Chapter Text
Hermione took a steadying breath as the carriage pulled up to the Ministry Banquet Hall. The two Thestrals pulling the carriage seemed unbothered by the intense crowd and shouting on the street. She watched them move along at a steady pace, stopping only when the carriage in front of them stopped.
“It was good of McGonagall to donate the carriages for the event,” Ginny mused. She turned to smile and wave out the window to a few reporters who erupted in cheers. “Dumbledore would have never been this generous.”
“You don’t think the Thestrals dampen the mood?” Harry asked, eyeing them carefully. Hermione pursed her lips as she considered his question.
“I think they’re rather fitting,” she said at last. A lump began forming in her throat, and her palms became sweaty. “A skeleton horse leading me to my death.”
One of the Thestrals pulling their carriage let out a dissatisfied whinny at Hermione’s comment. Of course, the bloody thing could hear her. The part of her that wasn’t a nervous wreck felt terrible.
But the nervous part of Hermione was beginning to come undone at the seams. The slightest gust of wind could send her arms and legs flying in separate directions, and her heart would surely fly from her chest and splatter all over the windshield. They were three carriages from the red carpet when Hermione was sure she would be sick.
Ron had emerged from the carriage nearest the carpet, wearing his team’s colors. His hair was grown out and shaggy, not much different from the pictures Hermione had seen in the tabloids. Of course, he hadn’t trimmed it for the event. Why would he care about his public appearance? His job requirements included getting as beat up and shaggy as possible.
And then, a tall and rather coy-looking blonde emerged from the carriage and accepted Ron’s outstretched hand. Hermione suddenly realized why the name Alice Greenbaum had tickled her as familiar. There stood Alice, Draco’s ex-live-in-girlfriend, hair icy-blonde and her legs a rich shade of cream. She stepped down from the carriage and onto the red carpet beside Ron, her lipstick a rich shade of crimson.
Reporters cheered and called for their attention, cameras flashing like a light show. Ron and Alice posed for them, arm-in-arm as if they’d been preparing for that very moment. Undoubtedly, the morning’s issue of the Daily Prophet would have the pair center stage on the front page.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Hermione mumbled, her eyes locked on Alice's royal blue evening gown. It stuck to her body in all the right places, accentuating how thin her hips were. Hermione looked down at her own dress, suddenly feeling like she needed to go home. Or back to Hogwarts with the Thestrals. She’d ridden them once; she could do it again.
“I know,” Ginny said, her nose scrunched up as if she’d smelled something bad. “She truly thinks that color looks good on her.”
If Hermione were less of a woman, she would have thrown herself down on the seat and cried. Of course, that color looked good on Alice. Every color did. Draco had chosen her to be the face of the Disrobed brand for a reason: she looked magnificent.
“Women really are the worst,” Harry chuckled to himself. “Aren’t you supposed to build each other up or something?”
“I am!” Ginny turned to face him, a look of amusement mixed with ferocity on her face. “Hermione is clearly better looking! The carpet isn’t ready for how well that dress fits.”
Harry rolled his eyes and planted a soft kiss on Ginny’s cheek in lieu of a reply. Seeing the two of them together, so clearly enamored with one another, sometimes made Hermione wonder what she had to do to have Draco look at her that way. Kiss her softly like that and communicate with things as simple as looks.
Soon enough, their carriage was pulling up to the carpet, and the Thestrals were coming to a soft stop. An attendant opened the carriage, and Ginny stepped out first, followed by Harry. His tie was slightly askew, and his glasses looked like they needed to be cleaned. Hermione smiled to herself. At least one person hadn’t changed.
Then, it was Hermione’s turn to step down onto the carpet. The crowd’s cheers thundered against her eardrums, and the cameras were blinding. She’d been notoriously absent from previous events, preferring to keep herself as hidden from the public view as possible. And, standing beside Harry and Ginny, she remembered why. Hundreds of eyes were upon her, picking apart her look. Reporters were scribbling down notes and shouting questions, their quills practically scratching through their notebooks.
The task was simple. First, they would walk to the end of the first stretch of carpet to the base of the steps, pausing halfway for pictures. At the bottom of the stairs would be Rita Skeeter, with her pointed nose and glasses. She would ask them a few questions, fishing for the faintest scent of drama, and then send them up the steps. Once they reached the top, it was a few paces to the door and safety.
Hermione took a deep breath before allowing Harry to help her from the carriage. The barricade seemed as if it would collapse at any moment under the crowd's pressure. People were screaming for their attention, shouting that they all looked amazing. She put all of her attention on staying upright, swaying slightly in the four-inch heels Ginny had forced her into.
Ron was watching her. She could feel him staring down from the top of the steps, his hands in fists at his sides. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of eye contact, Hermione decided to at least pretend as if she wasn’t moments from passing out. Screams erupted when she offered the crowd a wave, which shifted something inside her. When they got to the center of the carpet, she put her forearm on Harry’s shoulder, smiling as the cameras flashed.
She could see how Draco would be drawn to events like the Post Awards. For a few moments, Hermione was the center of everyone’s attention. Gorgeous! they shouted. Over here! Look over here! Someone like Draco, who sought validation from others, could easily become attached to feeling like a king. To be recognized and admired for simply existing.
Finally, it was time to face the women Hermione might have hated most. Rita Skeeter’s curls had been swapped out for an old-fashioned updo. She had her eyebrows penciled in particularly dark, and she’d chosen to wear a neon pink dress that fit her in the most unflattering way possible. Hermione had to remind herself not to wince as she approached.
“And who do we have here?” Rita asked, an almost evil look playing on her face. “The Chosen One, his wife, and the Brightest Witch of Her Age.”
“I have a name,” Ginny’s grip on Harry’s arm visibly tightened. “And I know you know what it is.”
Rita’s false smile didn’t falter. Hermione assumed she’d used some sort of charm to keep it in place with how rigid it was.
“We’ll come back to you, Ginny,” Rita said. “But, first, I’d like to speak with Ms. Granger.”
Hermione raised her chin slightly, preparing to dodge questions about Ron or goings on at the Ministry. Instead, Rita chose a different direction.
“As you’re aware, tonight’s a big night. Draco Malfoy’s Disrobed is up for numerous nominations, including Magazine of the Year and Best Use of Photography.” Hermione was sure that the air had been sucked from her lungs. “Is that why you’ve come to your first red carpet event since the war?”
Suddenly, Hermione remembered Pansy off-handedly mentioning that Rita was writing a column for Disrobed . She interviewed famous witches and wizards, writing articles on their lives and accomplishments. Rita also wrote the article about Draco and Anya in the Daily Prophet . Hermione wished she’d brought her wand.
“I wish Draco all the best,” she said. “We all do. Harry is an investor for the magazine and one of its earliest supporters.”
Harry smiled warmly for Rita, transforming himself from plain old Harry into the man women fawned over. He was tall and confident but holding back. Warm but closeted. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.
“Draco’s an excellent friend and businessman,” Harry said, turning Ginny toward the stairs. “I’m sure I’ll see a return on my investment this evening.”
And then they were making their way up the steps and away from the crowd below. Hermione turned and smacked Harry’s arm when the doors shut behind them. Both he and Ginny laughed, clearly entertained.
“What’s so funny?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “She knows something!”
“We’ll figure out a way for you to stick her in another jar later,” Harry clasped his hands together. “It’s time to find drinks. I do hope they have those mini filets again.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and smiled adoringly as Harry made a beeline for the buffet. Looking around the room, Hermione spotted a few people whom she knew. Most of the Ministry employees, including Aimee, had come out for the evening. A few others she recognized from Hogwarts. Ron and Alice kept their distance, though Hermione could tell Alice was looking for an opportunity to engage.
“It’s not that bad, you know,” Ginny said. A man with a tray of champagne glasses walked past, and Ginny snuck two of them. She handed one to Hermione. “Just take advantage of the free stuff and don’t make eye contact with anyone. You’ll be in and out.”
Hermione took a sip of her champagne and did one more look around the room. Turning to her right, she saw Theo sneaking around a group talking to make his way to her. She’d begun to forget what he looked like, and what he looked like was handsome. Where Draco was all angles and hard lines, Theo was softer and warmer. He’d cut his hair for the evening but left some of it a bit longer on the top.
“Hermione,” he nodded as he stopped in front of them. “Ginny.”
“Theo,” Ginny smiled at him before making up an excuse to step away. Hermione’s heart did backflips as he cleared his throat.
“I came here to say that you look beautiful,” he said. A blush crept up his cheeks that Hermione pretended not to notice. “You look beautiful every day. But, tonight especially.”
“Thank you,” Hermione smiled at him and tore her eyes away from his jawline. “Is everyone else here yet?”
“I snuck in through the service entrance,” Theo shrugged. “I think they should be in one of the next few carriages.”
“If I’d known that was an option, I’d have snuck in with you,” she attempted a joke. “That carpet was miserable.”
Theo looked at Hermione as if he was preparing to say something. She waited, held down beneath his gaze, afraid of what might come out of his mouth next. For years, they’d pretended as if nothing had happened. They had packed up the pool and the game house, stacking up the boxes that stored the memories. And it seemed as if he would bring it all crashing back down.
“I should be going,” Theo smiled at Hermione as if he was doing more than saying goodbye. “Wish us luck.”
Before Hermione could respond, Theo turned and disappeared into the crowd. Ginny was back at her side immediately, handing her something small. A shot glass. Before Hermione could stop herself, she took the shot and handed it back to Ginny. Fire whiskey.
By the time Draco made it into the banquet hall, he’d begun to sweat. Pansy discretely handed him a handkerchief, which he tapped on his temple. She was kind enough not to say anything when he handed it back to her.
“Glad to see you’ve finally made it,” Theo materialized into view. The way he was swaying told Draco that the drink in his hand wasn’t his first. “I was beginning to worry.”
“We’d never leave you unattended to represent the company,” Draco cleared his throat. His words had come out more harshly than he’d intended, but they hadn’t spoken since the night on the patio.
“Ouch,” Theo laughed and patted Draco roughly on the shoulder. “It’s almost like you meant to hurt my feelings.”
Draco spotted Harry across the room, and he excused himself to walk over. He stood beside a few men Draco didn’t recognize, most likely from the Ministry.
“Draco!” Harry smiled brightly at him and clapped him on the back as he joined them. “I’d like you to meet Andrew White and Christopher Phillips.”
Draco shook Andrew’s hand first, then Christopher’s. Harry told him that they also worked at the DMLE as Aurors. They chatted for a few minutes before Andrew asked if Disrobed had yet made it to Australia. Their magical post market was beginning to expand, and he had a cousin with a few thousand galleons to spend. Draco made a mental note to thank Harry in the morning.
Eventually, he returned to Pansy and Blaise, who had figured out the bar's location. Pansy had taken the liberty of ordering him the evening’s themed cocktail. They could have simply called it what it was: a Johnny Walker.
“Alice is here,” Pansy said, sipping her vodka cranberry through the little black straw. “With Ron Weasley.”
Draco choked on his drink, which caused Blaise to nearly drop his. Pansy raised an eyebrow as she took another sip. The idea of seeing Alice was almost nauseating, but Draco couldn’t say he was surprised. Ruining things was Alice’s modus operandi.
He attempted a quick scan around the room to try and see her. Not to stare but to alert security. Instead, his eyes landed square on Hermione standing beside Ginny, speaking with two people Draco vaguely remembered from Hogwarts. Her hair was pulled back in an intricate bun with braids adding an air of elegance to the look. Rose gold sequins covered a see-through, v-line dress which caused it to sparkle in even the dimmest of light. Hermione had finished the look with earrings that dangled a few inches ending in one pearl each, and a crown decorated with more pearls and diamonds. The dress had long sleeves with an attached cape that made her appear otherworldly. Ethereal, even.
All at once, everything sped up and slowed down. Mindless chatter and the sounds of clinking dishware faded from Draco’s perception. All he could see was berry-toned lipstick, high cheekbones, and caramel-colored skin that made his mouth dry. She was sipping on a glass of champagne, wobbling slightly. Even from his distance away, Draco could tell she was dancing the line between tipsy and drunk. When Hermione got drunk, her laugh took on a kind of sing-song tone. He could hear it over Pansy and Blaise trying to get his attention.
It was time for everyone to get to their seats. Draco accepted a plate of food from Pansy, who’d been kind enough to grab it while he’d been ogling at Hermione. As he sat down, he hoped that she hadn’t seen him. She sat down with Harry and Ginny three tables in front, meaning she had her back to him. He took it as one last insult from the universe.
Once the lights dimmed, Kingsley Shacklebolt took to the podium at the front of the room. He went through a generic welcoming speech: thanking everyone in attendance, a joke about the food, mild Ministry propaganda, and a promise that the evening would be filled with as many laughs as there were nominees.
The first award of the evening was for Best Journalist Under 30, which was won by a journalist for The Guardian: Wizarding Edition named Daniel Hill. He’d written a few op-eds regarding the Ministry’s push toward re-vamping the Wizengamot. Apparently, everyone else knew about it except for Draco, who spent the rest of the evening trying to find the bottom of his glass. It kept re-filling itself whenever it was half-finished.
Draco clapped along as other awards were given out. Rita Skeeter won Best People Profile for her work in The Daily Prophet. A smaller literary magazine won Best Original Fiction. Best Single Topic Issue went to another reporter from The Guardian: Wizarding Edition , this one a young woman whose name Draco couldn’t remember.
As the end of the evening drew closer, Disrobed had won two of its four nominations: Best Use Of Photography, for which Pansy accepted the award. In addition, Blaise received the Best Literary Magazine award, taking the time to pick on Draco’s unwillingness to walk to the stage.
“He said he’s only giving a speech if we win Magazine of the Year,” Blaise said, causing the entire room to laugh. “So, you’re all stuck with my beautiful wife and me for the time being.”
As the night's final award drew closer, Draco swapped his glass for the speech he’d written down just in case. A lot of it was mindless thanking of everyone involved with the magazine, both in terms of labor and financial investment. Much like Kingsley Shacklebolt, Draco felt most comfortable in the unexceptional when it came to situations like giving speeches.
Before Draco knew it, Kingsley was back on stage to announce the Magazine of the Year award winner. Anticipation had been growing all evening. The finalists were Disrobed and Tinted Magic , a witch-centric magazine filled with shitty dating advice and cheap love potion recipes. Kingsley took his time opening the white envelope, clearly enjoying how the entire room held its breath.
“And the winner is…” Kingsley let the room grow eerily quiet before he finished. “ Disrobed !”
The room erupted in cheers. People were patting Draco on the back and whistling, some even banging their hands on their tables. Draco thought the red carpet had been loud; somehow, it hadn’t prepared him for the sounds of the Ministry Banquet Hall shaking from all the noise.
Slowly, Draco rose to his feet. Making his way to the front of the room felt like crossing the courtyard at Hogwarts after the battle. Not a single set of eyes wasn’t focused directly on him. He felt Hermione’s in particular – just as he had nearly a decade prior – and tried not to let his knees buckle.
Kingsley smiled proudly at him as he approached, handing him his Post Award. It was large, probably roughly the length of his forearm. A circular black base supported what looked like a woman holding a newspaper. The little plaque on the base read MAGAZINE OF THE YEAR 2022. Chants and whistles sounded in a constant barrage, silencing only when Draco approached the podium. He smoothed out his speech as best he could and paused, hoping his voice didn’t come out broken.
“First, I don’t think I can accurately express the gratitude I feel for everyone in this room tonight,” Draco started, reading from the parchment in front of him. “I would be nothing without you.”
He gripped the podium's sides so tightly that his knuckles were white. Dozens of times before, he’d accepted an award with little issue. He stood in front of the crowd, bowing dramatically for the audience, and he’d charm them with a few minutes of witty musings. Then, he’d throw in some generic thank yous and a couple of jokes. It had been easy.
Draco couldn’t help along but chuckle softly to himself. His nerves were beginning to get the best of him, and the words on the page were starting to blur. In an effort to find something solid to hold on to, Draco instinctually sought out Hermione. She was seated a few tables away, looking up at him.
“I’m–”
Draco cleared his throat. The urge to sprint across the room and into Hermione’s arms slammed against his ribcage. It nearly caused his fingers to uncurl from the sides of the podium and his feet to make for the steps to the stage.
“I’m only standing before you today,” Draco started again. “Because of people like Blaise, Pansy, and Theo. The three of you have dedicated the last seven years of your lives to helping me make my dream a reality. And people like Harry Potter, who willingly gave me their money hoping I was capable of more than making questionable choices.”
Finally, the audience laughed. Hermione cocked her head to the side, and Draco’s chest felt like it was going to burst with how badly he wanted to kiss her.
“ Disrobed has given me many things for which I am eternally grateful. A sense of purpose. A life mission. Something to keep my hands busy while I sort out my place in our new world. It’s also given me a reputation as a man who gets what he wants.”
To say that holding an audience in the palm of one’s hand didn’t make one feel alive would be a lie. A complete and utter lie. As more people began to hang onto his every word, and Hermione’s expression softened, Draco grew bold.
“Men often ask how they can be like me. They see the magazine and believe it’s a projection of myself: wild parties, sex, beautiful women. They see the brand and assume it to be me.”
He paused, unsure of how to continue. Going off-script was never part of the plan.
“But, what drives a man and makes him successful isn’t money and temporary pleasure. It’s love. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve spent so much of my life looking for love in all the wrong places. I searched for it in underground clubs and on foreign beaches. Until one woman walked into my life and changed everything.”
Here goes nothing , Draco thought to himself.
“She reminded me that love is at the center of everything. Love is my friends supporting a dream I had in the middle of the night when I was lost. Love is my mother, who writes to me almost daily and reminds me that I am more than my past. And love is Hermione Jean Granger, the only person who knows me better than myself.”
Draco didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t the socked gasp followed by quiet murmuring that followed. Hermione stared up at him, wide-eyed and with her hands over her mouth. Harry and Ginny clapped, which caused the rest of the crowd to join them tentatively.
“Thank you, everyone,” Draco said, deciding that his time on the podium was over. “Have a great evening, and I will see you next year.”
Somehow, Draco made it to the bottom of the steps without twisting an ankle. He was pulled to Hermione like a moth to a flame, his feet moving forward of their own accord. She dropped her hand from her mouth as he reached her table, bending down. Their lips met halfway, and her fingers went to his cheeks on instinct.
He kissed her, long and deep. People cheered, cameras flashed, and all of it faded into the background. Hermione still tasted and smelled the same – kissing her felt like home. Draco only pulled away when he grew dizzy from lack of oxygen. Hermione looked at him, blushing, her thumbs rubbing softly along his cheekbones.
Hermione soon found herself on the patio back at the Mansion, staring down at her options on the snack buffet. An after-party had been thrown together in celebration of the evening, and it seemed that the entire Post Awards guest list was in attendance. Most of the guests kept trying to make eye contact with Hermione and ask her questions about Draco’s speech, and she attempted to avoid them as best she could.
Her lips still tingled from Draco’s kiss, the memory of it refusing to fade. Kissing Draco had always been the easiest thing in the world, as easy as picking up a wand. Finding him had been like discovering magic for the first time; Hermione had missed the sense of curiosity and excitement. Part of her wanted to think of his public profession of love as little more than an attempt to gain sympathy. People would notice now if she attempted to let herself fade slowly from his life and return to the safety of being a stranger. Either Draco was incredibly smart or a complete fool.
As if sensing the beginnings of a downward spiral, Pansy materialized on Hermione’s left with a champagne flute and outstretched arms. The two embraced for what felt like an hour, Hermione feeling suddenly grounded after a night of floating above the clouds.
“If you love me,” Pansy said, finally pulling away. “You won’t make a run for it.”
“Why would I make a run–?”
Before Hermione could finish her sentence, the sound of Draco clearing his throat could be heard across the patio. She turned to face him, her mouth running dry at the sight of him standing by the walkway which led toward the small zoo Draco had built on the property. He had removed his formal robes and was left in an emerald green button-up, the sleeves of which he’d rolled up to his elbows.
For a brief moment, Hermione wondered what would happen if she didn’t follow him down the cobblestone pathway. Suppose she chose to walk away from it all and never look back. Eventually, the hollow feeling in her bones would be replaced by something else. It would fade, just like missing her parents. The memories would stop cluttering her mind, and the sound of his voice would be as foreign as music she’d never heard before.
And then Draco held out his hand and asked Hermione with his eyes to take it. She stepped forward without hesitation, deciding that a future without Draco would be a future without love. A soft smile danced across his lips as she placed her hand in his, and he lifted it to kiss her knuckles.
“Hermione,” he breathed out her name, his breath tickling the back of her hand. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you,” she let out a breathy chuckle. “I was beginning to forget what you looked like.”
“I don’t want another day to go by that I don’t see your face,” Draco said as he straightened, sincerity clear on his expression. “Will you join me somewhere a bit more private?”
Hermione nodded in response, unable to find the right words to say she would join him anywhere. Draco led her down the cobblestone path and past the enclosures she’d almost forgotten bout. As they walked, the sounds of the party and music were replaced by birds chirping and a lion snoring.
The path wound lazily through quieter parts of the property before stopping in front of a wooden pergola with white curtains. White candles floated in vases of varying sizes and on the accent tables casting the beige couch in a warm light. An emerald green rug lay in the center of the space, and the pair stopped in the middle. Draco stared down at their entwined hands, observing how their fingers knitted together.
“Hermione, you probably think me to be an idiot,” he started, still not looking at her. Hermione’s first instinct was to confirm that she did believe him to be an idiot. Of course, any person in their right mind would have come to that conclusion. But, she allowed him the grace of continuing. “And I wouldn’t fault you for it. I never wanted to offend you or give you cause to feel trapped, and if I did, I apologize. I went a bit off scrip this evening.”
Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I didn’t mind it,” she replied honestly. “If I did, I would have punched you again.”
Draco chuckled as he finally brought his eyes up to meet hers. Hermione wanted nothing more than to reach up and kiss him, to close the distance between their bodies and melt into one person. One unit. But, she refrained, choosing instead to enjoy how his eyes sparkled in the candlelight.
He looked contemplative – a little lost in his own mind. Hermione could see him picking and choosing which words to say next. Moments passed as Draco looked down at her, pulling her closer to an edge she couldn’t quite see.
“I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you,” he said. “I’ve spent nearly two decades chasing the feeling I got the first time I heard your voice. The way that you have opened yourself up to me and forgiven me for things I’m not sure I’ve forgiven myself for is a testament to who you are as a person. Your ability to love and consistently move forward has long enchanted me. I usually find that the past has all of the answers. You see the future as limitless potential.”
Hermione’s heart was hammering away in her chest, banging against her rib cage. Something stung the corners of her eyes – tears – and she had to keep herself from screaming at the feeling. Her entire body was catching on fire from the pressure of remaining still.
“And I don’t want to lose that,” Draco said. “To risk a future with you would be to let my past get the best of me. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from you, my past has no bearing on my future.”
Before Hermione could speak, Draco was taking a half-step back and beginning to fall to one knee. He kissed her knuckles once more before releasing her hand and reaching for his pocket.
“Draco–” Hermione stared down at the little black box in his hands. The urge to jump up and down and release the building tension in her stomach was nearly too much. And then, Draco opened the box.
Sparkling in the dim lighting was a silver band with a hexagonal moss agate stone at the center. It was flanked on either side by two smaller diamonds and finished with two rose-cut moss agates blooming like leaves from the diamonds. Hermione’s hands went up to cover her mouth, hoping Draco hadn’t noticed how it had opened in shock.
“I can never take back the things I’ve done,” Draco cleared his throat. “Or, more importantly, the things I haven’t done. For the first time, I’m looking toward my future. And my future is you.”
“Draco,” Hermione breathed out his name again, already nodding her head yes. She could feel two warm tears sliding down her cheeks. Part of her wanted to ask what that future would look like, just to hear him promise her something . Something that she could hold on to and wait for. But she refrained, choosing to let him finish.
“Hermione Jean Granger, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Before Hermione could stop herself, she lowered herself to his level. She instinctively reached out her hands to cup his cheeks, her thumb immediately wiping away a tear of his own. Had she ever seen Draco cry?
“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” she nodded again. “I will marry you as long as you never say my middle name out loud ever again.”
Draco laughed fully, the sound filling up their secret little corner of the property. She had missed that sound greatly. It was the laugh that she had heard at the carnival, in Greece and France. A full-bodied, shoulder moving laugh that sounded almost melodic.
And then their lips were meeting in the middle, neither sure who had moved first. Draco’s lips were soft as ever, his tongue more eager than before. She allowed him to pull them up, one of his hands moving around to the small of her back and pulling her closer. Hermione’s hands made their way into Draco’s hair and settled at the nape of his neck, happy to be back where they belonged.
When they finally pulled away from one another in search of air, Draco raised the little black box into view.
“May I?”
Hermione nodded enthusiastically, biting her bottom lip to keep from kissing him again. Draco removed the ring from the box, and she held out her left hand. His fingers shook as he slid the ring onto her finger.
The two of them stared at it for a moment, taking in the sight of the ring on her finger. For the first time, Hermione felt complete. And she’d never known that a man, let alone Draco Malfoy, could make her feel complete. Complete and ready for whatever the future would hold.
“Do we have to go back to the party?” Hermione asked. Draco shook his head no and pulled her into his chest. She rested her cheek over his heart, enjoying the feeling of it beating beneath her skin. He placed a soft kiss on the crown of her head.
“I figured the rest of this night could be for us,” he said. “And getting you out of that dress.”
“Draco!” Hermione laughed and pulled back slightly so she could look up at him. He shrugged unapologetically, his hands falling to her waist.
“It just looks so tight,” he reasoned. “And I miss the way your skin feels against mine.”
“What else do you miss?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. The timeless Slytherin smirk Hermione had missed so much made its way onto Draco’s lips.
“Close your eyes, and I’ll show you.”
END OF BOOK TWO.