AN: I tried about ninety different times to get this up between last sunday morning and tuesday afternoon, at which point I gave up. I saw a rumour going around that it was due to the US's election, but who knows. I adore politics so from Tuesday night onwards I was glued to my computer watching the results, so I don't even know if it would've gone up before today. Forgive me my loves, especially you sweet, sweet souls who reached out to me with questions, I only just today saw them. You're all such a huge blessing.
Today's chapter is a wee little thing, I actually split it off from the last for a few different reasons. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless, and as always, let me kow what you think at the end! Bless all of you beautiful people.

XXI
—

Beyond beautiful, Hermione thought, staring out over the vineyard from her balcony. The sun was beginning to set, giving everything an ethereal orange glow, and the warmth of the rays bled into her soul, setting it aglow as well.

Her eyes shifted from the grapevines to her intended, who sat on the edge of the patio fountain. Since their rather intimate encounter in his bedroom a week prior, things had been different between the two of them, but not in a bad way. Just the opposite, in fact.

After she'd left him that day, she'd gone out into the garden to think. She'd contemplated her feelings for him and what exactly they entailed, and had forced herself to accept that she cared for him in a deeper way, not simply platonically, as she'd been telling herself. Recognizing that fact seemed to unchain something within her, and Hermione had found herself more at ease around him. Sometimes it was similar to the way she'd felt with Harry and Ron, a simple fondness that made her smile, and at other times it was a distinctly different, almost possessive affection. Usually she was somewhere in the middle.

She headed back into the house, grabbing the old book on her bedside table before making her way downstairs and out onto the patio.

Draco had been distracted for most of the day, and still appeared to be, as he didn't turn or seem to realize she was there until she was practically beside him. He startled at her sudden proximity, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Do I want to know what you've been pondering so thoroughly?" Hermione asked, sitting beside him. He glanced at her, then back out at the vineyard.

"Probably not…" he mumbled.

"Tell me anyways."

The boy was silent for a while, staring vacantly ahead. Then he smirked.

"I've one less year to live. Just a bit of morbid musing."

"You're eighteen, Draco," the witch said with a confused chuckle. "I hardly think that constitutes a serious examination of one's last will and testament."

The young wizard's eyes seemed to glass over. "This time last year I was throwing up in the dorms because I'd been told I had a week before my colleagues arrived. I was completely certain that I was going to die." His focus returned, and he shook his head, turning his attention back to her. "It made me rethink things."

The fountain babbled behind them, and Hermione supposed she understood his mindset. But that wasn't a reason not to celebrate the life you'd already lived. She held the tome in her hands out to him, and his eyes widened as they fell on the title.

"Where did you get this?" He questioned, gingerly taking the book and opening it. It was a very old and rare text on potion healing, most of the brews inside having been forgotten or regarded as unstable. She'd heard him discussing it with Theo in sixth year, and it had stuck in her mind, as it was one of the few times he'd seemed like his usual self. She grinned slightly.

"I asked Delilah if she knew of anyone specializing in uncommon writings. She gave me a few leads."

Draco turned the pages carefully and examined the text. After a few seconds, he closed the volume and looked up at her, the content smile that made him look so very handsome beaming across his expression. "This is brilliant, Hermione. Thank you," he breathed. The witch laced her fingers with his, bringing his hand to her lips.

"You're quite welcome," she said, just as Viti popped into existence before them. The House Elf bowed.

"Cake is bein' done, Mistress Granger!" She said, then disappeared, only for another soft pop to be heard behind them a few moments later. Hermione stood, tugging her intended along with her. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't protest as she pulled him over towards the patio table.

The couple sat down as Viti cut into the dessert, levitating the slices onto their plates and then popping away after being ordered to take a bit to Delilah, who the little creature had told them was speaking with her father.

The two held each other's gaze, and for a moment, they forgot everything; their history, the war, the sins they'd committed. They were just a pair of teenagers, enjoying cake and each other's company as the sun slipped below the horizon.

As he listened to his intended laugh at a story he'd told, Draco realized it was the most splendid birthday he'd had in a very, very long time.

—

Hermione was letting Zalu pack up her belongings. It wasn't the same sort of fun when one was returning from a holiday. She sighed as she glanced around the bedroom, wondering when she'd get the chance to return.

"All your things is put away, Mistress Granger," the House Elf declared. Nodding, the witch thanked him, picking up her purse and arranging it over her shoulder, then making her way down the magnificent staircase.

Already a sort of melancholy was filling her. The last two weeks had been wonderful; they had gone to Rome twice, spent a few days at the beach, and explored not only the Wizarding quarter of Italy but plenty of the Muggle countryside as well. They'd also made sure everything about the villa was in order, with Draco checking on all the wine-making equipment while she had redecorated the house to her tastes.

Hermione licked her lips as she sat near the Floo, swearing she could still taste Chianti Classico on them. They'd waited until their last night to sample the product of past years, and it had been an exquisite way to end the holiday. Even Draco had admitted it was gorgeous wine, though still claimed he'd have to tweak it to get it up to "Malfoy standards."

The young wizard walked into the room just then, dressed once more in the obsidian ensemble that was his pseudo-uniform. His intended pursed her lips. She'd gotten used to seeing him in the lighter colours he'd brought for their time in the sun, and the sudden contrast was a bit jarring.

He was twisting the ring on his right hand, a tick she'd noticed he did whenever he was feeling nervous. It was a dreadfully obvious trait.

"Stop doing that," she admonished with a chuckle. Draco stared at her, confused.

"Stop doing what?"

"Playing with your ring. You're practically shouting 'help, I'm uncomfortable.' Do you seriously not notice you're doing it?"

She stood, walking up to him and entwining their fingers. "It will be fine, Draco. The Coalition wasn't a priority, or even very important. You were just going to be nearby, so the Dark Lord decided to see if they would be responsive. He was just testing the waters, so to speak. Don't let it bother you."

The boy huffed and squeezed her hands, then took a step back.

"Ready to go, then?"

Hermione gave a half-smirk. "Of course not. But I suppose there's not much of an option, is there?"

He shook his head, his expression mirroring her own disappointment.

Delilah finally appeared in the sitting room, so the couple straightened, remembering to keep a distinguished air about them as they returned to Britain. After all, there were likely to be cameras waiting for them at the Ministry, and stars forbid they were anything but the perfect and beautiful couple that the entire Wizarding World viewed them as.

Last to step through the fireplace, Hermione looked around the villa once more, allowing herself a second of wistfulness. Then she set her shoulders and picked up a handful of Floo powder, leaving the sunshine and peace behind.

—