PART ONE: SERENA
Serena— the song of a lover waiting impatiently for the evening (to consummate his love)
. . .
Her eyes. Draco had fallen in love with her eyes first. Bright, brown, and almost comically round, her eyes had the ability to make him feel all sorts of emotions. With one glare of hers, his heart would palpitate in an embarrassing fit of nervousness. Whenever tears would wet her lashes, it was enough for his walls to come crumbling down for. Her eyes had always been his weakness. And boy, were they weakening him now.
The Wizarding University of Prosperfae’s annual Haunted Halloween Ball Party was being held tonight, in the Alchemy Tower. The decorations, the food, the drinks, the lights, and the music had all been prepared and made by him and his course-mates, or well, just him.
It was their second major term project, and it had almost driven him to insanity. Most of his course-mates were lazy, stupid, and, frankly, useless. He had spent sleepless nights working on décor while his colleagues had gotten drunk and high on barely-legal potions. He'd practically done this whole party by himself.
But that was all over now. Draco had already told his Professors that his course-mates did pretty much nothing. He was now sure that half of them were going to fail this term.
The party was a yearly costume-themed event, mostly catered to Prosperfae’s pupils. The party began at 6:15 p.m. and adjourned at 11:00 pm. By the end of the night, two students (one male and one female) were crowned as “King and Queen of Hallows’ Eve”. What was so great about the competition was only pupils who put an effort in their costumes could win (looking scary would also help).
The winners were chosen by the hosts (this year it was the Alchemy students.) The King and Queen’s prizes were appropriately themed: a set of potions—one vial of Potion, Alihotsy Draught, Draught of the Living Death, and three vials of the Drink of Despair—and of course, golden crowns to signify their superiority.
It was a fun party. When he had been in his first year in Prosperfae, he and Hermione had won their first night of the Haunted Halloween Ball Party. Draco had gone as a Muggle demon and Hermione had somehow transformed herself into a harpy for the night. To this day, she still would not tell him how she had done it.
Last year, he had dressed and magicked himself to look more like his father (for there was no man more terrifying). He had gotten a lot of laughs from that. Hermione had painted her skin blue and had gone as a human-sized pixie. He hated pixies, and he hadn’t liked her costume last year, but he could still remember her laughingly smile and the surprisingly lewd suggestion, 'you can help me wash it off?' He shook his head at the memory.
This year was different. This year was both of their last years in Prosperfae University. This year was their last as students. This year, they focused more on education than winning a costume party.
Draco was dressed in style troubadour this year. His large woollen hat, obnoxiously green cloak, striped trousers, and his orange tunic had all been transfigured, having only put an effort into buying a lute that he had actually learned to play. He’d mostly taught himself to play a song about courtly love to impress his petite amie, Hermione.
But he had been busy all night, rebuking reckless pupils who had broken a table or two, scolding whoever tried to dip their dirty fingers into the food, and chastising people who wanted to take one of the decorations he had worked hard on.
When he finally managed to breathe and take a seat, Draco made eye contact with the one girl he’d actually been looking forward to seeing this evening, Miss Hermione Granger. And with her eyes, he fell in love with all over again.
Her lids were hooded with shiny eyeshadow, making her eyes look more defined and prominent. Her eyes looked gorgeous. Hermione, as a whole, looked gorgeous.
His own eyes inadvertently drifted to her painted lips when he noticed them curving up into a sinful red smirk. Because of the crowd that was separating them, Draco could not get a full view of what her costume was. He knew she had not attempted to look frightening, though—Hermione Granger would not put shiny Muggle makeup on her face if she wanted to scare off children.
When some of the dancing pupils dispersed, Draco saw her arms around another man (specifically, a man dressed as a centaur) and that she was a siren. She was wearing a skin-coloured crop-top over her breasts and a smooth, shimmery tail replaced her sun-kissed legs.
Another man’s hands were on his girlfriend’s bare waist, feeling up her curves and having the time of his life. A Slytherin-green shade of jealousy blinded his vision. Before he knew it, he was stalking towards her and her dance partner, ripping them apart rather forcefully.
“Hands off my girl, mate,” he hissed to the quivering first-year. A part of his brain noted that Draco the troubadour with a lute would not scare anybody. He looked more like a spurned lover than a man possessive of his girlfriend. He did not care, though. The siren was his, and only his. He would sacrifice his whole ship and crew for her.
“Draco, stop,” he heard her scold behind him. “You’re embarrassing yourself in your own party.”
She was right, of course. In his three blissful years of being with Hermione Granger, Draco had found out that she was always correct. How could she not be right at every encounter? She had read every book she set her eyes on, and probably more, knowing her. It was incredible.
Her hand gripped his arm and pulled him rather painfully, practically pleading for him to let it go.
And so, he did. He was her bewitched sailor, of course, and he did everything she wanted. He sent one last threat to the first-year before he let himself be dragged into the depths of the ocean by his siren.
Apparently, the depths of the ocean were now the table for the Halloween-themed sweets. Draco took one of the pumpkin-shaped chocolates, swirling the thing around his tongue absentmindedly.
“He fancies me,” Hermione suddenly spoke up. For a short brain-dead moment, Draco had no idea what she was talking about. As soon as it became clear that she was talking about the guy she had danced with, he stiffened uncomfortably. “That’s why he asked me to dance. He’s a kid, Draco.”
“He’s 17,” he corrected, “and Greek.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “What does he being Greek have to do with anything?”
He pouted petulantly. “You love Greece.”
She snorted and took a cupcake from the table. “You’re really silly sometimes, you know.”
Draco smiled uncontrollably when she nibbled small bits of the confection. He knew that she would be giving the cupcake to him soon. She hated pastry and sweets. She had once told him the bad things sweet food could do to his teeth. Above all things, Hermione cared for her oral health. She used at least two spells to clean her teeth before going to bed. Draco knew it was because of her parents.
But hey, he couldn't fault her borderline obsessive ritual—when she had first taken him into her mouth, it had almost felt like taking a walk on the Elysian Fields.
“You make me silly,” he told her.
She grinned back at him and held out the cupcake for him to take. He graciously accepted the confection and finished it for her.
“You look wonderful tonight, by the way.” Draco grazed his teeth over his lower lip, intently studying her body.
She did look exceptionally wonderful tonight. Her golden tail complemented her skin beautifully and her natural brown curls were on full display tonight, wild and brazen. Of all her costumes throughout their years in Prosperfae, this was Draco’s personal favourite—mainly because this costume was more Hermione than actual costume. She showed off her real skin, and her costume was only the golden tail and top—if you could even call it that. “Absolutely stunning.”
Her grin widened and a blush fell over her cheeks. “Thank you. What are you supposed to be, anyway?”
Draco furrowed his eyebrows, feigning an offended expression and clutching his lute close to him defensively. “Well, I am your dreams in real life, milady.”
She laughed, and the sound was more beautiful than anything his lute could ever produce. He almost backed out of playing the instrument for her. Almost.
“Why are you standing before me without armour, dear sir?” asked his siren. She must have thought he was a knight. What a cliché. Draco never did anything banal.
“I am no sir,” Draco said snottily. “I am the one who entertains the court, the one who lulls you to sleep, and the one who will sweep you off of your feet using words.”
He played a song for her, plucking rather ridiculously on the strings of the instrument. Then it was time for the lyrics. His mother had made him take singing lessons as a child, but he had never taken them that seriously. He was starting to regret that. He sang a song about courtly love, about the things he was willing to do for her, and about how well he would treat her.
He should have done this back in Hogwarts, back when they were Head Boy and Head Girl together. He never really formally courted her, he realized now. He had only asked her out to piss his parents off. Dating her would blow Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s minds. And it had—well, almost. He had never really expected that his being with Hermione would turn out genuine and, honestly, the best thing that had ever happened in his life. So he was grateful to her. She had made him happier than he could imagine.
When he was done performing for her, she smiled and clapped cheerfully, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug. He held his lute in one hand and returned the embrace.
“You’re a great singer, sir,” she whispered into his ear. He almost shivered in slight shock when her breath washed over his lobe, but he refrained.
“I’m not a sir,” he told her softly, “just a mere troubadour.”
She slightly pulled away, her face now in front of his, but her arms remained around his neck.
“Well, you’ve captured my heart, troubadour.” Then, she kissed him. For the smallest of moments, her lips were on his. She was off of him before he could even shut his eyes, smirking tantalizingly while licking a Sugar Quill she’d picked up from the table.
He gripped her wrist, pushing the hand that was holding the sweet away, and put his lips back on hers. She let out a whimper when his tongue slid past her lips. Before her own tongue mingled with his, though, she pushed him away.
“Not here,” she explained. “There are Professors around, Draco.”
He raised a brow impishly. “So?”
Hermione gave him an exasperated look. “So take me somewhere else! This is your tower, after all.”
For one quick second, he cursed himself for being a dolt. He took hold of her delicate hand and quickly escorted her out of the party, into the mostly vacant hallway.
Once they were out of the bustling Main Hall, Draco pinned his siren against the wall, his mouth seeking her lips impatiently. His hand searched for the doorknob they were next to and twisted it open when he found it.
He let Hermione’s mouth go for a regrettable moment, ushering her inside the classroom and locking the door once they were both in.
“You couldn’t have taken your lady to your bedchambers?” Hermione jested, red lips turned up in a teasing leer.
Draco did not have any time for pissing around, choosing instead to ignore her, opting to put his lips on top of hers again for an answer.
She chuckled as she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. He rested both his hands on her scaly bottom, enjoying the feel of her nicely-shaped derrière beneath his palms.
A random question suddenly made its way into his head, and he got so distracted that he hadn’t even noticed his eyes were wide open. He pulled away from her.
“How can you walk with a tail?” he blurted out, genuinely curious.
Hermione frowned at his inquiry and then laughed. “Magic.”
She turned her back around him, walking adorably in her magicked tail. It looked unnatural suddenly—a siren stomping around like some sort of human—but something in his heart softened as he watched her hop onto a stool, tucking her tail onto the crossbeam.
“Sirens are not supposed to walk on land,” he mentioned, keeping his distance from her for now.
She hummed in agreement, sucking on the Sugar Quill he’d already forgotten about. “And since when have I done things I’m supposed to?”
Her lips were wrapped around tightly on the feathered side of the treat, pursing and sucking to get the sweet flavour on her tongue. That was all he could focus on now.
She briefly took out the sweet from her mouth to give it a long, torturous lick.
After that, he lost all inhibition and control. He made his way in front of her in three, huge, almost menacing steps.
“Are we in the Potions classroom?” asked Hermione, seemingly not affected by his proximity.
“So the Alchemy Tower only has one Potions classroom?”
Draco held her face with both of his hands, caressing her cheeks lovingly, and responded, “No.”
He latched his lips onto her neck, sucking softly on the spot where he knew she liked best. “Probably a hundred.”
She gasped when Draco’s teeth nipped at her neck. She had once told him that she liked foreplay better than sex, that she loved the kisses, licks, and nibbles better than actual intercourse. Because of that, their foreplay lasted much longer than sex. He made her feel like she was savoured first before he actually entered her.
One of her hands gripped his hair, using her hold to guide his head to her lips. He slid his tongue inside her lips instantly, already wanting their bodies to intertwine with each other in every way. She greedily greeted his tongue with her own, always one step ahead of what he was planning.
Draco moved his hand to her covered breasts, cupping them and giving them the attention they deserved.
“Take this off,” he whispered against her lips, referring to the cloth that covered his version of heaven.
She pecked his lips, whispering a spell. The flesh-coloured piece of clothing disappeared, and he was happily greeted by her small but inviting breasts. Even though Hermione gruffly demanded his lips back on hers, he refused, choosing instead to put all of his attention south.
He tweaked one nipple with his fingers and kissed the other, licking his way around her areola. With his other hand, he pushed her body, forcing her to lean on the table behind her.
Draco loved her tail; it was golden, shimmery, and did wonders to her skin. But now, her legs wrapped around his waist were all he needed. He longed for the feeling of her heat brushing against his erection.
“Take the tail off,” Draco growled lowly, watching as her nipple hardened under his breath. He gave the nipple another kiss, pushing her body in a gesture to lie on the table behind her.
Hermione wiggled her way into a comfortable position. She was in the middle of muttering another incantation when Draco heard something break.
Both of them visibly stiffened as the sharp sound of glass breaking pierced their ears. Hermione rose up, relying on her elbows for support.
She stared at him, those pretty brown eyes widened in shock. Draco looked back at her with, he was sure, the same horrified expression.
“What was that?” Hermione questioned, her voice husky, some mix of lust and shock.
Draco blinked the apprehension away. It was probably just a potion ingredient falling off the edge of the table Hermione was now resting on. His Professors would most probably kill him for it, but he didn’t want Hermione getting worked up for something so small.
He pecked an innocent kiss on her lips to comfort her. “It’s probably just an ingredient. Nothing to worry about.”
She frowned at him sceptically. “Are you sure?”
Draco didn’t want to go and check, ruining the mood.
“Yes, don’t worry about it.” Draco smiled, placing his hands on her thighs—or what would’ve been her thighs if she had her legs on display, not hidden under the sparkly gold fabric. He kissed her again, on the forehead this time, intending to get rid of her frown.
“Okay,” Hermione gave in, lying back on the table. “I trust you.”
His smile turned into a smirk and before she could see it, he drowned himself in her breasts again.
An awful smell wafted its way through his nose as he was sucking his way down her stomach. He let out a cough; he could almost taste the scent, thick and cloying on his tongue.
Had Hermione eaten something bad tonight?
A shot of pain hit his stomach as Hermione pushed him away harshly. He coughed again, the smell getting unbearably worse.
“Jesus, Draco,” Hermione exclaimed from below him. She wore the ugliest scowl on her face, pinching her nose in distaste, “you could have at least had gotten out the room before you broke wind like—”
“I didn’t do it!” he defended, his head starting to ache from the terrible smell. The fragrance of rusted iron and something dead was making it hard for him to breathe. “I thought you did it!”
Hermione reddened, her eyes narrowing in anger. “You think my stomach’s bloody rotten?”
“No, it’s just—” He was interrupted by a turbulent fit of coughs bursting through his mouth, a tickle in his windpipe the only warning.
He inhaled deeply with his mouth and regretted it instantly. It tasted like a recently-killed rat was on his tongue, the smell thick and swirling down his throat, like inhaling smoke, but it was tangy, metal-ly. With another series of coughs, his vision heated up, going from normal to tinted orange. Draco was beginning to have a clue on what they had been breathing in.
Orange smoke, scent of rotten flesh, rusted iron, and faeces, and the shattered vial earlier. Fuck.
“Hermione, don’t—” he tried to rush out, but he was interrupted when Hermione leaned over, vomiting on his boots. He could not even show his disgust, orange smoke having completely blinded his eyesight. He tried to fight off the urge to close his eyes, but the potion they had broken fought back and won against him. He fell down to the ground in an embarrassing thud.
And then, he was lost.
. . .
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, the white walls around him turning into the familiar walls of a private room in St Mungo’s.
He would definitely strangle his course-mate for this. While it was certainly their fault for breaking the vial, the dumb German wanker that made the Potion that had gotten him into this mess, Klaus Fischer, should not have put his first major term project on the first bloody floor of the Alchemy Tower!
It wasn’t before long he saw the main scene of his ‘vision’. There was an obviously exhausted woman lying on the hospital bed. Her eyes half-closed, her face pale, and her brown hair stuck to her cheeks. At first, he had thought the woman was Hermione, but her skin was lighter than that of his girlfriend, and the facial features differed.
Even though she was most likely at her very worst at this moment, the woman was the most breathtakingly beautiful person he had ever seen.
And he knew that this was not the first time he had ever seen her, no. He was sure that he had seen her before. In Hogwarts, maybe? Or one of his parents’ galas, back when he still attended?
The woman looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember who she was or where he had seen her. All he knew was that he almost forgot his existence when he saw her.
Draco wondered what she was doing here, in his ‘vision’, but then he saw himself, sitting right next to her bed, holding her hand and cradling a baby swathed in blankets in his other arm.
He gasped when his older self stared directly at him before looking back at the woman. He looked different; he had almost thought it was his father. A beard adorned his jawline and chin—he wasn’t yet sure if he liked it, and he looked older.
He stalked closer to them.
“You did well, love,” he heard his older-self gush to the woman. “He’s beautiful.”
He could identify the woman now that he was close enough to see her features clearly. It was Daphne Greengrass’s little sister, Astoria! Yes, Draco remembered her quite well. Astoria had confessed to fancying him when he had been in Year 6, and he recalled rejecting her for the sole reason that his parents would have been more than glad if he had dated someone like Astoria.
Draco suddenly felt sick. He was not stupid. He knew exactly what Astoria’s role in his future was, and thinking about it made him uncomfortable.
She must have given birth to their child.
He stepped a tad closer to his older-self to chance a peek of the baby, and what he saw changed his life.
A boy. A red-faced boy with fat cheeks and swollen grey eyes. The boy had his hair, too, blond and pale, but only wispy flyaways were on the top of his head like a bad comb-over. He was definitely a Malfoy through and through.
He was so small to the point that he was almost irrelevant to the world, but as Draco stared at him now, he knew the boy was the most important thing in his life. He was but a little bundle, and yet Draco’s heart melted by the mere sight of him. He wished he could take him into his own arms at this moment, and give him all the love his own parents had refused to show him.
He was in love.
“What did you name him?” Astoria asked, her voice throaty from exhaustion. Her body must have hurt like hell, but she smiled at their little creation.
“Scorpius,” his older-self responded. “I hope you don’t mind, it was one of the ones on our list, so I just picked.”
Astoria shook her head and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “He’s perfect.”
She was wrong; Scorpius was beyond perfect.
Another surge of joy burst through his heart when he saw himself kiss Astoria lovingly. Draco searched for their hands, their fingers, to see if there was any ring on them, to see if they had been bound by God and magic.
They were. They wore the same rings his mum and dad had worn at their wedding. Narcissa and Lucius must have been over the moon when they had found out he was dating Astoria instead of Hermione.
Hermione. What had happened between him and Hermione? What was going to happen between them? He did not understand this ‘vision.’ Why was Astoria here instead of his true love, the one he conquered all with? Why was this the happiest moment in his future?
Never mind, he understood why this was his happiest moment. What he felt when he saw Scorpius was unadulterated joy—something he had never felt before then. But why wasn’t Scorpius his and Hermione’s?
He would be lying if he said he did not understand, though. His future-self was clearly happy with Astoria, more than he ever was with Hermione. Their love was so clear and so present that he was sure people in the next room could feel it.
“Thank you,” his older-self said to his wife. “He’s the best. You’re the best. I love you.”
She reached over, a gracious smile on her face, a hand cupping their son’s perfect cheek. Draco bent over, cuddling their son in between them, looking like the happy family he never had.
This was everything he wished and hoped for, right in the hands of his future self. This was happiness.
As he came close to crying along with his family, Draco’s vision turned an ugly shade of orange once again. He was taken away from his happiness.
. . .
Draco shut his eyes as soon as he saw the dim lighting of the Potions classroom. His eyes felt like they were burning, dried up from being wide open for that long. His heart was pounding so hard that he was sure one of his ribs was bent in half. Why were people taking this Potion?
He heard a feminine groan, Hermione’s groan, and he stood up so fast that his soul left his body for a quick moment before returning. His petite amie was sitting on the table he had placed her, her tail on the stool, and her head buried in her knees.
“What was that?” The sound of her voice was so muffled that he almost took the phrase as something dirty.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Ha-Happy Ending Potion.”
Hermione raised her head to look up at him. Her eyes were filled with tears and she looked so troubled that he immediately felt an urge to comfort her.
“The Happy Ending Potion,” he repeated, glancing away from her miserable expression. “I’m sure there’s a textbook here for you to—”
“I don’t want a textbook, Draco. Just tell me what you know about it right now.”
Draco sighed but nodded all the same. He could never refuse his siren anything. “Invented by Mendelivaré Endings, the Potion is often used in hospitals, I think, to help those who have attempted suicide. It can make the taker see a glimpse of their happiest moment in the foreseeable future.”
Hermione audibly gulped, her tears dripping down her brown eyes. “And from what I remember, it’s inevitable as well, right? It’s not probable or hypothetical?”
“Inevitable,” he sadly confirmed, fiddling his fingers to distract himself from Hermione’s distressed face.
A thick and uncomfortable blanket of silence fell over them. He did not know what to say to the woman who was not his happiness in the future. Oh Merlin, what if she had seen herself with him? What if her happiness was still him, but he had long since moved on from her?
This time, Draco couldn’t help but take his topless siren into his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Admittedly, he would have gotten up and left if she were any other person.
He wasn’t particularly fond of making other people feel better. It simply did not suit his image. Despite his rebellion against his parents, he was still a Malfoy through and through. His name and his image were all he had left. It would sincerely kill him to lose both. But he always made an exception for Hermione, he would give up his reputation if it meant seeing her happy. He couldn’t suffer through watching her be tortured by emotions, and he knew she felt the same way towards him.
Draco nipped on her earlobe, rubbing her bare back as she cried softly. “What did you see?”
“A wedding.” Hermione sniffed. “I was getting married to Ron.”
With those few words of hers, his whole world halted at once. Literally, everything stopped—his breathing, his hand on her back, Hermione’s sobs, and even the background noise of the on-going party in the Main Hall. His vision zeroed in on a textbook far from where they were sitting, but that was not what he saw at all.
No, all he could see was Hermione in a place filled with flowers and pretty things, wearing a simple white gown and Ronald fucking Weasley smiling lovingly at her from down the aisle.
He forced his eyes shut and now, he could imagine Hermione sniggering as Weasley whispered a joke into her ear. Her saying all the things she had promised she would say to him.
Draco need not ask if she had been happy while she was under the Potion; he could already see it in the way she cried now, in the way her eyes seemed to reflect regret. One thing was certain; he and Hermione were not going to be happy with each other in the future.
“I’m sorry,” he heard Hermione breathe into his shoulder when real life finally caught up with him. As she apologized, Draco felt something evil and violent tugging at his heart.
He wanted to push her away as soon as he felt this darkness creeping up his soul. He wanted to tell her to “piss off” and smack her across the face to try to make her feel the hurt he had felt as he imagined her and Weasley exchanging wedding rings and vows. But he didn’t—he couldn’t, actually. What had happened in her vision was not real, at least not yet, and he couldn’t fault her for something she hadn’t done.
“I saw my child,” Draco confessed, as though she was a priest and he the sinner, “with another woman.”
He heard Hermione’s breath hitch in her throat before she spoke, “Who?”
He proceeded to run his hand up and down her back, sort of preparing her for what he was about to say.
“Are you close with her now?”
He couldn’t help but smirk at her possessive tone and the way she clung even tighter to him. Hermione was one territorial woman. She had never admitted to it, but he had figured it out in the subtle scowls she would throw at him whenever he was with somebody she didn’t like. “No.”
He heard her relieved sigh, felt her grip around him loosen, and saw a chance. He remembered Klaus Fischer, the person who brewed the Happy Ending Potion they had broken and the person who was failing every lecture they were in. Fischer had never brewed a potion correctly, so how could his Happy Ending Potion be any different?
“It won’t come true,” Draco swore.
Hermione leaned back, out of his arms, looking him in the eye. “What do you mean?”
“I know who brewed the Potion,” he told her. “Klaus Fischer.”
Hermione squinted, her head tilting to the side. “And?”
“And he’s bloody incompetent, Hermione!” he exclaimed, his arms flailing around overdramatically.
“That’s rude, Draco.” She rolled her eyes.
He scoffed, fixing up his tunic. “Well, it’s true. He doesn’t know the ingredients to Polyjuice Potion, for God’s sake. He couldn’t have possibly done this right.”
“Please elaborate.” Hermione crossed her arms, pushing up her still uncovered chest. Draco let his gaze linger on her breasts for one quick second before looking away.
“We were all given two projects at the very start of the term,” Draco began, his hands trying to find pockets that weren’t actually sewn into his trousers. “One was this sodding Halloween Ball and the other was to make an advanced-level potion with more than six ingredients. I, personally, chose to make an incredibly difficult Filipino potion, the Fertility Elixir of Lakapati—”
“How is that relevant to our—”
Draco glared at her for interrupting. “—and Fischer chose to make the Happy Ending Potion. It’s not a complicated potion to brew, but the ingredients are scattered around the world. The petals alone—”
“I really need you to get to the point already—” Hermione interjected again.
“What I’m trying to say is, Fischer is an absolute dosser and wouldn’t have travelled to Asia just for a few petals needed for one potion,” Draco growled out, exasperated with her.
Hermione silently stared at him, unblinking, for a few seconds before she opened her mouth again.
He rushed to explain before she could tell him how dumb he was. “Fischer’s an idiot, Granger. He always gets a Troll on exams. He couldn’t have brewed the Potion properly. There’s absolutely no way that I’m going to marry a pure-blood princess to appease my parents and I know you think of Weasley as kin. And in absolutely no circumstance I’m willing to leave you.”
He kissed her on the lips for good measure, wiping the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.
“You’re right,” Hermione gave in, smiling contently. “I don’t want to leave you, too.”
Draco moved to embrace her one more time. “I love you.”
Hermione chuckled, holding onto him tightly. “Let’s change destiny, Draco. Let’s go and tell fate to “sod off and die”. Let’s prove that Happy Ending Potion wrong. Let’s make a happy ending of our own. I want to be with you for a lifetime. I love you.”
And he pressed his lips against hers once again. They would do just that. They would be stronger than fate and destiny. They were Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, after all, the most stubborn couple he knew. They would fight back. They would prevail. They would be each other’s happy endings.