we're sharing a bed instead of a double room." I replied stonily; to which his only reply was manic laughter. Side clutching, doubled over, ringing through the room—everyone staring at you laughter, "What so funny?"

"Bella had her fun with this, didn't she?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know what I mean."

"No, Draco, I don't. If I did, I wouldn't have asked."

"She wants us to…" He shrugged, the laughter completely gone, "be together or whatever." I put a hand to my temple.

"Why does every single one of our conversations go back to us? No matter how normal we try to make things." I took a deep breath, "That's always where it comes back to."

"Why do you fight it?"

"Why do I fight what?" I hissed, trying not to raise my voice as I was certain that we'd already gained far too much attention.

"This." He gestured towards us.

"It's not my choice, Draco. Nor is it yours. You know that."

"What if it could be?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, turning his torso to where he was leaning over the seat, his body instinctively leaning in to me.

"That's impossible. I'm all but technically engaged. And from the small details you've told me, I would assume that your life is headed for that direction as well. It's too late at this point." I replied, keeping my voice emotionless. Blocking my mind instinctively from forming a vision of a future I could have with Draco. Just the vague, underlying thoughts made me weak in the knees. I suddenly remembered that small satin box, nestled into my suitcase somewhere. The twinkling emerald ring was the symbol of the future I had. It provided the constant reminder of what I would return to.

"For the next two weeks we have to pretend to be a couple." He pointed out. I sighed. How had I managed to forget about that?

"We're going to have to work hard at it too, with the way we argue."

"We shouldn't have to work at it." What he was suggesting was completely ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. It was so absurd that there wasn't even a word to describe it.

"And why is that?" I asked quietly. My voice was shaky, yet firm. It had a longing, yet it forced the end of this charade.

"Don't act like you don't know why."

"I'm not acting like anything."

"Like hell you aren't!" He raised his voice loudly, I gave him a warning look. He bent over again, leaning in towards me, inches away from my face, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Admit it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I huffed, leaning towards him angrily, "Though what you're insinuating is ridiculous. You want us to let everything go and just be together for the next two weeks? That's stupid."

"Why is it so stupid?"

"You know why. We both have people waiting for us to return. You have Pansy, and you know that I have Marcus." I really enjoyed this newfound information. It made it easier for me to not put so much blame on myself—for daresay I admit it; for hypothetically ruining my chances with Draco, "It's reckless and dangerous."

"Why, though?"

"Because! If we get too used to these two weeks, then what on earth are we going to do when we go back to England? If you fall in love with me, or daresay I fall in love with you—we're screwed. Don't you see that? If your parents are pushing you into a relationship with Pansy, then the concrete of your life has already been poured. Mine is drying. Only with our families, it's not like concrete. It's like shatterproof glass. There's nothing we can do to break the lives that have already been chosen for us."

After that, he was silent. He very silently adjusted himself in his chair, to where he sat facing forward. He grabbed the strange ear muffs from in front of him—the ones that the air attendant had told us would give us sound to the muggle film at the front of the cabin.

I could hear the sound from his ear things blasting into my personal bubble, and I knew that the conversation was over.

I didn't try and change his mind. Instead, I fished in my purse for a book to read. Anything that would get my mind off of the conversation that we'd just shared. It worked.

It worked so well, that suddenly it was dinnertime and I hadn't even bothered to look at my watch—despairing over time's inability to move once.

I didn't realize how much time had progressed, until I had read two thirds of my novel, and the flight helper had returned to request our dinner preferences.

After she left, I was surprised to hear Draco ask, "How is your book?" That was a perfectly normal question. I was just curious to see if we could keep a normal conversation. I somehow doubted it, figuring all of the unspoken things between us.

"It's pleasant. It's something I've read a time or two," I finished conversationally.

"And yet you're reading it again?"

"I enjoy it." I put my book away, realizing that I wasn't going to be able to read any more for the present, "Did you enjoy the film?" I continued pleasantly.

"Not really. It was typical of muggles. The same good conquers evil plot. When will they learn that it's the opposite way around?" He smirked, straightening his collar.

"Draco Archibald! Don't you—"

He cut me off, "Get used to it. Merlin knows you should be by now."

I found myself staring at him. At how much bluer his eyes looked, which if I noticed one more time it would become redundant. I just couldn't get over the light that shined in them. I'd never noticed how clear they were. They always seemed so dark. And his hair—which he'd no longer kept slicked back, but instead neatly parted and out of the way was hanging lightly over his forehead—so casually. His eyes so lately had looked completely hooded, his face almost devoid of life. He looked alive again.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"You just look so different." I replied, "And not in the 'I haven't seen you in a hundred years way,' In a completely different way entirely."

"It's not as much of a shock as how different you look." He replied, "It's almost like you're a whole different person. And the clothes for me aren't that much of a change. I've worn khaki's before. But you're wearing a light purple dress."

I laughed lightly, "I know." My laughter subsided into giggles, "I can't contain my excitement at getting to wear pink."

He raised an eyebrow, "You can't?" He laughed lightly, "I can't say I'm surprised. Even you as a tomboy enjoyed the color pink. Although, I hardly thought you were a tomboy then."

"Sure I was," I objected, "I was always hanging out with the guys."

"While that is true, you still acted very much like a girl. You freaked out when your hair got messed up when we played quidditch." I smacked him playfully on the arm.

"So did you!" I responded childishly. He grinned, bringing so much warmth into his smile.

"So?" He chuckled, leaning over the arm rest once again, leaning towards me.

"Well, you're being a little hypocritical," I teased, "Besides. I was the one who beat up everyone. That makes the tomboy."

"You punched Flint once. I was the one who bloodied the noses," He called me out on it.

"Okay, fine." I sighed, grinning like an idiot, "I wasn't actually a tomboy."

I didn't realize how much I had leaned towards Draco. Until his face was inches from mine and all I wanted to do was scoot even closer. To smell his aftershave. To feel the slight stubble against his cheek. To feel his lips pressing against my own. Draco's face was contorted with the same thoughts.

I quickly (not to mention awkwardly) stretched backwards, away from him. This seemed to let him snap out of his reverie as well.

I stretched, "I wonder what the next film is going to be." I tried to take the focus off of how closely we were sitting together.

"Probably something rubbish. But what else do we have to do?" I laughed lightly, and grabbed my ear megaphones.

I couldn't stop running the image of Draco so close to my face through my mind. Which was only worsened when I recalled sleeping his arms earlier. And a few days ago…which led me to recall something else entirely.

I closed my eyes, replaying the images in my mind. And before I knew it, I was asleep.

. * . * .

At some point in the night I stirred, I felt so at peace and so warm. The headphones from earlier had been removed, there was a blanket covering me. I was laying on Draco's chest. He was dead to the world asleep, clutching me tightly in his arms.

I was in bliss. I didn't wake him up. I quietly pulled myself closer to his chest and let myself re-enter dreamland.