Draco flipped the page of his book, grumbling to himself about how idiotic the two leads were. They were clearly in love and were too thick to admit it to the other, thus throwing them into a three chapter arc of ignoring the other. The entire conflict could have been resolved if the male lead had just talked to his lover.
It was so much easier for them. They were guaranteed a happily ever after, no matter how much they hurt each other in the process.
Tossing the book onto the sofa beside him, he leaned forward and ran his hands through his hair. He shouldn't have let his mother talk him into reading this book, especially not now when his emotions were still so fresh and raw. Thoughts of that night—so perfect and so disastrous—flooded his mind, her words echoing on a loop.
You're going to make someone very happy one day.
Daft bint, thinking that she wasn't going to be that person! He had a plan and she ruined it.
"My, my," Pansy said, tapping her toe and standing with her arms cross over her chest. "You look like a mess."
"Bugger off. I'm not in the mood." He stood up and looked at Pansy who was blocking him from leaving the study. "You're in my way."
"Too bad, I'm not done talking to you." Striding into the room, she plucked his book off the cushion and then sat down, crossing her ankles and ensuring her back was perfectly straight. She examined the book he'd been reading with an unamused glance. "Romance has never been a preferred genre for me. I didn't think it was yours either, unless this is something that Granger has convinced you to read?"
He winced, feeling an ache in his chest at the sound of her name. It had been weeks since he'd stormed out of Granger's flat and the pain of their fight was still fresh.
"Well that answers my first question," Pansy said, gesturing to his face. "Care to tell me why your precious little fwooper is asking me to pass messages along to you? Having a lover's spat?"
"We are not—you can't—it's not—" The words kept catching on his tongue. Nothing felt right or appropriate. There was no 'lover's spat' to be had because there were no 'lovers' to begin with.
"Draco, if you don't sit down and tell me what's going on, I will hex you. You're giving me a migraine," she snapped, pointing firmly at the vacant spot next to her. "The wedding is in a little over twelve hours and if I don't get the right amount of sleep tonight, I'll look like a hag. Do you want to take the blame for that? Because I have no problem telling the magazine that it's all your fault I have bags under my eyes darker than the bottom of the Black Lake."
Rolling his eyes, he sat next to her and crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child. "I don't know why anyone would ever call you a bridezilla. You're positively delightful."
She scoffed and re-crossed her legs, her lips pursed as she scrutinised him. "What happened between you and Granger? No one seems to know and she's not talking about it except to say that you're ignoring her. Why are you ignoring your girlfriend?"
He wasn't exactly ignoring her, but rather making himself wholly unavailable to read her letters and answer her calls. Any time something arrived from her he would add it to the pile to read later. When she called him through the Floo, he didn't answer, choosing to pretend that he hadn't heard. There hadn't been any more shared wedding events and he had no reason to see her. Honestly, until Pansy stormed in, he had been certain no one even knew they'd been fighting.
But now that Pansy was asking about it, there was no getting around it. Draco launched into the story, keeping his eyes trained on his desk across from them. "The night of your hen do, Blaise encouraged us to go to the club you were at. Some wanker was being an arse to Granger and she was shaken up by it. I took her back to her flat to make sure that she was alright, and then one thing led to another, and then she said something awful and then I stormed out."
"What did she say? I can't possibly help you if you won't tell me what she said."
"It was… after… and we were laying in bed together. She said some other witch would make me really happy one day, basically insinuating that when the wedding was over, we would go back to being nothing more than friends."
He looked up, meeting Pansy's wide, anger filled eyes. "What?"
"Haven't you and Granger been dating for a while now?" she said with an edge to her voice. "Why on earth would she tell you that you'll make some other witch happy?"
"Right, about that..." he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and trying to figure out how he was supposed to explain the situation to Pansy without pissing her off.
"Draco Malfoy, explain to me what is going on right this instant!"
An irate Pansy was a force to be reckoned with, bringing about the strength of three Ironbelly dragons and ten merpeople protecting their young. If she knew that he and Granger had been lying to her for months, there was no guarantee that either of them would walk away unscathed.
"I swear to Salazar if you don't tell me what's going on this instant I will be telling Narcissa what you and Blaise did in eighth year during that night of veritaserum or dare. You wouldn't want that, would you?" she threatened.
His heart stopped, the air pulled from his lungs at the thought of his mother finding out what happened while he was in school. "You wouldn't dare."
"I absolutely would and you know that. Now, tell me."
Groaning, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "You were freaking out about having a perfect wedding for the magazine and telling us we needed proper dates. Granger suggested we be each other's dates, and along with it, pretend we're dating. No one would harass us about who we brought and you'd have the perfect wedding you'd always dreamed of."
Pansy sucked on her teeth and levelled an icy glare at him. "So it's the night before my wedding—an event that will be seen by thousands of witches and wizards across Europe—and you're just now telling me that my Man of Honour and the Best Woman have been conspiring against me? Do you hate me? Have I been that awful of a person?"
"No, I just..." Draco thought for a moment, trying to figure out how best to explain this to her. When he finally settled on something, he sat up and turned to face her, twisted fully on the sofa. She looked both angry and hurt, and he wasn't sure which was worse. "You're my best friend, Pans. I have put up with your utter shite for the better part of my life, and vice versa, so I knew that it wouldn't matter who I brought to the wedding, you would hate them."
"That's true," she said, her voice softening and emotion coming through. "You have horrible taste in dates."
"Granger's idea, while maybe not flawless, meant that you could have the picture perfect wedding you wanted, and I would get to spend more time with a certain Gryffindor. It felt like a win-win for all of us."
She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress and then laced her fingers together. "I appreciate the sentiment, but you're forgetting how well I know you. You've been in love with her for years; it would hardly take a push to convince you to go along with her plan, even if I weren't involved. Which begs the question, why did you walk away?"
"It was like she didn't even want to talk about a potential future with me. She saved all of the flowers I gave her and then told me I would be better off with someone else. And now she's going to bring a date tomorrow and I'm going to have to watch."
Reaching over, Pansy took one of his hands in hers. "How many people have you seen Granger date in the last few years we've been friends with her?"
"Exactly. If she slept with you and kept the things you gave her, I'd say you mean more to her than you think. She's not bringing a date and you need to fix this."
"She should be the one apologising," he grumbled. "She's the one who—"
Pansy waved the comment aside. "He said, she said. Are you really going to let her take all the blame when you weren't honest with her? If you'd told her right from the start how you felt, you could have avoided all of this and I wouldn't be playing matchmaker at half past eleven the night before—"
"—Before your wedding, I know." He pulled his hand free from hers and ran it through his hair. Standing up, he began to pace. "How do I fix this?"
She approached him, placing a hand gently on his arm. "You're Draco Malfoy, you'll figure it out."
"You're far calmer about all of this than I expected. I was expecting a full duel."
With a drowsy smile, she stepped back towards the door. "I took a calming draft twenty minutes ago. I think it took effect partway through our conversation. Don't worry though, when all of this is over and I can confidently say that my wedding was a huge success, I'm sure I'll come yell at you both. I hope she's ready to protect her puffskein."
Left alone, Draco started to form a plan on how to fix things.
“Hermione, you have to stop pacing. I’m getting secondhand anxiety just watching you,” Harry grumbled, adjusting his tie in the mirror before turning back to her with a sigh. “It’s still crooked. Help?”
Hermione shuffled back across the ornate dressing room—which was larger than her entire flat—to her best friend. “I’m sorry, I’m just full of nerves. I don’t think I’m prepared for what’s coming after the ceremony.”
Draco’s silence over the past few weeks had spoken volumes, but she still held onto a glimmer of hope that her apology tonight could change his mind.
“You’re a great friend,” Harry assured her with a glint in his eye, “and I appreciate that you’re so protective of me, but I feel obligated to inform you that your fears are for nothing.”
Cocking her head to the side, she looked over at Harry, wondering if he somehow knew about her fight with Draco. “What? What do you mean?”
He shrugged and gave her a cheeky grin. “It was quite the scandal but Pansy corrupted my innocence long before the wedding night, so there’s no need to worry.”
With a scrunch of her nose, she shuddered. “Please stop, I’d like to be able to sleep eventually.” Her nimble fingers pulled at his soft silk tie and straightened it until it was presentable.
His expression fell and his eyes searched hers. “What’s happening after the ceremony?”
“I have to see Draco,” she whispered, her head ducked against her chest.
“I’m aware, but you’ve been dating Malfoy for a while and he’s always been—” He stopped mid-sentence the moment he noticed tears building in her eyes that she couldn’t stop. He muttered something under his breath before pulling her in for a hug. “What happened?”
“I did something really idiotic, just monumentally bad.” Her throat tightened and it was hard to choke out the words. After spending the last few weeks trying to pretend everything was fine, she was falling apart. “He won’t even talk to me.”
Tutting softly, Harry pulled back from their embrace. “It can’t be as bad as you think.”
“It’s really over.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “He told me he was going to bring a date today,” she whispered, her stomach turning at the thought.
After their argument the night of the hen do, Hermione had sent no fewer than a dozen letters to Draco and received none in return. Either he was purposefully ignoring her attempts to reach him, or he read her rambling apologies and just didn’t care enough to reply.
She wasn’t sure which was worse.
“He said he’d bring another witch with him? What the fuck is he thinking?” A flash of anger crossed Harry’s green eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense. Pansy said that he fancied you for years even before you two started dating. Why would he throw away a year-long relationship after one argument?”
It was like the air was sucked out of the room and she could hardly breathe. “He what?”
The door to the dressing room swung open and Ron stepped across the threshold carrying the fattest chicken Hermione had ever seen in his hands.
Lifting the chicken up over his head, Ron exclaimed, “I have Henrietta and we’re ready for the ceremony!”
“Harry—what are you going to do to that chicken?” she asked with a sharp edge of panic in her voice.
“It’s fine,” he assured her. “We aren’t going to hurt it or anything; we’re turning its feathers funny colours and setting it loose in the halls for prosperity or gold or something like that—I didn’t quite pay attention when Pansy was explaining it because her top was off.”
Hermione smacked Harry in the chest and he deflected her hand with a laugh. “These pureblood traditions are ridiculous.”
“I’ve stopped questioning it, honestly. Now, what colour should we pick? Henrietta looks like a winter to me. What do you think about purple?”
As Harry’s best woman, Hermione’s primary role was to help the day run smoothly. Though the various tasks given to her by Pansy helped distract her from thinking of a certain blond, no matter what she did, Harry’s words kept coming back to her.
Had Draco truly been interested in her for years?
How could she have missed that?
Her thoughts were interrupted by one of Pansy’s dozen wedding assistants coming to retrieve the trio. Hermione was disappointed that it was only twenty minutes to the ceremony and she still hadn’t caught a glimpse of Draco. Over the past few weeks, she’d considered a dozen different ways to apologise to him, but with this new information she felt completely thrown off guard.
“Pansy’s aware that she’s not actually a queen, right?” Ron asked as they followed behind the assistant.
Harry grinned. “I’m pretty sure she would leave me if I had the audacity to suggest otherwise.”
The wedding was to be held in an opulent castle that looked as if it had been fitted for royalty. Even the marble flooring was so extravagant that Hermione felt bad walking on it. A second wedding planner appeared and whispered something to the first, who rushed away in a flurry back in the direction they’d come, her heels clicking with each step.
“If you’ll follow me, Mr Potter.” The new planner smiled widely and gestured down the hall. “We have a back entrance for you and Ms Parkinson will be passing through shortly.”
Harry’s shoulders tensed and the corners of his eyes tightened; Hermione could feel his nerves rolling off him in waves.
“I know that you and Pansy have been looking forward to today for years, Harry. It’s going to be perfect.” She rushed to console him by giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “You faced Voldemort at seventeen—what’s a wedding?”
“Speaking from personal experience, Pansy’s much scarier,” Ron muttered under his breath. “You can still run if you want to, mate.”
Hermione tossed Ron a glare and swatted at him.
The planner covered her ear with her hand and nodded to herself. “Ms Granger and Mr Weasley, you will wait here for your cues and the bridesmaids will join you shortly,” she instructed, glancing down at her notepad and making a check with her quill. “Mr Potter?”
Harry let out a heavy exhale as if steeling himself, and nodded once. “Ready.”
From the other side of the grand arches, which were draped with a luxurious lightweight fabric, Hermione could hear the soft strum of a harp playing and a low murmur from the waiting crowd.
She’d hoped that she and Draco could find a moment to talk before the ceremony, but as the minutes ticked by, she began to lose hope. A laugh echoed down the hall that Hermione recognised as Daphne’s and her heart leapt into her throat, knowing that Draco would be there too.
A third wedding planner appeared, wearing a similar pantsuit to the first two, and trailing just behind her was Daphne and Draco.
Blood rushed into Hermione’s ears and she just about forgot every word in the English language but—
“Draco,” she whispered, staring at him wide-eyed.
It had only been a few weeks since she last saw him, but she was wholly unprepared for how much she’d missed him until he was standing in front of her again.
It felt like she could finally exhale.
And despite everything that had happened between them, when he saw her the first thing he did was smile and that made her heart ache.
“Perfect. Now, Mr Malfoy, please stand here and Ms Greengrass to the left of Mr Weasley,” the planner directed, gesturing to each position. “Mr Potter is in place and they’re ready for you.”
Draco slipped into the open space next to her and suddenly she blurted out, “I’m sorry—please don’t hate me, I know I was wrong and I—”
“I could never hate you, Granger,” he murmured, his silver eyes piercing her.
Something fluttered in her chest and before she could respond, the doors opened and she turned her attention forward once more. With a cue from the planner—who was strategically hidden from the view of the crowd—Draco led her down the aisle with practiced steps.
The ballroom was a beautiful blend of old world elegance and contemporary style. It was a perfect representation of Harry and Pansy’s relationship and their balance between tradition and modernity.
They made their way to an arch of flowers—which was as over the top as Hermione would expect from Pansy—and she took her place next to Harry, looking at Draco, who was standing to the right of where Pansy would be. It was impossible to read his expression, but when they locked eyes, he gave her a small smile and a sense of relief flooded through her.
It felt like torture, having to wait through the ceremony to talk to Draco, but her only consolation was seeing the pure joy on her best friend’s face as his bride walked down the aisle towards him.
If Hermione were honest, she spent most of the ceremony sneaking glances over at Draco, who honestly had no right looking as good in his suit as he did. It was a wonder anyone could pay attention to the officiant with him standing so close.
Each second felt like an hour until finally, Draco stepped forward to offer her his arm and they followed the procession behind the newly married couple. Just when they stepped over the threshold back into the main entryway, he pulled her aside before she could do the same to him.
He carded a hand through his hair, looking as nervous as she felt. She thought of everything she wanted to say, of the thousands of words of apology she’d written to him over the past few weeks and how more than anything, she wanted a Time-Turner so she could go back and stop herself from ruining everything.
“You didn’t bring a date,” she said, feeling tears prick at her eyes.
Maybe there was still hope that whatever they’d had together wasn’t damaged beyond repair.
“No.” He shook his head, fidgeting with the cufflinks of his suit. “No, I didn’t bring anyone else. I don’t want—”
She cut him off before he could continue and asked, “Did you know that copper is one of the seven metals of alchemy?”
His brow furrowed but there was a slight uptick to his lips as if he were amused. “Yes, Granger, I’m well aware.”
Rocking backward onto her heels nervously, she continued, “And did you know that it represents Venus, not only the planet but the Roman goddess of love?”
“I didn’t but I have a feeling that no matter what my answer is, you’ll continue anyway.”
She felt a blush spread across her cheeks. “I mean, she has other functions like beauty, prosperity, desire…” She cleared her throat. “And it also helps with healing, you know, copper.”
“As fascinating as this lesson is, Granger, I find I’m a bit lost on your timing here,” Draco drawled, and she thought for a moment that his eyes caught on her lips.
“What I mean is, that morning that we were together, I woke up and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so happy and that scared me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I kept thinking about how it wasn’t real, how it was only a matter of time before you saw what Pansy had and wanted it for yourself. And I thought about her—” the word lodged in her throat but she couldn’t stop “—about some nameless, faceless pureblood witch who would be the one to wake up next to you every morning and how she would know how to handle heirloom ceremonial robes, and to eat before a fancy supper, and how to speak at a party—”
“And for the first time ever, I wanted to be that—I wanted to be her, because if I was then that would mean that maybe I could keep you.”
“Granger—” He looked increasingly flustered but she knew if she didn’t finish then she would regret it forever.
“And I know that being pureblood is important to your family, and I know what tradition means to you, and I know I’m not that—not her—and that I have no clue what I’m doing in the world of pureblood courtship but I just thought that maybe if I could show you that I was trying, it would be enough.” Fumbling for a moment, she reached into the magicked pocket of her dress and pulled out a small copper dragon scale, offering it to Draco with trembling hands.
He stared down at the scale in her palm with an almost curious expression, and she felt her heart drop.
“You forgot the unicorn hair. How am I expected to know that you’re serious about me if there’s no unicorn hair?” he teased.
“I looked everywhere!” she exclaimed with a huff, thinking back to her trip to Diagon Alley the week prior. “You wouldn’t believe how expensive—”
“Hermione, will you let me get a single word in?” His hand caught hers and he brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. “I don’t want that kind of witch you’re talking about, not when I could have you. I’m sorry I didn’t stay and fight. I really fucked up by leaving.”
She felt her lips quiver. “I’m Hermione again?”
He nodded, his smile growing as he slowly closed the gap between them. His arm wound around her waist and pulled her flush against him. “I can’t believe you went and found a dragon scale for me.”
“It’s from a Peruvian Vipertooth at the reserve where Charlie Weasley works. I couldn’t find any Antipodean Opaleye scales in time and I thought the symbolism of the copper Vipertooth was more fitting. They do have a pesky habit of eating humans though, which isn’t the most romantic but I do hope that you’re willing to overlook it.”
His free hand slipped into her curls to cradle the back of her head and she held her breath, afraid to break the spell.
“For real this time?” he asked, just a heartbeat away from her now.
“It’s always been real. I shouldn’t have said that it wasn’t,” she whispered the moment before his lips swallowed her last word.
He broke the kiss just long enough to counter, “I shouldn’t have left—shouldn’t have ignored your letters. I thought after everything between us you still didn’t want me and it was fucked up but I was hurt and felt like I finally had everything I’d ever wanted just for it to be ripped out from under me.”
She fisted the lapels of his suit and her lips crashed against his, wanting to show him just how much she did want him. After a while, she lost track of time in his arms and it seemed that he felt the same because neither wanted to be the one to step away first.
Just then, a loud squawk came from around the corner and a brightly coloured chicken appeared, running on its little legs at full speed past them.
“Was that a chicken?” Draco asked incredulously. “Why are its feathers all wonky?”
Fighting back a laugh, she nodded. “Some sort of pureblood tradition that Pansy had him do this morning.”
“Either Potter wildly misunderstood her instructions or Pansy lied to him because that’s not a pureblood tradition.”
The pair burst into laughter as the purple, green, and blue chicken paused to peck at the running water at the base of a gold statue in the centre of the entryway.
“We should probably get to the reception,” she finally said. It felt completely second nature when his hand slid down to rest on the small of her back. His thumb drew slow circles against her and she leaned into the touch.
“Only if you insist.”
“I don’t but Pansy does, and according to Ron she’s scarier than Voldemort.”
He choked out a laugh. “He lived in my home for a year and I’m not disagreeing. Speaking of, you willingly talked to a Weasley to get this,” he mused, flipping the scale over in his hand. “You must really like me.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re incorrigible. And yes, as a matter of fact, I really do.”
“If you spin me again, I might vomit,” Hermione warned, only partially teasing. “My stomach is ninety-percent cake right now.”
Following the eight course meal of miniscule proportions and the Best Woman and Man of Honour speeches, Draco had snuck them both extra servings of dessert.
“What kind of boyfriend would I be if you weren’t ninety-percent full of cake at all times?” he quipped, gently guiding her as they navigated the dance floor.
Her stomach flipped at the title and she nearly missed a step. “Who let you in on the secret to keeping me happy? I know my coven didn’t betray my secrets.”
“No betrayals necessary, I just know you,” he replied, dropping a quick kiss to her temple.
A flash of white brushed past them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry and Pansy dancing, looking deliriously happy. “Oh! I almost forgot, did you remember to pay the musician this morning?” Pansy asked.
Harry’s eyes popped open and he stuttered, “P-pay the musician? I thought you said paint the chicken.”
“What? Why would I ask you to—”
Before Hermione could hear anything else, she was swept away by Draco in another set of carefully executed steps. His head dipped to the shell of her ear and he murmured, “In fact, rumour has it that it was not Pansy behind the merging of our friend groups after all. Rumours say that I’m the one who sent Weasley the free drinks that night in the pub years ago and that was why he was intoxicated to the point where he knocked Pansy into Potter.”
Hermione gasped, playing along with the story, knowing that Draco had been adamantly against Harry and Pansy’s relationship at first. “And, tell me Draco Malfoy, whatever would be your motivation to do such a thing?”
“It’s all been an intricate plan crafted through the years. The first step was to orchestrate Potter and Pansy’s meeting and encourage their relationship; next I persuaded Pansy into believing that smaragdine is her colour when it’s clearly olive, and finally—the most important moment of all—I convinced Hermione Granger to dance with me while she’s wearing Slytherin green.”
“It’s not Slytherin green, it’s—” she looked down at herself and her eyes widened in shock. “Holy shit, it’s Slytherin green!”
He snorted and his grip on her waist tightened slightly.
Despite her earlier objections, she let him guide her into a twirl and his fingertips grazed the back of her dress. “And? Do the rumours say it was worth it?”
He smirked. “Worth every second.”
A small group of people began to form at the front of the dance floor and Ginny appeared to pull Hermione away from Draco. “Come on, Hermione! It’s time for the bouquet toss!”
She lost sight of Draco as Ginny dragged her through the crowd until they settled at the front, and Pansy marched up to the front and turned her back on the cluster of people before tossing her wildly expensive set of flowers behind her. Hannah Abbott broke through the group, victoriously clutching the bouquet and smiling over at Neville, her date.
Hermione turned to face Draco, who was standing behind her and holding a single peony in his hand. “I’m back to Granger again?”
“You’ll always be Granger,” he said, pressing the flower into her hands. “For your bouquet.”
“But I didn’t catch the bouquet.”
“Not that bouquet. This is for the bouquet I’ve been giving you all year. According to tradition, a proper courtship bouquet must contain no fewer than a dozen flowers to demonstrate intent.”
She held the flower securely in her hand and Draco smiled when her fingertips brushed along the petals.
His lips lowered to her ear. “By my estimate, you’re short one flower and that certainly won’t do for my witch. What do you say after this, we go out for some fish and chips? I think I know of a place you might like.”
“Yes please, I need something to balance out all this cake.” She paused, pursing her lips before meeting his eyes. “And then maybe after, we could go back to my flat and see how this peony looks with the rest of the bouquet?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
One Month Later
Hermione looked up from her bowl of oatmeal and berries just in time to see Allston—Draco’s owl—drop a package onto the dining table in front of them.
With a curious expression, Draco pulled at the strings of the package and unwrapped the brown paper. “Looks like Pansy sent us a copy of the latest edition of Bouquet.”
Humming under her breath, she pushed aside her bowl and reached for the magazine. After flipping through the first few pages, she opened to a wide spread on Pansy’s wedding with a centrefold of Harry and Pansy kissing at the altar. Flipping further back, she saw that each major event Pansy held leading up to the big day—minus the bachelorette—had its own dedicated page.
Several pages covered the initial engagement party held at Parkinson Manor. Hermione was surprised to see that the camera had caught Draco looking across the room at her several times throughout the night and she couldn’t help but wonder how she had ever missed it.
A photograph of Harry and Pansy at their betrothal was the first one to truly catch her eye. To the observant reader, just over Pansy’s shoulder, there was a clear image of Draco and Hermione tucked away from the rest of the group. She recognised the moment and knew that their hands were full of macarons at the time the photograph was taken. It might’ve been the moonlight, but Hermione could’ve sworn they looked like they were glowing as they shared a laugh.
She turned the page to the reception, skimming past the articles which described every aspect of the decor with painstaking detail. She had been reading so quickly, in fact, that she nearly missed the half page covered with a single image of her and Draco dancing at the reception just before the bouquet toss.
Seeing everything printed and displayed back to back, Hermione suddenly understood how everyone had believed that they were dating long before they actually were.
They’d already looked in love.
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Granger. What do you think?” Draco asked as he buttered his toast. “Did Pansy get what she wanted? Does Bouquet document the love story of the century?”
Hermione looked back down at the image of them on loop, watching herself stare up at him as he twirled her before pulling her close and whispering in her ear. Her fingers brushed along the image and her pulse skipped before she glanced up at him with a smile and replied, “Yes, love, I think it does.”