The Pretense - vinewrappeddragon - Harry Potter (2024)

It was a crisp autumn day when Hermione Granger received an unexpected visitor at her office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She looked up from the parchment scattered across her desk to see none other than Draco Malfoy standing in her doorway, impeccably dressed in fitted black robes.

"Malfoy," she said curtly, her brow furrowing in confusion. "To what do I owe this... pleasure?" The last word dripped with sarcasm.

He invited himself in and sat in the chair opposite her desk, crossing one long leg over the other with an air of nonchalance. "I have a proposition for you, Granger."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. "A proposition? From you? This ought to be good. I'm listening."

"As I'm sure you're aware, I'm now 28 years old and long past the age when I should have entered into a respectable pureblood marriage," he began, his tone almost bored. Hermione snorted derisively but let him continue. "My parents are breathing down my neck to settle down with a nice pureblood girl and start producing heirs. But I have no interest in that life."

"Go on," Hermione prompted, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

"I propose that you and I enter into a fake relationship, for one year only. It will get my parents off my back and buy me some time."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter. "You can't be serious, Malfoy. You and me? In a relationship? Even a fake one? That's absurd."

Draco's smirk only widened. "On the contrary, Granger, I'm quite serious."

She shook her head, still chuckling. "And why on earth would I agree to this ridiculous scheme? What could possibly be in it for me?"

His gray eyes glinted. "I'm willing to fully fund your research into the mating habits of the Amazonian Screeching Fwooper for the next three years. No expense spared."

That made Hermione pause. The Amazonian Screeching Fwooper was an extremely rare magical bird she had been dying to study, but securing funding for such an obscure topic was nearly impossible. Draco's offer was more than tempting.

But suspicion quickly overtook the brief flare of excitement. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why me, Malfoy? Why not choose someone else for this charade? Surely there are plenty of pureblood women who would jump at the chance to play your girlfriend, even if it's all for show."

Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "True. But none of them are as brilliant or as ambitious as you. Our relationship needs to be believable, Granger. Who would question the two brightest minds of our generation finding... common ground?"

She couldn't help but scoff. "Common ground? Is that what we're calling it? And what about the logistics of this little arrangement? I can't imagine you'd be satisfied with a few chaste pecks here and there."

"You wound me, Granger," he drawled, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I'm a perfect gentleman. But you're right, we would need to sell it. Hand holding, the occasional embrace, a few choreographed kisses in public. Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."

Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing. It was a tempting offer, there was no denying that. But could she really stomach pretending to be Draco Malfoy's devoted girlfriend for an entire year?

As if sensing her hesitation, Draco pressed on. "One year, Granger. That's all I'm asking. One year of your time, and in return, you get three years of unlimited funding for your precious birds. It's a fair trade."

She tapped her finger against her chin, considering. "I have some conditions," she said at last. "No pet names. No groping. No long make-out sessions. And absolutely no funny business, Malfoy, or I'll hex you into next week, funding be damned."

He held up his hands in a placating gesture, his smirk never wavering. "You have my word as a Malfoy and a gentleman. So, do we have a deal then?" He extended a hand across her desk, his eyes challenging.

Hermione hesitated for only a moment longer before reaching out and grasping his hand firmly. "Deal," she said, already half-convinced she would come to regret this. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... I'll be your fake girlfriend, Malfoy."

His smirk sharpened into something resembling a true smile as he squeezed her hand once before releasing it. "Excellent. Let the charade begin."

As he rose to leave, Hermione called after him, unable to resist needling him one last time. "Just so we're clear, Malfoy, this is a business arrangement, nothing more. Don't go getting any ideas."

He paused in her doorway, glancing back at her with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Wouldn't dream of it, Granger. Pleasure doing business with you."

Their first official "date" was at a trendy new French restaurant in Diagon Alley. Hermione fidgeted in her seat, feeling extremely self-conscious in the slinky black dress Ginny had convinced her to wear. It was far more revealing than anything she typically wore, with a plunging neckline and a daring slit up the side.

"Stop squirming," Draco murmured, reaching across the table to still her restless hands. His fingers were warm against her skin, sending a surprising jolt of electricity through her. "You look beautiful, Granger. Relax."

Hermione flushed at the unexpected compliment, meeting his gaze uncertainly. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself, Malfoy." And he did - his charcoal gray suit was impeccably tailored, hugging his lean frame in all the right places. He looked like he'd just stepped out of the pages of Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor issue.

They made stilted small talk as they perused their menus, both hyper aware of the curious glances and excited whispers from the other diners. It seemed the entirety of the restaurant was craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the unlikely couple.

"Merlin, I feel like we're on display," Hermione muttered through gritted teeth, her smile starting to strain. "Is it always going to be like this?"

"Of course it is," Draco replied smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. "We're the hottest gossip in the wizarding world right now. Just keep playing your part, Granger. Pretend you're thrilled to be seen with me."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help laughing a little. "You're insufferable, you know that? I don't know how I'm going to make it a whole year without hexing you six ways to Sunday."

"Ah, but you forget, darling," he drawled with a wicked wink, "that you find me irresistibly charming. How else could you possibly resist my many charms for an entire year?"

"Your charms, as you call them, are vastly overrated," she retorted, but there was no real bite to her words. Bantering with him like this was strangely enjoyable.

As if on cue, a flashbulb went off nearby, nearly blinding Hermione. She blinked rapidly, spots dancing in her vision. "What in Merlin's name-"

"Just smile and wave, Granger," Draco said through his teeth, his own smile firmly in place as he nodded at someone over her shoulder. "We've got an audience."

Hermione glanced around, realizing that even more people were watching them now, not even bothering to hide their avid stares. She felt a surge of nervousness, her palms growing damp. How was she supposed to convince all these people that she was mad about Draco Malfoy?

As if sensing her rising panic, Draco stood abruptly and extended a hand to her. "Dance with me," he said, phrasing it like a command rather than a question.

Hermione hesitated for a split second, her eyes darting around the crowded restaurant once more before placing her trembling hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and sure, as he led her onto the small dance floor. The band struck up a slow, sultry jazz number as Draco drew her close, one hand splayed possessively across her lower back, the other clasping hers. Hermione swallowed hard, acutely aware of every place their bodies touched - the heat of his hand burning through the thin silk of her dress, the firmness of his chest pressed against her own, the brush of his thigh against hers as they began to move.

"People are staring," she whispered, feeling a telltale blush creep up her neck as the weight of dozens of eyes landed on them. "I feel like a bug under a microscope."

"Let them stare," Draco murmured, his breath warm against her temple as he turned them skillfully around the floor. "In this moment, you're supposed to only have eyes for me anyway. As far as they're concerned, no one else in this room exists but us."

Hermione lifted her gaze to meet his and was surprised to find his silver eyes burning into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. This close, she could see flecks of blue around his irises, could count each individual pale eyelash. He was beautiful, she realized with a start. How had she never noticed before?

Flustered by the direction of her thoughts, she quickly dropped her head to his shoulder, inhaling the clean, spicy scent of his cologne. Surely the racing of her pulse was just nerves, the butterflies in her stomach merely a product of their bizarre situation. It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the way Draco's body felt against hers, strong and solid and thrillingly masculine, or the sudden, insane urge she had to run her fingers through his pale blond hair. No, definitely not that. This was just a role she had to play, nothing more. However convincing she was in the playing of it. Clearly, she was going to need another glass of wine if she was going to make it through this evening with her sanity intact. And maybe a cold shower afterward, a traitorous voice in the back of her mind whispered. She told it firmly to shut up as Draco turned them again, his cheek coming to rest against her temple.

It was going to be a long year.

"You WHAT?" Ron bellowed, slamming his pint glass down on the table with such force that beer slopped over the sides. Beside him, Harry took a large gulp of his own drink, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

They were tucked away in a corner booth at the Leaky Cauldron, the din of the pub providing some measure of privacy. Hermione had asked them to meet her here, saying she had something important to discuss. She'd been dreading this conversation all day, knowing how they were likely to react.

"I'm dating Draco Malfoy," she repeated calmly, though her insides were squirming like a jar full of flobberworms. "It's quite new, but we've...we've grown rather close over the last few months."

"Grown close?" Ron sputtered, his face turning an alarming shade of puce. "It's Malfoy, Hermione! Malfoy! The amazing bouncing ferret! Pureblood supremacist git extraordinaire! Have you gone absolutely mental?"

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. She'd known Ron would take it the hardest. "He's changed, Ron," she said, trying to sound as earnest as possible. "The war...it changed him. He's not the same petty, prejudiced bully he used to be." At least that part wasn't technically a lie - Draco had matured significantly since their school days.

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, looking pained. "Hermione, are you...are you sure about this?" he asked quietly, green eyes filled with concern as he replaced his spectacles. "I mean, it's Malfoy. How do you know this isn't some kind of trick or scheme?"

She reached across the sticky table and squeezed his hand, hating the deception but knowing it was necessary. "I am sure, Harry. I know it seems sudden and strange, but...I really like him. He makes me happy." The words tasted false on her tongue, but she pushed on, infusing her voice with as much conviction as she could muster. "I need you both to trust my judgment on this and be supportive. Please. It would mean so much to me."

The two men exchanged a long look, engaging in one of those silent conversations only people who have been best friends for over a decade can have. Finally, Ron heaved a mighty, put-upon sigh, and Harry gave her fingers a squeeze back.

"If you're happy, we're happy," Harry said at last, though he still looked troubled. "You know we love you and just want what's best for you. But...be careful, okay? I still don't trust the ferret farther than I can hex him."

Ron grunted his agreement, draining the rest of his pint in one long swallow. "I don't like this, 'Mione. I don't like it one bit. But I s'pose if you're really set on it..." He shook his head, looking pained. "Just don't expect me to be all chummy with the git. I'll be civil for your sake, but that's it."

Hermione let out a relieved laugh, the tightness in her chest easing slightly. "I will be careful. I promise. And I don't expect you to be best mates with him, Ron. Civil is more than enough."

"I still don't understand why you didn't tell us sooner," Harry said, frowning slightly. "How long has this been going on? And why are we only hearing about it now, after it's apparently become serious enough for the two of you to be seen out in public together?"

Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing as she tried to come up with a plausible explanation. The truth was, she'd been putting off telling them for as long as possible, dreading their reactions. And if she was honest with herself, a small part of her had liked having this secret with Draco, this thing that was just theirs, even if it was all a ruse.

"It all happened so fast," she said, opting for a half-truth. "We reconnected a few months ago, working on a project together. At first it was just business, but then...things shifted. We started spending more time together outside of work, and before I knew it..." She shrugged helplessly. "I didn't tell you right away because I wasn't sure what it was at first, or if it was even going anywhere. I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. And then once I was...I suppose I was just nervous about how you'd take it."

Harry's expression softened, and he patted her hand. "We're your best friends, Hermione. You can tell us anything, even if it's something we might not like. We're always going to be here for you."

"Speak for yourself, mate," Ron muttered, signaling to Tom the barman for another pint. "I make no promises where the Ferret is involved."

But when Hermione shot him a beseeching look, he sighed, his broad shoulders slumping in defeat. "Alright, alright. I'll do my best to be supportive. But I'm warning you now, if he puts one pale, pointy toe out of line, I'm hexing first and asking questions later."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Duly noted. But I really don't think that will be necessary. Draco's...he's different now. You'll see."

She only hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. Because the truth was, the more time she spent with Draco, the more she was beginning to wonder if the lines between pretense and reality weren't starting to blur, just a little. And that prospect was somehow even more terrifying than facing down an irate Ron and a skeptical Harry. But that was a problem for another day. For now, she had done what she set out to do - convinced her best friends that her relationship with Draco was the real deal.

Now she just had to keep convincing herself it wasn't.

Draco looked positively green as he stared up at the crooked, haphazard edifice of the Burrow. It seemed to defy all laws of physics and magic, and he couldn't fathom how it remained standing. "Remind me again why I agreed to this?" he muttered, tugging at his collar as if it were strangling him.

Hermione looped her arm through his, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Because if we're going to be convincing, you need to spend time with my adopted family. And I need to spend time with yours. It's all part of the act, remember?"

"Yes, but...the Weasleys? Really?" He sounded pained, his aristocratic features twisting into a grimace. "Couldn't we have started with someone a little less...ginger?"

She elbowed him sharply in the ribs, making him grunt. "Be nice," she warned, her tone brooking no argument. "The Weasleys are wonderful people, and they've been like a second family to me. You promised you'd make an effort."

Draco sighed heavily, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for battle. "Fine. But if I get hexed or punched, I'm holding you personally responsible."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she reached up to knock on the weathered front door. "Don't be so dramatic. It's going to be fi-"

The rest of her sentence was cut off as the door flew open to reveal a beaming Molly Weasley, her plump face flushed and her hands busy wiping themselves on her flour-dusted apron. "Hermione, dear! Right on time, as always. And Draco, welcome, welcome!"

Before either of them could react, she had ushered them inside and pulled a stiff, startled Draco into a crushing, perfumed hug. Over her shoulder, he shot Hermione a wide-eyed, panicked look, clearly out of his depth. Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his expression.

The next few hours passed in a blur of too much delicious food, raucous laughter, and good-natured ribbing. Draco remained quiet at first, clearly uncomfortable and out of place among the boisterous Weasley clan. He mostly pushed peas around his plate, only speaking when directly addressed. But slowly, he started to thaw as Arthur Weasley, seated across from him, began peppering him with enthusiastic questions about Muggle electronics.

"Fascinating things, aren't they?" Arthur said, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Hermione was trying to explain to me how eckeltricity works, but I'm afraid I didn't quite grasp it. Tell me, Draco, do you know anything about fellytones? Or compooters?"

Draco blinked, clearly thrown by the question. Hermione expected him to scoff or make some sarcastic remark. But to her utter shock, he actually engaged, clearing his throat before answering.

"Well, from what I understand, electricity is a form of energy Muggles harness to power their devices," he began, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Telephones - fellytones, as you say - use this electricity to transmit sound, allowing Muggles to communicate over long distances. And computers are...well, they're sort of like very advanced versions of our enchanted quills and parchment. They store and process vast amounts of information."

Arthur looked positively enthralled, leaning forward eagerly. "Remarkable! And how do they get the eckeltricity into the fellytone and compooter? Is it some form of Muggle magic?"

As Draco launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation involving wires, plugs, and power grids, Hermione could only stare at him, her mouth slightly agape. Since when did Draco Malfoy, pureblood wizard extraordinaire, know so much about Muggle technology? As if sensing her gaze, he glanced at her, a faint pink tinge appearing on his pale cheeks. He shrugged one shoulder, looking almost sheepish.

"I may have been paying more attention to the Muggle items in your flat than I let on," he admitted under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. "Some of it is quite...interesting."

Hermione felt a sudden, inexplicable warmth bloom in her chest. The idea of Draco actually taking an interest in her Muggle heritage, of him listening to her ramble about electricity and telephones and computers...it touched her in a way she hadn't expected. The rest of the evening passed more pleasantly than Hermione could have hoped. By the time Molly's famous treacle tart was served, Draco was actually smiling - a real, genuine smile, not the polished, practiced one he usually wore for company. It did something funny to Hermione's stomach, made her breath catch in her throat.

As they bid their goodbyes, Molly pulled Hermione into one last rib-cracking hug. "He seems lovely, dear," she whispered conspiratorially into Hermione's ear. "A bit reserved, but quite charming when he wants to be. And he looks at you like you hung the moon and stars. You hold onto that, you hear me?"

Hermione blinked away the sudden, unexpected sting of tears, forcing a smile. "I will, Molly. Thank you for tonight. It meant a lot."

If only it were real, she thought wistfully as she took Draco's arm and stepped out into the cool night air. If only the affection and warmth in his gaze when he looked at her wasn't just part of the act. But it was. She couldn't afford to forget that, no matter how convincing he was, no matter how much she found herself wishing otherwise.

This was all just pretend. She'd do well to remember that.

The first time Draco brought Hermione to the Manor as his girlfriend, she nearly turned tail and ran. Too many awful memories lurked in those dark, imposing halls - the echoes of her screams, the phantom pain of Bellatrix's knife, the sickening dread that had pooled in her stomach.

But then his hand found hers, his fingers lacing tightly with her own, his palm warm and slightly calloused against her skin. "You're okay," he murmured, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear. "I'm with you. I won't let anything happen to you, not this time."

Hermione drew in a shaky breath, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. She was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake. She could do this. "I know. Let's just...get it over with."

Lucius and Narcissa were waiting for them in the parlor, standing stiffly by the ornate marble fireplace. They looked like a matching set of disapproving statues carved from the same pale, unforgiving stone. Hermione fought the urge to shrink back as those icy blue Malfoy gazes landed on her, sharp and assessing.

"Mother, Father," Draco said by way of introduction, his tone formal and clipped. "I'm sure you remember Hermione Granger."

"Indeed," Lucius drawled, his lip curling into a familiar sneer. His eyes raked over her, cold and contemptuous. "The Muggleborn." He made no move to shake her hand, keeping his own clasped tightly behind his back.

Narcissa's greeting was only marginally warmer. "Miss Granger. What a...surprise." The slight pause spoke volumes.

Draco bristled beside her, his fingers tightening around hers almost painfully. "Granger is my girlfriend," he said sharply, his voice like the crack of a whip in the oppressive silence. "I'd appreciate it if you could attempt to be civil."

Lucius looked like he'd just swallowed a particularly sour lemon, but he inclined his head stiffly, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. "Of course. Welcome to our home, Miss Granger. I trust you'll find it...much changed since your last visit."

Hermione didn't miss the implied jab, the reminder of her tortured screams echoing off these very walls. She lifted her chin higher, determined not to let him see how much the memory affected her. "I'm sure I will, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for having me."

Narcissa rang for tea, the delicate tinkling of the bell the only sound in the suffocating silence. A few moments later, a tea service appeared on the low table, complete with fine china cups and a steaming pot. They sat, Hermione perched rigidly on the edge of her seat, as Narcissa poured with perfectly steady hands.

Hermione wracked her brain for something, anything to say to break the painfully awkward silence as they sipped their tea. "You have a lovely home," she offered weakly, immediately wincing at how insincere it sounded even to her own ears.

Narcissa's gaze flicked to her, cool and assessing over the rim of her cup. "It's been in the Malfoy family for ten generations," she replied, her voice dripping with significance. "We take great pride in our heritage, in maintaining the purity and prestige of our ancestral line."

Hermione didn't miss the implication - that she, with her Muggle blood and heritage, would never be good enough for their precious pureblood son and heir. That her presence here was an affront, a blight on their noble lineage. If only they knew their entire relationship was nothing but a farce, a means to an end. The rest of the visit passed in a similarly strained fashion, with stilted conversation and barbed comments thinly veiled as polite inquiries. By the time they were finally able to make their excuses and leave, Hermione's head was pounding and her nerves felt rubbed raw.

It was with great relief that they finally apparated back to Draco's flat in a whoosh of displaced air. He immediately strode to the bar cart in the corner and poured them both a large measure of Firewhisky, the amber liquid sloshing against the cut crystal tumblers.

"Well, that went about as well as could be expected," he sighed, knocking his back in one swift gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Hermione barely noticed the burn as she drained her own glass, welcoming the numbing warmth that spread through her chest. "They hate me," she said dully, cradling the empty tumbler between her palms.

Draco shot her an apologetic look, silver eyes dark with some unreadable emotion. "They hate everyone, Granger. It's not personal. I'm sorry, I know they were horrid to you."

She shrugged one shoulder, trying to feign a nonchalance she didn't feel. "It's fine. It's not like it matters anyway. This isn't real, remember?"

Something flickered across his face, an expression gone too quickly for her to decipher before his usual mask of indifference slid back into place. "Right. How could I forget? Well, thanks for playing along. Only six more months of this delightful charade and then we can go back to blissfully despising each other in peace." He said it jokingly, but there was an odd undercurrent to his words, a bitterness that didn't quite fit the casual tone.

Hermione chose to ignore it, raising her empty glass in a mock toast. "To despising each other, then."

She poured herself another generous measure and drained it in one burning swallow. She told herself the sting in her eyes was from the whisky, and not from the sudden, inexplicable ache in her chest at the thought that one day very soon, she and Draco would go back to being...what? Not friends, certainly. Antagonists? Reluctant allies? Two people who had shared something intense and strange and intimate, only to return to a polite, distant acquaintance? The thought didn't sit well, but she pushed it down, burying it deep. They had appearances to maintain, a ruse to perpetuate. She couldn't afford to dwell on might-have-beens or what-ifs. This wasn't real. None of it was. And the sooner she got that through her stubborn, sentimental skull, the better off they'd both be in the long run.

That's what she told herself, anyway. Never mind the whisper in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like doubt.

Hermione fidgeted nervously with the hem of her skirt as she and Draco approached the trendy London restaurant where they were meeting his friends for dinner. She had spent hours agonizing over what to wear, finally settling on a simple but elegant black sheath dress and sensible heels. She had even made an effort to tame her wild curls into a sleek chignon.

Draco glanced over at her, one pale brow arched. "Relax, Granger. They don't bite. Well, Pansy might, but only if you ask nicely."

Hermione shot him a withering look. "Very funny. I'm just...I don't know, nervous I guess. What if they don't like me?"

He rolled his eyes, but his hand came to rest reassuringly at the small of her back as he guided her into the restaurant. "They'll like you just fine. And if they don't, who cares? It's not like their opinion actually matters."

But it did matter, Hermione thought as they wove their way through the crowded dining room. These were Draco's oldest friends, his inner circle. Their approval meant something, even if he wouldn't admit it. They arrived at a large table near the back, already crowded with beautiful, laughing people sipping colorful co*cktails. Hermione recognized Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott from Hogwarts, both as handsome and haughty as ever in their impeccably tailored suits. Beside them sat the Greengrass sisters, Daphne and Astoria, blonde and ethereal and draped in shimmering silk. And at the head of the table, holding court like a queen bee, was Pansy Parkinson, her severe black bob and crimson lips a stark contrast to her alabaster skin.

"Well, well, well," Pansy drawled as they approached, her dark eyes glittering with mischief. "If it isn't the happy couple. Or should I say, the most shocking couple in all of Wizarding Britain."

"Pansy," Draco greeted, bending to brush a kiss to her offered cheek. "You're looking as delightfully venomous as ever."

"And you're looking as disgustingly smitten as ever," Pansy retorted, her gaze sliding to Hermione. "Granger. I must say, I never thought I'd see the day. Draco Malfoy slumming it with a Muggleborn."

Hermione stiffened, her hackles rising at the slight. But before she could retort, Draco's arm slid around her waist, pulling her close.

"Play nice, Pans," he warned, his tone light but with an unmistakable edge of steel. "Hermione is my girlfriend, and you will treat her with respect."

Pansy rolled her eyes, but her blood red lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "Oh relax, darling, I'm only teasing. Of course we're thrilled for you both. Even if your taste in fashion is somewhat...lacking." Her gaze raked critically over Hermione's simple black dress and sensible heels.

Daphne Greengrass coughed delicately into her napkin. "What Pansy means is, welcome to the family, Hermione. We've heard so much about you from Draco. All good things, of course."

"Some of us more than others," Blaise muttered into his drink, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs from Theo.

Astoria, who had been watching the exchange with an amused smile, leaned forward to extend a slender hand to Hermione. "It's lovely to meet you, Hermione. I must say, when I heard Draco had ditched me for you, I was quite shocked. But now I see the appeal."

Hermione blinked, nonplussed. "Ditched you? I'm sorry, I don't..."

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ah, yes. There were some...preliminary discussions, years ago, about a potential match between Astoria and myself. But it never progressed beyond that."

"Because as it turns out, my tastes run a bit more...sapphic than the Malfoys had hoped," Astoria said with a wicked grin, her hand finding Pansy's atop the table and lacing their fingers together. "Lucky for you, Granger. You got the better end of that deal, trust me."

Pansy smirked, bringing their joined hands to her lips to press a kiss to Astoria's knuckles. "Indeed she did. Though really darling, we must do something about this hair of yours. Have you ever considered highlights? And perhaps a sleeker cut to accentuate that lovely jawline?"

As Pansy launched into a litany of suggested improvements to Hermione's appearance, Daphne shot her a commiserating smile. "Don't mind her. She's actually quite good at this sort of thing, even if her delivery needs some work."

Theo snorted into his firewhisky. "That's putting it mildly. Remember when she tried to give Millie a makeover back in fifth year? The poor girl ended up looking like a drunk raccoon for a week."

As the group dissolved into laughter and friendly bickering, Hermione felt herself start to relax. Draco's friends were certainly an...eclectic bunch, but they weren't nearly as intimidating as she had feared. Snarky and snobbish, yes, but there was an undercurrent of genuine affection and camaraderie that put her at ease. Maybe this dinner wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe, just like with Draco himself, there was more to these Slytherins than met the eye.

She glanced over at Draco to find him watching her, a small, secret smile playing about his lips. His arm was still around her waist, his thumb rubbing absent circles against her hip through the thin fabric of her dress. Her breath caught at the undisguised warmth in his gaze. For a moment, she could almost let herself believe...

But no. This was all just an act, a means to an end. She couldn't afford to blur the lines, no matter how tempting it might be. She shook off the thought and turned back to the conversation, determined to play her part to perfection. Even if every casual touch and heated glance from Draco made it harder and harder to remember that none of this was real.

About six months into their ruse, Draco surprised Hermione by getting down on one knee in the middle of a crowded fundraising gala at the Ministry. The event was being held to raise money for the restoration of Hogwarts, and anyone who was anyone in Wizarding society was in attendance. Hermione had been in the middle of a conversation with the new Minister of Magic when Draco approached, looking dashing in his tailored dress robes. He took her hand, his grey eyes serious and intense as he gazed up at her from his position on bended knee.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he began, his voice carrying across the suddenly hushed ballroom. "From the moment you punched me in the face back in third year, I knew you were special. It may have taken me a while to pull my head out of my arse and see what was right in front of me, but I'm so incredibly grateful I finally did."

Hermione's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest. What was he doing? This wasn't part of the plan!

Draco continued, seemingly oblivious to her internal panic. "You are the most brilliant, passionate, infuriatingly stubborn witch I have ever known. You challenge me, you inspire me, you make me want to be a better man. I can't imagine my life without you in it."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. The crowd gasped as he flipped it open to reveal the most massive, ostentatious diamond ring Hermione had ever seen. It had to be at least five carats, the central stone flanked by glittering emeralds in an intricate platinum setting.

"Hermione, my love, my partner in all things...will you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife?"

For a moment, Hermione forgot how to breathe. This was all pretend, just part of the act...wasn't it? But the way Draco was looking at her, the tremor of real emotion in his voice...it felt so real. Flashbulbs were going off all around them, the gathered crowd tittering and whispering excitedly. Hermione knew she had to say something, had to play her part. She forced a tremulous smile, tears welling in her eyes that weren't entirely feigned.

"Yes," she managed to choke out, her voice thick and wobbly. "Yes, Draco, of course I'll marry you!"

The room erupted into applause as Draco surged to his feet, sliding the gaudy ring onto her shaking finger. Then he was pulling her into his arms, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was anything but chaste. Hermione clung to him, her fingers tangling in the fine hair at the nape of his neck as she lost herself in the drugging slide of his lips against hers. He kissed her with a fierce possessiveness, a hunger that stole her breath and made her knees weak. For one heart-stopping moment, she forgot that it was all an act, that this was just another scene in the elaborate play they had constructed.

It was only when they finally broke apart, both of them flushed and breathing hard, that reality came crashing back in. Draco kept an arm around her waist as they accepted congratulations from the throng of well-wishers, his smile wide and triumphant. But as soon as they had a moment alone, Hermione rounded on him, confusion and agitation rolling off her in waves.

"What the hell was that about?" she hissed through a forced smile, mindful of the many eyes still watching their every move.

Draco had the gall to look innocently perplexed. "What do you mean, darling? I was simply overcome by the love I feel for you. Couldn't keep it in a moment longer."

Hermione barely resisted the urge to stomp on his expensively clad foot. "Cut the crap, Malfoy. We never discussed this! An engagement wasn't part of the plan!"

His pewter eyes glinted with mirth and something darker, more heated. He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and making her shiver. "Had to make it convincing, didn't I? The whole world was watching. It would have looked strange if I didn't put a ring on it at some point."

He pulled back, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he surveyed the excitement their little show had caused. "Don't worry, Granger. We'll have a very public, very dramatic breakup in another six months or so. You can fling this monstrosity back in my face and stomp on my heart for the cameras. It'll be great press."

Hermione's answering laugh was brittle, edged with a confusing mix of elation and disappointment that she didn't want to examine too closely. "Oh, I'm sure Rita Skeeter will have an absolute field day. 'War Heroine Jilts Death Eater Heir at the Altar!' The gossip rags will eat it up."

Draco smirked, twirling her back out onto the dance floor and into a smooth foxtrot. "Just think of the headlines, darling. We'll keep them guessing right up until the end."

Hermione let him lead her through the steps, pasting on a besotted smile for the benefit of their avid audience. But inside, her emotions were a tangled, churning mess. The ring on her finger felt heavy, weighted with a significance she wasn't ready to acknowledge.

When she got home that night, she slipped it off and stowed it carefully in her jewelry box, burying it beneath a tangle of chains and pendants. She told herself she wouldn't miss the flash of it on her hand while she slept, the way it had felt so right nestled against her skin. This was all just pretend, a means to an end. She couldn't afford to blur the lines, to let herself get caught up in the fantasy.

But as she lay in bed, staring up at the shadowed ceiling, she couldn't shake the memory of Draco's kiss, the heat in his eyes as he had slid that ring onto her finger. It had felt so real. But then, that was the problem, wasn't it? Draco Malfoy had always been an excellent liar. She just hadn't expected him to be good enough to fool her own traitorous heart. With a sigh, Hermione rolled over and willed herself to sleep, determinedly pushing all thoughts of diamond rings and searing kisses from her mind. Just six more months. She could make it six more months without falling for her own con.

Couldn't she?

The Daily Prophet had an absolute field day when Draco and Hermione's engagement was announced. The headlines were splashed across the front pages for weeks, each one more lurid and sensationalized than the last.

"MALFOY HEIR TO WED MUGGLEBORN: STAR-CROSSED LOVERS OR CUNNING SOCIAL CLIMBERS?" screamed one, accompanied by a moving photo of the couple gazing adoringly at each other at the gala.

"WAR HEROINE BAGS BAD BOY BACHELOR: REFORMED DEATH EATER OFF THE MARKET!" proclaimed another, this one featuring a shot of Hermione's ostentatious ring sparkling on her finger as she leaned into Draco's embrace.

Rita Skeeter, of course, had a veritable bonanza with the news. Her poisoned green quill scribbled furiously as she quoted "anonymous sources" at length about what a shocking and suspicious match the two made.

"It's just not natural," one supposed insider sniffed. "A Malfoy and a Muggleborn? Mark my words, there's something fishy going on there. Either she's dosing him with love potions or he's using her for some nefarious scheme."

The speculation and scrutiny reached a fever pitch, until Hermione and Draco could scarcely leave the house without being mobbed by reporters and photographers shouting invasive questions.

"Ms. Granger! Is it true you're pregnant with the Malfoy heir? Is that the real reason for the hasty engagement?"

"Mr. Malfoy! Are the rumors about your impending disinheritance true? Is your father cutting you off for sullying the bloodline?"

Howlers began arriving daily, their shrill screams echoing through Hermione's flat and Draco's townhouse. They decried Hermione as a gold-digging slag and Draco as a blood traitor, spewing vitriol and condemnation in equal measure.

It all came to a head one sunny afternoon as the couple tried to make their way to a favorite cafe for lunch. They had barely apparated into the alley nearby before they were swarmed, the pop and flash of cameras blinding in their intensity.

One particularly rabid photographer pushed his way to the front of the pack, his eyes glinting with a sort of manic desperation. "Just one shot of the ring!" he snarled, grabbing Hermione roughly by the arm and yanking her towards him. "C'mon love, give us a smile!"

Draco saw red. Before Hermione could even react, he had the man pinned against the rough brick wall, his wand jabbing painfully into the flabby flesh under the photographer's chin.

"Give me one good reason not to end you right here, you filthy little co*ckroach," Draco growled, his voice gone deadly soft in his fury.

The photographer paled, his throat bobbing as he swallowed convulsively. "I-I was just doing my job, mate! No harm intended!"

Draco's lip curled into a vicious sneer. "Your job doesn't include putting your f*cking hands on my fiancée. I should hex them off right now, make sure you can never touch her again."

"Draco, don't. He's not worth it." Hermione laid a soothing hand on the tense line of Draco's shoulder, though her own heart was pounding with residual fear and anger.

"He hurt you," Draco snarled, not taking his eyes off the now thoroughly cowed man pinned beneath his wand. "He dared to lay his hands on you, like he had the right. No one touches you, Granger. No one."

Something warm and fluttery unfurled in Hermione's chest at the raw protectiveness, the possessive fury in Draco's voice. She gentled her grip on his shoulder, stepping in closer to brush her lips against his ear.

"I'm okay, love. Really. You can let him go now."

It took another few tense beats before Draco finally lowered his wand and stepped back, his chest heaving with the force of his ragged breaths. The photographer scrambled away from the wall, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to put distance between them.

Draco jabbed a finger at the man, his grey eyes flashing like storm clouds. "If you ever come near her again, if you so much as breathe in her direction, I'll rip you apart with my bare hands. I don't even need magic to make you suffer. Are we clear?"

The photographer nodded frantically, clutching his camera to his chest like a shield. He took one last terrified glance at Draco's thunderous expression and then fled, pushing his way back through the throng of reporters who were all scribbling madly in their notebooks, their quills practically smoking with the speed of their dictation. Draco turned to Hermione then, some of the icy rage leaving his gaze as he visually checked her over for damage. His hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs brushing soothingly over her cheekbones.

"Alright, Granger?" he murmured, his voice gone soft and concerned.

Hermione managed a shaky nod, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "I'm fine, Draco. Really. I could've handled that tosser myself, you know."

One corner of his mouth ticked up in a wry half-smile. "Oh, I have no doubt of that. I've been on the receiving end of your wand often enough to know exactly how capable you are. But you shouldn't have to deal with vermin like that. It's not right."

He dropped his hands from her face only to tangle one set of long, elegant fingers with hers. With his other hand, he gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long against the sensitive skin there before he pulled away.

"Come on, let's get out of here. I think we've given the circus enough fodder for one day, don't you?"

Hermione sighed and nodded, allowing him to lead her away from the still shouting reporters and back to the apparition point. "I don't know how much more of this I can take," she admitted quietly once they were safely ensconced back in his townhouse. "It's exhausting, being under constant scrutiny like this. And it's only going to get worse the closer we get to the supposed wedding."

Draco scrubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. "I know. I'm sorry, Granger. I didn't think it would be quite this bad when I proposed this whole scheme."

He poured them both a measure of Firewhisky and collapsed onto the plush leather sofa. Hermione kicked off her heels and curled up next to him, accepting the glass he offered. There was something oddly comfortable about being here with him like this, just the two of them away from prying eyes. Over the last few months, they had fallen into an easy sort of domesticity during their private time together.

Hermione found she quite liked seeing this other side of Draco, the one he kept hidden away from the public. She liked the way he scrunched up his aristocratic nose when he laughed at his own jokes, the endearing furrow that appeared between his brows when he was deep in concentration. She had been oddly charmed to discover that he always made sure to prepare her tea exactly the way she took it - splash of milk, no sugar - and that he kept the pantry stocked with her favorite ginger biscuits.

These stolen moments had begun to feel dangerously real, blurring the lines she had so carefully drawn in her own mind. More often than not, she had to forcibly remind herself that it was all just a ruse, an act they were putting on for the benefit of others. But as Draco draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in to snuggle against his side, Hermione felt the now familiar ache of longing bloom beneath her breastbone. She wanted this, wanted him, in a way that terrified her with its intensity.

And as their sham of a relationship ticked ever closer to its agreed upon expiration date, she found herself dreading the day when she would have to give this up, give him up. Because somehow, against all odds and her own better judgment, Hermione was beginning to suspect that she had gone and fallen hopelessly in love with her fake fiancé. She only hoped that when this was all over, when they went back to their separate lives and their old animosity, her heart would be able to survive the loss.

In the wake of the photographer incident and the ensuing media frenzy, Draco had insisted that Hermione move into his townhouse for her own safety and peace of mind.

"I don't like the idea of you being alone right now," he'd said, his brow furrowed with concern as he'd helped her pack up her flat. "At least at my place, the wards are stronger and the location is unplottable. Those vultures won't be able to get to you there."

Hermione had agreed, feeling a secret thrill at the prospect of sharing a living space with him, even as she'd told herself sternly not to read too much into it. This was just another step in their carefully choreographed dance, a way to lend credence to the idea that their whirlwind romance was the real deal.

But as the days turned into weeks, Hermione found herself spending more and more time at Draco's - no, their - home, until her own flat began to feel like a distant memory. Her books and scrolls migrated to his study, her favorite jumper found a place of honor on the hook by the front door. Even her toothbrush had taken up residence in the marble and chrome bathroom, the plastic handle garishly bright against the monochromatic decor.

One morning, stumbling into the kitchen bleary-eyed and yawning, Hermione had reached automatically for Draco's favorite mug - a sleek, black thing with the Slytherin crest emblazoned on the side. She'd taken a sip of her tea, only to pull back in surprise at the unfamiliar taste on her tongue.

"Draco," she'd called, wandering into the living room where he was sprawled on the sofa, perusing the Daily Prophet. "Did you put sugar in my tea?"

He'd glanced up, a smirk playing about his lips. "No, but you did put your lips on my mug. Couldn't resist tainting it with your cooties, could you?"

And indeed, when Hermione had looked closer, she'd seen the unmistakable berry-red imprint of her lipstick on the rim of the mug. She'd felt a blush heat her cheeks, even as a part of her thrilled at this tangible proof of her presence in his life, in his space.

"Sorry," she'd mumbled, moving to rinse it off. But Draco had stopped her with a hand on her wrist, his touch sending a jolt of electricity up her arm.

"Leave it," he'd said, something soft and unreadable in his gaze. "I don't mind."

And so the lipstick had stayed, a scarlet brand of their cohabitation. Just like Hermione herself, it seemed to belong there, an indelible part of Draco's world.

Having her here, in his space, felt somehow momentous. He found himself watching her as she moved about his home, marveling at how seamlessly she seemed to fit into his life. It was as if she had always been here, a vital piece of the puzzle he hadn't even known was missing. He loved the way she curled up on his sofa, her feet tucked under her as she lost herself in a book. He loved the sight of her toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, the way her shampoo scented the steam when she showered. He even loved the way she commandeered his favorite mug, leaving the imprint of her berry-red lipstick on the rim like a brand. It was maddening, really, how much he had come to crave her presence, her touch, her smile. He knew it was all just pretend, that she was only playing a role. But more and more, he found himself wishing it were real. As they settled into a comfortable rhythm of domesticity, they began to invite their friends over more often, hosting cozy dinner parties and raucous game nights. It was an eclectic mix - Harry and Ginny, Ron and Susan, Neville and Hannah on Hermione's side; Blaise and Daphne, Theo, Pansy and Astoria on Draco's.

At first, there had been a palpable tension in the air, a wary circling as these former rivals sized each other up. But as the wine flowed and the laughter grew more boisterous, the old animosities began to melt away, replaced by a tentative camaraderie. One memorable night, they had all gathered around Draco's massive dining table for a spirited game of Monopoly, the Muggle board game that Hermione had introduced to the group.

"Granger, you capitalist minx!" Theo had crowed as Hermione had smugly collected rent on her hotel-laden properties. "I knew there was a reason Draco liked you. You're as ruthless as any Slytherin."

"Watch it, Nott," Draco had growled, but there was no real heat behind it. If anything, he'd looked proud, shooting Hermione a conspiratorial wink that had made her stomach flutter.

As the night wore on and the Firewhisky began to flow, the conversation turned to the upcoming nuptials and the media circus surrounding them.

"I don't know how you two do it," Pansy had said, shaking her head in wonder as she snuggled closer to Astoria. "Dealing with the media the way you do. It must be exhausting."

Hermione had felt Draco stiffen beside her, and she'd laid a soothing hand on his knee under the table. "It's not so bad," she'd said, forcing a light tone. "After a while, it starts to feel quite...natural."

"Natural, eh?" Blaise had chuckled, his dark eyes knowing. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Ginny had elbowed him sharply in the ribs, but she too was grinning. "Leave them alone," she'd admonished. "Can't you see they're in love? It's written all over their soppy faces."

And indeed, when Hermione had glanced over at Draco, she'd found him watching her with an expression that made her breath catch - soft and warm and so achingly tender that for a moment, she could almost let herself believe it was real.

She'd smiled back, reaching up to brush a lock of platinum hair off his forehead, the gesture as natural as breathing. "I suppose we are, aren't we? In love, that is."

It was the closest they had ever come to acknowledging the truth that had blossomed between them, this fragile, precious thing that they never spoke of in the light of day. But here, in the company of their friends, a bit drunk on laughter and camaraderie and each other...it felt safe. It felt right.

Draco had caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to her palm. His eyes had glittered with some unnamed emotion as he'd whispered, just for her ears, "I suppose we are, Granger. Merlin help us both."

And oh, how Hermione's treacherous heart had leaped at that, at the unspoken promise in those words. She knew it was foolish, knew it was just another part of the act. But as Draco had pulled her closer, his arm sliding around her waist like it belonged there...she couldn't help but hope. Maybe, just maybe, they weren't pretending anymore.

Later that night, as Hermione lay in bed staring at the shadowed ceiling of the spare room, she replayed Draco's words over and over in her mind. The way he had looked at her, the tender brush of his lips against her skin...it had felt so real. But that was the problem, wasn't it? With every passing day, every casual touch and loaded glance, the lines between pretense and reality blurred a little more. And Hermione was terrified of what would happen when the inevitable end came - when the charade was over and they had to go back to their separate lives, their separate beds.

Her heart, she feared, would not survive the loss.

In his own room down the hall, Draco lay awake, his mind similarly occupied with thoughts of the woman who had so thoroughly upended his life. Having her here, so close and yet so untouchable, was both a blessing and a unique form of torture.

He wanted her - Merlin, how he wanted her. Not just her body, though he burned for that too, but all of her. Her brilliant mind, her fiery spirit, her generous heart. He wanted to wake up to her wild curls on his pillow, to fall asleep with her soft curves pressed against him. He wanted a lifetime of bickering over the crossword and lazy Sunday mornings tangled together beneath the sheets. He wanted it all to be real.

But it wasn't, and it never could be. Because this was all just a ruse, a means to an end. And when it was over, when she inevitably walked out of his life and his home and his heart...he knew he would be left shattered in her wake. Draco Malfoy, the consummate Slytherin, had broken the cardinal rule. He’d fallen for his own con. He had fallen in love with his fake fiancée.

And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it. With a groan, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. Just a few more months, he told himself. He could make it a few more months without succumbing to this madness, this longing that threatened to consume him whole. And when the time came to let her go...well. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he would take what he could get - these stolen moments, these fleeting glimpses of what could be. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

As the weeks edged into months, their forced proximity slowly giving way to a genuine sense of ease and familiarity with each other. Oh, they still bickered constantly - over the proper way to brew tea, the merits of wandless magic, whether Muggle or Wizarding literature was superior. But there was a playful undercurrent to their verbal sparring now, a sense that they both rather enjoyed riling the other up. In the mornings, they would often bump into each other in his cavernous bathroom, jostling for space at the vanity as they brushed their teeth side-by-side. The first time Draco had wordlessly handed her a spare toothbrush (she’d forgotten to replaced her own), a matching emerald green to his own silver one, Hermione's heart had stuttered in her chest. It was such a small thing, so utterly domestic and couply, but it hit her like a Stunning Spell - this was real. This was happening. Somewhere along the line, playing house had become building a home, and with Draco Malfoy of all people.

The first time she had padded out to breakfast in nothing but small pajama shorts and one of his old Slytherin Quidditch jerseys, the faded green fabric falling to mid-thigh, Draco had nearly choked on his coffee.

"Trying to give me a heart attack, Granger?" he'd drawled, his morning voice still raspy with sleep. But there was no mistaking the appreciation in his gaze as it had raked over her bare legs, or the way his fingers had twitched against his mug as if aching to reach out and touch.

Hermione had simply smirked and flounced past him to retrieve the marmalade, an extra sway in her hips that she would adamantly deny was for his benefit. But for all their casual flirtation, for all the charged looks and accidental brushes of skin on skin, they never crossed that final, invisible line. There was an unspoken agreement between them - this was all for show, a means to an end. Falling into bed together, as tempting as it might be, would only complicate an already precariously tangled web. Still, Hermione couldn't help the way her eyes lingered on Draco when he wasn't looking, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the elegant slope of his shoulders. She loved watching him puzzle over the Sunday crossword, his brow furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth. It was such a silly, endearing little habit, and it made her heart squeeze with a fondness she knew she shouldn't feel. She told herself it was all just part of the act, a method actor immersing herself in her role. But deep down, in a secret, hidden corner of her heart, she knew the truth - this had stopped being pretend a long time ago.

For his part, Draco found himself increasingly distracted by Granger's presence in his life, in his home. He had thought that by this point, after months of playing the doting fiancé, he would have grown immune to her charms. But if anything, the opposite seemed to be true. He was hyper aware of her now, attuned to her every move and mood. He could recite from memory her favorite passages from Hogwarts: A History. He had committed to heart the constellations of freckles that danced across her nose, the precise shade of amber that her eyes turned in the light of the fireplace. He told himself it was all just part of the ruse, that his attention to detail was simply a mark of how seriously he took their little charade. But when he found his gaze following the sway of her hips as she moved about his kitchen, or his fingers itching to bury themselves in her wild curls as she curled up next to him on the sofa, book in hand...well. He was beginning to suspect that there was rather more to it than that.

Most nights would find them like this - lounging on the plush leather sofa, limbs entangled, her feet in his lap or his head on her shoulder. They would talk for hours, about everything and nothing, or sit in companionable silence, each lost in their own reading. It was strangely intimate, this casual closeness, the way they just seemed to fit together. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had felt so at ease with another person, so deeply known and understood. Not even with Harry and Ron, her boys, her best friends. There had always been a part of her that was held back, a piece of herself she kept carefully guarded. But with Draco...it was like he had slipped past all her defenses when she wasn't looking, had seen all her scars and sharp edges and had simply pulled her closer. It terrified her, this bone-deep rightness she felt with him. It wasn't supposed to be like this. None of this was supposed to be real. But as the boundaries between pretense and reality blurred beyond recognition, Hermione was forced to confront the truth that had taken root in her heart. Somehow, against all odds and all logic, she had gone and fallen head over heels for Draco Malfoy. And as their fake engagement ticked ever closer to its inevitable end, she couldn't help but wonder - what would she do when the clock struck midnight on this fairy tale? How would she ever go back to a life, a heart, that didn't have him in it?

But those were worries for another day. For now, she would savor these stolen moments, these precious glimpses of the man behind the mask. Even if it was all borrowed time. So she said nothing when Draco tugged her closer one night, his arm slipping around her waist as he pressed a drowsy kiss to her temple. And she simply smiled and snuggled deeper into his warmth, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. Tomorrow, they would go back to playing their roles, the star-crossed lovers putting on a show for the masses. But tonight, in the quiet stillness of the witching hour, they could just be Draco and Hermione, two lost souls who had somehow found a home in each other.

No masks, no pretenses. Just them.

If only it could stay this way forever.

The end, when it came, was abrupt and devastating despite its inevitability.

They had known it was coming, had planned for it meticulously. But nothing could have prepared them for the gutting reality of it, the finality of this last act in their elaborate play. They released a joint statement to the press, the words carefully crafted to offer an explanation without revealing the truth. Irreconcilable differences, they said. The pressures of public scrutiny, of living life under the constant glare of the spotlight. They asked for privacy in this difficult time, for space to heal and move forward. The press, of course, went wild with speculation. Had there been infidelity? A pre-nup dispute? Was the Malfoy fortune not enough to satisfy the Gryffindor golden girl? The theories ranged from the plausible to the absurd, each one more salacious than the last. But behind closed doors, in the painful intimacy of Draco's townhouse that had become their sanctuary, their home...the reality was far simpler, and infinitely more heartbreaking.

Hermione stood in the foyer, a single suitcase at her feet, the sum total of the life she was leaving behind. She fiddled with the gaudy diamond on her finger, the metal cold against her skin despite the warmth of the June evening.

"Guess this is it, then," she said, her voice cracking on the words. She tried for a smile, but it wobbled precariously, threatening to shatter. "I can't believe it's really over."

Draco stood opposite her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders unnaturally stiff. He looked like a man bracing for a blow, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle ticking beneath his skin.

"It's not over," he said roughly, the words seeming to catch in his throat. "This thing between us, Granger...it's never going to be over. Not really."

Hermione's breath hitched, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Draco..."

He shook his head, cutting off whatever platitude she had been about to offer. "Don't. Please. I can't...I can't hear you say it was all just pretend. Not now. Not after everything."

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. This was it, she realized. This was her moment, her chance to lay it all on the line, to tell him the truth that had been growing in her heart these past months. But the words stuck in her throat, choked by fear and pride and the certain knowledge that it would change nothing. They had made their choices, had agreed to the terms of this charade. And now...now it was time to face the consequences. With shaking fingers, she slid the engagement ring off her finger, the diamond catching the light and throwing fractured rainbows across the walls. She held it out to him, her hand trembling.

"Thank you," she whispered, the words like shards of glass in her throat. "For everything. For the funding, for the adventure, for...for being the best fake fiancé a girl could ask for."

Draco stared at the ring for a long moment, something raw and aching in his gaze. Then, slowly, he reached out and closed his fingers around it, his hand engulfing hers.

"It was my pleasure," he said hoarsely. "I hope...I hope you find what you're looking for, Granger. With your Fwoopers and your research and...and everything else."

The unspoken words hung heavy between them, all the things they couldn't say, wouldn't say. I love you. I'll miss you. Please don't go.

But Hermione just nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "You too, Draco. I hope you find happiness. You deserve it, after everything."

His smile was a brittle, broken thing, a pale shadow of the smirk she had come to know so well. "Goodbye, Hermione."

The use of her given name was like a knife to the heart, a reminder of all that she was leaving behind. All that could have been, if only they had been brave enough to reach for it. But it was too late now. The clock had struck midnight, and their fairy tale was over. With a final, lingering look, Hermione picked up her suitcase and walked into the Floor, the “woosh” of the flames around her like the toll of a funeral bell. She made it halfway to her couch before the first sob tore free, her knees giving way as she crumpled to the pavement. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth as great, heaving sobs wracked her frame. It was over. It was really, truly over. And the pain of it, the gaping, ragged hole where her heart used to be...it was worse than anything she had ever known.

In his townhouse, now empty and echoing with the ghost of her presence, Draco stood motionless in the foyer, his hand still clenched around the ring she had pressed into his palm. He stared at the empty fireplace, half-expecting her to come bursting back through it, that fierce, stubborn light in her eyes as she told him she'd changed her mind, that she couldn't walk away, that she loved him too. But the seconds ticked by, stretching into minutes, and still the fire remained orange. Still, he remained alone. With a roar of anguish, Draco turned and slammed his fist into the wall, relishing the sharp burst of pain that radiated up his arm. It was better, somehow, than the yawning chasm in his chest, the hollowed-out feeling of a future snatched away.

He stalked into the living room and sank onto the sofa where they had spent so many nights curled together, talking and laughing and simply being. The scent of her shampoo clung to the cushions, the echo of her presence in every corner of the space they had shared. It was torture of the acutest kind, this lingering essence of her. The ghost of a life that could have been, if only he had been brave enough, strong enough, to fight for it. But he hadn't been. And now...now he would have to find a way to live with the consequences. To wake up every day to an empty bed and an emptier heart, to walk through a home that no longer felt like a refuge, but a mausoleum of lost chances. He closed his eyes, his head falling back against the cushions. The ring bit into his palm, a tangible reminder of all he had lost, all he had thrown away. In the shattered remnants of his heart, a single truth crystallized, sharp and brilliantly painful in its clarity.

He loved her. He loved her, and he had let her walk away.

Two months. Two endless, agonizing months of putting herself back together, piece by shattered piece. Of throwing herself into her work with a single-minded focus that bordered on obsession, desperately trying to fill the gaping void that Draco's absence had left in her life. Of resolutely Not Thinking About Him, even as every breath, every heartbeat seemed to whisper his name. It was a futile effort, of course. He was everywhere. But Hermione was nothing if not stubborn. She was determined to move on, to excise him from her life like a malignant growth. And if that meant pasting on a smile and going through the motions of living, then so be it. Which was how she found herself on a blind date with Matthew Something-or-Other, a curse-breaker at Gringotts that Ginny had set her up with. He was handsome enough, she supposed, with his chiseled jaw and neatly trimmed beard. Charming, in a bland, inoffensive sort of way. Perfectly polite, pulling out her chair and complimenting her dress.

Utterly, mind-numbingly boring.

But Hermione smiled and laughed at his jokes over dinner, forcing herself to focus on the conversation, to pretend to be engaged. She let him hold her hand across the table, his palm slightly clammy against her own, and tried to feel a spark. Any spark. There was none. Of course there wasn't. How could there be, when every cell in her body, every beat of her traitorous heart, belonged to another? They were lingering over coffee, Matthew droning on about some new curse-breaking technique, when a familiar voice drawled from behind her, sending ice down her spine.

"Fancy seeing you here, Granger."

She froze, her heart leaping into her throat, her fingers tightening convulsively around her mug. Slowly, dreamlike, she turned to see Draco standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his tailored black trousers, looking like sin incarnate in a black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his lean, muscular forearms.

"Malfoy," she croaked, her mouth suddenly bone-dry. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hi. This is...this is Matthew. My date."

Draco flicked a dismissive glance at the other man, his lip curling in a way that was painfully, devastatingly familiar. Then he refocused on Hermione with laser intensity, his mercury eyes boring into her own.

"A date, hmm?" he drawled, his tone deceptively casual. "Moved on already, have you?"

Hermione could see the muscle jumping in his tightly clenched jaw, could practically feel the waves of jealous ire rolling off him. It made something hot and urgent unfurl in her belly, even as her pride reared up in indignation.

She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. "Not that it's any of your business, Malfoy, but yes. I have. Now, if you'll excuse us, we were just leaving."

She grabbed Matthew's hand, ignoring his confused protests as she made to brush past Draco. But he caught her elbow in a grip that was just shy of painful, his fingers digging into her skin.

"A word, Granger?" His tone made it clear that it wasn't a request.

Hermione glanced at Matthew, who was looking thoroughly bewildered and more than a little alarmed. "I'll just be a moment," she said tightly. "Wait for me here, would you?"

Matthew shot a wary look between them, clearly sensing the crackling tension in the air. But he complied, sitting back at the table as Draco dragged Hermione outside.

She turned to face him fully, yanking her arm from his grasp. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"What do I want?" He laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "What I want, Granger, is to hex that sorry sack of hippogriff dung's bollocks off for daring to put his hands on you."

Hermione gaped at him, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "Excuse me? You're...you're jealous? Seriously? In case you've forgotten, Malfoy, we broke up. You have no right-"

"Damn right I'm jealous!" he exploded, startling her into silence. He raked a hand through his hair, his anger and agitation palpable. "Watching you with that ponce, smiling and laughing and letting him paw at you...it's eating me alive, Granger. Is that really all it took for you to get over us? One mediocre dinner with a subpar wizard?"

Hermione flinched as if he'd struck her, her eyes stinging with sudden, furious tears, her voice a low, furious whisper. "There is no 'us', Malfoy! There never was, remember? It was all an act, a means to an end. And now it's over."

He prowled towards her, his eyes glittering dangerously. In two quick strides he had her backed up against the wall, his hands braced on either side of her head, his chest heaving with emotion. This close, she could see the rings of stormy blue around his dilated pupils, could feel the heat of him seeping into her skin.

"It stopped being an act for me a long time ago," he rasped, his voice low and raw. "And you bloody well know it."

Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest, her breath hitching. "What...what are you saying?"

Draco closed his eyes briefly, as if gathering his courage. When he opened them again, they were blazing with an intensity that stole her breath.

"I'm saying that I love you, you infuriating, oblivious witch. I'm in love with you, Hermione. I have been for months, maybe longer. And I'll be damned if I let you walk away again without telling you the truth."

Hermione felt the world tilt on its axis, shock and joy and disbelief ricocheting through her like spellfire. "You love me?" she whispered, scarcely daring to believe it.

Draco's gaze softened, one hand coming up to cradle her cheek with a tenderness that made her ache. "Of course I love you. How could I not? You're under my skin, Granger. In my blood, in my bones. I've tried to cut you out, to pull you up by the root, but it's no use. You're a part of me now, and I don't want to lose you. Not again."

A sob hitched in Hermione's throat, tearing free before she could stop it. She launched herself at him, winding her arms around his neck as she sealed her mouth over his in a searing, desperate kiss. He responded instantly, one arm banding around her waist as the other tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss.

He kissed her like a man starved, like she was air and he was drowning. Like he wanted to crawl inside her and never come out. Hermione poured every ounce of love, every shred of longing into that kiss, letting it say everything she couldn't find the words for. They kissed for long, drugging minutes, until they were both panting and trembling with need. Draco drew back just far enough to rest his forehead against hers, his thumb stroking over the damp curve of her cheek.

"Please tell me you feel this too," he murmured, his voice hoarse and wrecked. "Tell me it wasn't all in my head, that I didn't imagine this thing between us."

In answer, Hermione fisted her hands in his shirt and yanked him closer, until they were pressed together from knee to chest. "Of course I feel it, you daft man. I've felt it from the beginning, even when I was too scared to admit it. I love you, Draco. I love you so bloody much it terrifies me."

The smile that broke across his face was blinding, boyish and uncomplicated in its joy. He surged forward to capture her lips again, the kiss deep and thorough and full of passionate promise.

When they finally broke apart, gasping and giddy, Hermione couldn't stop the grin that pulled at her kiss-swollen lips. "So...what now? Where do we go from here?"

Draco threaded his fingers through hers, bringing their joined hands up to press a fervent kiss to her knuckles. "Wherever we want, Granger. The world is our oyster. But first things first - we need to ditch your date. Permanently."

Hermione laughed, the sound bright and incredulous. "Poor Matthew. He really never stood a chance, did he?"

"Not even a little bit," Draco agreed, looking entirely too smug. "Now come on, witch. Let's go scandalize the masses with the news of our torrid reconciliation. I want the whole world to know that Hermione Granger is off the market for good."

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly, but let him tug her towards the door, her heart soaring with happiness and hope.

This time, they weren't pretending. This time, it was real and true and forever.

The next morning, Hermione woke slowly, awareness seeping in bit by bit. She was deliciously sore in all the right places, her muscles pleasantly achy from their passionate lovemaking. She stretched languidly, reveling in the feel of the silky sheets against her bare skin, the scent of Draco's cologne clinging to the pillows. She rolled over, a smile already tugging at her lips, and found him watching her, his head propped up on one hand. The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting his pale hair in a golden glow and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. But it was the expression in his eyes that made Hermione's breath catch - unbearably tender, almost reverent, as if he couldn't quite believe she was real.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. He reached out to trail a finger down the curve of her cheek, the touch feather-light and achingly gentle.

"Morning," Hermione replied, suddenly feeling unaccountably shy. She bit her lip, averting her gaze as a blush stained her cheeks. "So...last night really happened, huh?"

Draco's lips quirked in a small, knowing smirk. He propped himself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping down to reveal his gloriously bare chest. Hermione's eyes followed the movement hungrily, taking in the lean, defined muscles, the faint silvery scars that crisscrossed his pale skin.

"It did," he confirmed, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the delicate shell, sending shivers down her spine. "And just to be clear, I meant every word I said. I love you, Hermione Granger. I'm in love with you, utterly and completely. I want to be with you, no pretense, no more games. Just us, building a life together."

Hermione felt herself smile, wonder and joy and not a little fear welling up inside her. It was one thing to declare their feelings in the heat of the moment, quite another to face them in the stark light of day.

She reached out to trace the sharp line of Draco's cheekbone, marveling at the way he leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed. "I want that too," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "More than anything. But Draco...what if it doesn't work? What if we're too different, or the pressure gets to be too much, or..."

He silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips, his gaze fierce and intense as it locked with hers. "We'll make it work," he said with conviction. "We've been through too much, fought too hard to get here to let anything tear us apart now. I'm not saying it'll be easy - Merlin knows we're both too stubborn and opinionated for that. But I'm willing to fight for this, Hermione. For us. Are you?"

In answer, Hermione surged forward and captured his lips with hers, pouring all the love and longing and bone-deep certainty she felt into the kiss. Draco responded instantly, his arms coming around her to pull her flush against him as he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. They kissed for long, drugging minutes, hands roaming and breaths mingling, stoking the embers of desire that always seemed to smolder between them. When they finally broke apart, they were both flushed and panting, lips kiss-swollen and eyes glazed.

"I'll take that as a yes," Draco rasped, his hands settling on her hips as she straddled him. The evidence of his arousal pressed insistently against her center, making her gasp and rock instinctively against him.

"I love you," she told him, framing his face in her hands as she stared down at him, trying to pour every ounce of conviction into her voice. "I love you, and I choose you, and I'm never letting you go again. No matter what anyone says, no matter how hard it gets. You're stuck with me, Draco Malfoy."

His answering grin was blinding, boyish and carefree in a way she so rarely got to see. "There are worse fates, I suppose," he drawled, but the joy in his eyes belied his flippant tone. "I guess I'll just have to find ways to make it worth your while."

And then he was rolling her beneath him, kissing her breathless as his hands mapped every curve and hollow of her body, stoking the flames higher and higher until she was writhing and pleading beneath him. He made love to her slowly, reverently, worshipping her with hands and mouth and body until she shattered in his arms, his name a broken prayer on her lips. They stayed cocooned in their little haven for most of the day, talking and laughing and loving, wrapped up in each other and this newfound joy. But eventually, the real world intruded, in the form of a barrage of owls tapping at the window and the Floo chiming incessantly from the living room. With reluctance, they disentangled themselves and went to face the music, hand in hand and heads held high. Their friends and family had no shortage of opinions on this new development.

"I knew it!" Ginny crowed triumphantly when Hermione Floo-called her with the news. The redhead was practically vibrating with glee. "I bloody knew you two were too perfect together for it not to last! Oh, I can't wait to help plan the wedding. It's going to be the event of the season!"

"Whoa, slow down, Gin!" Hermione laughed, holding up a hand to stem the flow of her friend's enthusiasm. "We only just got together. No one's talking about weddings yet!"

"Speak for yourself, Granger," Draco drawled from behind her, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. "I fully intend to make an honest woman of you. We've waited long enough, don't you think?"

Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest, a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She turned her head to look at him, searching his face for any hint of hesitation or doubt. She found none - only love, and certainty, and a heat that threatened to consume her whole.

"Ask me again in a few months, Malfoy," she said, aiming for coy and landing somewhere closer to breathless. "I expect a proper proposal, mind you. Down on one knee and everything."

"You'll get it," he promised, leaning down to capture her lips in a brief, searing kiss. "And it'll be the stuff of legends, just you wait."

Ginny made a gagging noise through the green flames, startling them apart. "Ugh, you two are revolting. I love it. Now, give me all the sordid details! I want to know everything."

Laughing, Hermione launched into the tale, Draco interjecting his own commentary and stealing kisses every chance he got.

Harry and Ron had, perhaps predictably, taken a bit more convincing. When Hermione met them for lunch later that week to break the news, Ron had promptly choked on his butterbeer while Harry's eyebrows attempted to merge with his hairline.

"You're joking," the redhead sputtered when he'd finished coughing up a lung. He looked between Hermione and Draco, who was seated beside her with a sh*t-eating grin, as if expecting them to yell "Surprise!" at any moment. "You...him...this is a wind-up, right?"

"Sorry, Weasley," Draco drawled, slinging a casual arm around Hermione's shoulders. "No joke. Granger and I are the real deal. Soulmates, I believe is the term she used."

Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs, feeling her cheeks heat. "I never said that," she hissed, though she couldn't quite contain her smile. Turning back to her gobsmacked best friends, she reached across the table to cover their hands with hers.

"I know it's a lot to take in," she said gently, willing them to understand. "And I know you have reservations, given our...history. But I love him. Wholly, deeply, truly. And he loves me. We want to build a life together, and I...I really hope you can be happy for us."

Slowly, Harry withdrew his hand from beneath hers, only to place it on top, sandwiching her fingers between his palms. His green eyes were solemn behind his glasses as they flicked between her and Draco.

"Hermione," he said quietly, "you know we love you. You're our best friend, our sister. If you say that this - that Malfoy - is what makes you happy...then we support you. Unconditionally."

"But," he added, his grip tightening just a fraction as his gaze hardened and swung to Draco. "If you ever - and I mean ever - hurt her, or make her cry, or break her heart...there won't be enough of you left to bury. Are we clear on that, Ferret?"

Draco, to his credit, met Harry's steely stare head-on, silver and emerald clashing and sparking with intensity. After a moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity, Draco gave a single, solemn nod.

"Crystal," he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "Her happiness, her well-being...it's everything to me, Potter. I would sooner cut out my own heart than cause her a moment's pain. You have my word on that, on my magic and my life."

Harry searched his face for a long, tense beat, then gave a sharp nod of his own. "See that you keep that vow, Malfoy. Or it won't just be me you'll answer to."

Ron, who had been watching this exchange with a vaguely queasy expression, finally threw up his hands in exasperation. "Bloody hell," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...I guess if you make her happy, Malfoy, then...I'm happy for you. Both of you. Just...no snogging in front of me, yeah? There's only so much a bloke can take."

Hermione felt Draco's arm tighten around her as he smirked at Ron, mischief dancing in his dove-gray eyes. "No promises, Weasley. Have you seen this witch? She's utterly irresistible."

As if to prove his point, he turned and captured her lips in a slow, thorough kiss that left absolutely no doubt as to the depth of his feelings - or the strength of his desire. Ron made a noise like a wounded Hippogriff and fell forward to thunk his forehead against the scarred wood of the table.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he moaned piteously. "My eyes! My innocent eyes!"

Even Harry looked a bit green around the gills, though he was manfully trying to hide it. He cleared his throat pointedly until Draco and Hermione surfaced, both pink-cheeked and bright-eyed.

"Right," he said, determinedly not looking at their kiss-swollen mouths or the way Hermione was all but sitting in Draco's lap. "That's...yeah. I'm happy for you, really. But maybe keep the tonsil Quidditch to a minimum in public, yeah?"

"I make no promises, Potter," Draco said with a shameless grin, pulling Hermione closer. "But I'll do my best to restrain myself. Wouldn't want to offend your delicate Gryffindor sensibilities."

The rest of the lunch passed in a blur of good-natured bickering and ribald jokes, the lines of House rivalry blurring into something like tentative friendship. It wasn't perfect - there was still too much history, too many scars, for that. But it was a start. Hermione couldn't stop smiling, her cheeks aching with it, her heart so full it felt fit to burst. Draco kept her tucked close to his side, his hand never straying far from her own, as if he couldn't bear to stop touching her. Every so often, he would lean in to press a kiss to her hair, her temple, the corner of her upturned mouth - each one a silent vow, a promise of forever. Of course, there was still one hurdle left to face - one that Hermione knew would likely be the highest of all.

"Mother, Father," Draco said in a voice like cut glass, sharp enough to draw blood. "I believe you remember Hermione Granger - my future bride."

There was a beat of ringing silence, heavy with shock and tension. Narcissa's eyes were wide and stricken in her bloodless face, her fingers white-knuckled where they gripped Lucius's arm. The Malfoy patriarch himself looked as if he had swallowed a whole barrel of bubotuber pus, his lip curled into a sneer of revulsion.

But before either of them could say a word, Hermione stepped forward, her chin lifted and her voice steady despite the fine tremors that shook her frame.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," she said, infusing the words with every scrap of poise and politesse her mother had ever drilled into her. "Thank you for welcoming me into your home. I know that my presence here is...unexpected. Perhaps even unwelcome. But I want you to know that my feelings for your son are true, and deep, and unshakeable. I love him with everything that I am. And I will spend the rest of my life making him happy, making him feel as cherished and adored as he deserves. I hope...I hope that, in time, you can come to accept me, not just as Draco's choice, but as a member of your family. Because that is what I intend to be."

There was another beat of awful, yawning silence. Hermione held her ground, refusing to fidget or cower, even as Narcissa's eyes bored into her like icy augers. And then, so slowly it was almost imperceptible, the cold mask of the Malfoy matriarch's face began to soften, to thaw. She inclined her head in a regal nod, her voice surprisingly gentle when she spoke.

"Well said, Miss Granger...Hermione. I can see that you make my Draco happy. That you bring him a joy and a peace I feared he would never know. For that alone, you have my gratitude...and my blessing. I look forward to getting to know you better, and to welcoming you into our family. Properly, this time."

Hermione felt Draco suck in a sharp breath beside her, his fingers tightening convulsively around her own. When she glanced up at him, his eyes were bright.

"Mother," he said. "Thank you. You have no idea what...what that means to me. To us."

Narcissa simply smiled, a small, secret thing that transformed her haughty features into something almost warm. She reached out to cup her son's cheek briefly, her touch feather-light and achingly tender.

"I know," she murmured. "And I am...so very proud of the man you have become, my dragon. So very proud, and so very happy for you both."

There was a muffled sound of protest from Lucius, quickly silenced by a sharp look from his wife. He subsided with ill grace, his mouth pinched and sour as if he had bitten into a lemon.

"Yes, well," he said stiffly, clearly struggling to force the words past his clenched teeth. "I suppose...if this is what you want, Draco...then your mother and I will...adjust. In time."

It was, Hermione knew, the closest thing to acceptance or approval that they were likely to get from the Malfoy patriarch. But it was enough - more than enough, for now. Draco seemed to share her sentiment, if the fierce, triumphant grin that split his face was any indication.

The press had a field day when Draco and Hermione went public with their rekindled romance. Headlines screamed from every newsstand, each one more sensational than the last.

"STAR-CROSSED LOVERS REUNITE: THE MALFOY-GRANGER AFFAIR REIGNITED!"

"FROM FAIL TO FOREVER: INSIDE THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY!"

"REDEMPTION, ROMANCE, AND REALLY GREAT HAIR: HOW DRACO MALFOY WON THE WITCH OF HIS DREAMS!"

Hermione had laughed herself silly over that last one, much to Draco's chagrin. "They're not wrong, you know," she'd teased, running her fingers through his silky blond locks. "Your hair is rather dreamy."

"You're one to talk," he'd retorted, tugging playfully on one of her riotous curls. "I've seen garden gnomes with more manageable hair than you, and yet somehow, you make it look good. It's unfair, really."

They had steadfastly declined all interview requests, refusing to comment beyond a brief statement confirming that yes, they were very much together, and yes, this time it was forever. They had nothing to prove, nothing to explain - their love was their own, and they guarded it fiercely. The only thing they couldn't seem to dodge was the rampant speculation about when - not if - they would make it official. Draco had simply smirked and said "no comment" whenever the question arose, his arm tightening around Hermione's waist in a way that spoke volumes.

In the end, he proposed on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday evening, six months to the day after their reunion in the restaurant. They had been curled up on the sofa in his study, Hermione scribbling furiously on a bit of parchment while Draco pored over a dusty old tome, just as they had countless nights before. It was a scene of such cozy domesticity, such quiet contentment, that Hermione felt her heart squeeze with the perfection of it. And then Draco had set his book aside and slid off the sofa, dropping to one knee before her with a nervous but determined expression. Hermione's heart had leapt into her throat, her quill falling from suddenly numb fingers as she stared at him in shock.

"Draco, what-"

"Hermione," he'd said, his voice rough with emotion as he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. "I know we've only been officially together for six months. I know that, to some people, it might seem too soon. But the truth is, I've loved you for so much longer than that. I've loved you through fake dates and real fights, through misunderstandings and miscommunications and all the messy, complicated, beautiful chaos in between. I've loved you at your best and at your worst, and every moment in between. And I know, with every fiber of my being, that I will love you for the rest of my life."

He'd taken a deep breath, his eyes shining as he flipped open the box to reveal a ring that made Hermione gasp aloud. It was stunning in its simplicity - a flawless cushion cut diamond set in a delicate band of platinum, tasteful and timeless and utterly perfect.

"Hermione Jean Granger," Draco had continued, his voice trembling slightly as he took her hand in his. "Will you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife? Will you let me love you, and cherish you, and annoy the ever-living hell out of you, for the rest of our lives? Will you marry me, and make me the happiest, luckiest bastard alive?"

Hermione, by this point, had been crying too hard to form words. She'd simply nodded frantically, throwing herself into his arms with a force that sent them both tumbling to the carpet in a tangle of limbs and tearful laughter. Draco had peppered her face with kisses as he'd slid the ring onto her finger with hands that shook.

"I love you," he'd whispered fervently, cradling her face in his palms like she was the most precious thing in the world. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Hermione had kissed him then, pouring all the love and gratitude and sheer, incandescent happiness she felt into the press of her lips against his. "I love you too," she'd breathed against his mouth. "So much. And yes, by the way. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I can't wait to be your wife."

The wedding itself was a surprisingly intimate affair, given the media circus that surrounded them. They spoke their vows in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, surrounded by a small gathering of their closest friends and family. Narcissa insisted on overseeing every detail, determined that if her son was going to marry a Muggleborn, he would do so in a way that upheld every Malfoy tradition and standard.

Hermione had been touched by her soon-to-be-mother-in-law's efforts, even if she had put her foot down at the suggestion of releasing live pixies as part of the ceremony. "With my luck, they'll nest in my hair," she'd said with a wry smile. "Best to stick with the fairy lights, I think."

Ginny, resplendent in a gauzy dress of emerald silk, had stood proudly at Hermione's side as her maid of honor. But it was the sight of Draco waiting for her at the end of the aisle, his eyes bright with love and wonder, that had stolen her breath. He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him, his lean, muscular frame impeccably clad in robes of deepest black, his hair gleaming like spun gold in the late afternoon sun.

When Hermione finally reached his side, her hand trembling finely in her father's steady grip, Draco lifted her knuckles to his lips and brushed a reverent kiss across them. "Hello, wife," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant only for her.

"Not quite yet," she whispered back, her heart so full she thought it might burst. "But almost."

And then they turned to face the officiant - Kingsley Shacklebolt himself, resplendent in sweeping robes of purple - and the ceremony began.

They had written their own vows, each pouring their heart out in words that rang with sincerity and devotion. Draco had spoken of redemption, of the power of forgiveness and second chances. Of how Hermione's faith in him, her unstinting love and support, had saved him from himself. Hermione, in turn, had spoken of healing, of the slow, patient work of knitting two souls into one unbreakable whole. Of how Draco's love had taught her to trust, to open herself up to vulnerability and to the beautiful, terrifying possibility of forever.

By the time they had finished, there was not a dry eye in the house. Even Lucius, standing stiffly beside his wife, had looked suspiciously misty as he watched his son pledge his heart and his magic to the woman he loved. When at last they were pronounced bonded for life, the cheer that had gone up from the assembled guests had been deafening. Draco whooped with unbridled joy as he swept Hermione into his arms and kissed her soundly, spinning her around in a dizzying circle as rose petals rained down around them.

From that moment on, he was scarcely been able to keep his hands off her -in a manner that spoke of sheer, incredulous delight. He kept her tucked close to his side during the reception, his fingers twined with hers or splayed across the small of her back. Every few minutes, he would lean in to press a kiss to her hair, her cheek, the corner of her smiling mouth, as if he simply couldn't help himself.

"I love you, Mrs. Malfoy," he murmured as they swayed together during their first dance as husband and wife, Hermione's head nestled into the crook of his neck. "I think I'm going to rather enjoy getting used to saying that."

Hermione tilted her face up to his, her eyes shining with happiness and no small amount of mischief. "And I love you, Mr. Granger," she retorted impishly.

Draco laughed at that, the sound so free and unburdened that it made Hermione's heart soar. This, right here, was what she had always wanted for him - this lightness, this unabashed joy, untainted by the shadows of his past. It was a beautiful sight to behold. They danced the night away, wrapped up in each other and flush with the promise of the future that stretched out before them. Hermione knew it wouldn't always be easy - they were both too stubborn, too fiercely independent, for that. There would be fights and misunderstandings, moments of doubt and frustration and teeth-gnashing annoyance.

But there would also be laughter, and passion, and the bone-deep certainty of a love that could weather any storm. They had forever now, to figure it out together. And Hermione couldn't wait to get started. As the reception wound down and the guests began to depart, Hermione let her gaze drift around the transformed gardens of the Manor. It was hard to reconcile this place of such beauty and joy with the site of her torture, her darkest hour. But that, she supposed, was the point. She was building new memories here, writing a new chapter in the story of her life. One that had started with an act, and ended with the most real and profound connection she had ever known.

Because that was the truth of it, the heart of what she and Draco shared. It had started as a ruse, a means to an end for both of them. But somewhere along the way, between fake dates and heated kisses and whispered confessions, it had blossomed into a love so deep and true that it had the power to rewrite their stars. The fact that it had all played out on the pages of the Daily Prophet was simply icing on the wedding cake.

Hermione knew they would be a subject of fascination for a long time to come - the war heroine and the reformed Death Eater, the Gryffindor Princess and her Slytherin Prince. Their story would be told and retold, dissected and debated, spun into myth and legend. But in the end, none of that mattered. The only story that counted was the one they were writing together, day by day and moment by moment. A story of redemption, and forgiveness, and the healing power of an unconditional love. And as Draco drew her into one last lingering kiss before leading her down the rose-strewn path that led to their future, Hermione knew one thing with soul-deep certainty.

Theirs was a love story for the ages. And she couldn't wait to see how it unfolded.

THE DAILY PROPHET

August 16, 2008

MALFOY HEIR WEDS WAR HEROINE IN INTIMATE CEREMONY

by Rita Skeeter

In a twist that surprised absolutely no one (least of all this reporter, who has been predicting this union since the pair's explosive debut last year), Draco Malfoy, scion of the notorious Malfoy dynasty, and Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Golden Girl and brains behind the Golden Trio, tied the knot in a small, private ceremony at an undisclosed location this past weekend, surrounded by a select group of close friends and family.

The unlikely pair, who shocked the wizarding world last year with their whirlwind romance and sudden engagement (which this reporter covered in exhaustive, exclusive detail), have been the subject of intense public interest and speculation. From their heated arguments in the halls of the Ministry (a lovers' spat, or something more sinister?) to their canoodling in corner booths at posh restaurants, every move of the Malfoy-Granger liaison has been tracked with breathless enthusiasm by yours truly and my esteemed colleagues.

"Anyone with eyes could see that those two were mad for each other," said one wedding guest who wished to remain anonymous (but whose identity this reporter could easily surmise, given her well-known penchant for a certain herbal refreshment). "The way they look at each other - it's like no one else exists. Frankly, it's a bit nauseating. But I suppose it was only a matter of time before they made it official."

The bride, who has always had a rather unfortunate taste in fashion (let's not forget that ghastly periwinkle number from the Yule Ball, or the frumpy ministry robes she insists on wearing like some sort of burlap sack), surprised everyone by actually looking quite lovely in a stunning vintage lace gown once belonging to her late grandmother (a Muggle, of course, but we can't hold that against the girl). The groom, who has always managed to make even the most basic of black robes look like they were tailored specifically for his annoyingly perfect physique, was his usual dashing self. The pair made quite the striking couple as they exchanged emotional, self-penned vows (which this reporter would have given her quick-quotes quill to get her hands on, but alas, the ceremony was irritatingly well-guarded), leaving nary a dry eye in the house.

The reception was a muted affair (perhaps in deference to the bride's lowbrow Muggle sensibilities?), but still imbued with an undeniable air of elegance and refinement, thanks no doubt to the guiding hand of the groom's mother, noted society maven Narcissa Malfoy. The newlyweds' first dance was to an old Muggle jazz standard, "At Last" (a rather on-the-nose choice, if you ask me, but no one did). Fitting, as the path to happily ever after for the reformed Death Eater and the Gryffindor Princess has been anything but smooth.

From hexes in the Hogwarts halls to heated debates across the floor of the Wizengamot, Malfoy and Granger have always been a volatile pair. Many doubted they could ever move past their childhood animosity (and, let's be real, the whole nasty blood purity business of the war) to find common ground, let alone true love. But if the besotted looks and constant physical contact between the pair at their nuptials were any indication (and this reporter can assure you, they were), this is one couple that has managed to beat the odds.

Of course, there are still those who whisper that the whole affair is nothing more than a calculated bid for social and political advantage - the ultimate marriage of convenience between two ambitious young power players. Cynics point to the speed of the courtship, the abruptness of the engagement, as evidence that this is more business merger than love match.

But all such sordid speculation was put to rest by the genuine emotion on display at the ceremony. The way Malfoy's usually haughty features softened with aching tenderness as he watched Granger make her way down the aisle on her father's arm. The tearful catch in Granger's voice as she promised to love, honor, and cherish the man. The palpable electricity between the two as they were pronounced husband and wife, and the groom dipped his bride into a searing kiss that went on for an almost indecent amount of time (reportedly). No, this was not the stiff, formal lip-lock of a pair of con artists faking it for the cameras. This was the real deal - a love so true and profound it could move even a jaded old cynic like myself to a rare moment of misty-eyed sentiment.

So here's wishing the happy couple all the best as they embark on this new chapter - one that will no doubt be filled with all the passion, drama, and scorching hot romance we've come to expect from the Malfoy-Granger affair. Because if there's one thing this reporter knows for sure, it's that a love like theirs is a once in a lifetime story. And I, for one, can't wait to see what happens next.