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The Great Hall, turned into a ballroom for the occasion, was already packed with people when Hermione entered it on her husband's arm. Ron was wearing his Order of Merit medal pinned to the new cape Hermione had bought for him the week before, and as was usual for him at these official functions, he looked distinctly uncomfortable in his formal clothes. He had never quite adjusted to celebrity status and its expectations. Even after all these years, he was still more comfortable chasing criminals across the country than sipping champagne with the Minister for Magic.
Ron quickly spotted Harry and Ginny standing a little distance away and his face lit up as he waved at them. He was glad to see his sister and his best friend, but Hermione knew that to him, being with Harry also had advantages. For one, their childhood friend was the only man so incredibly renown that he could draw attention away from the rest of them. He also seemed to have a natural charisma that made him effortlessly likable, which meant that he was much better than Ron at dealing with politicians and journalists alike. Consequently, next to him was the best place for Ron to hide.
"You coming?" he asked Hermione, gesturing in the other couple's direction.
"I'll join you in a minute," she said. "I'll just go get a drink from the bar. Can I bring you anything?"
Ron gave her a knowing look. "Bracing for the storm?"
She nodded, wincing. "There's nothing like alcohol to put things in perspective, I guess."
"It will be fine. I promise," he told her reassuringly. "But I'll drink with you anyway."
She nodded again and moved away towards the bar, at the other end of the room. The bartender, a young wizard with quick hands and a penchant for showing off, expertly mixed her order and poured it, with an impressive number of flourishes, into two glasses. She had grabbed the first one and was reaching for the second when another hand closed around it. A thin, pale hand with long, lazy fingers—she knew who it belonged to before she finished looking up.
"Draco," she said in a conversational tone.
She met his gaze, and he inclined his head in what would have been a respectful gesture, if not for the slight quirk of his lips and the mocking light in his eyes. "Hermione," he replied just as evenly. "What a pleasure to see you here."
"The pleasure is mine," she said with a polite smile.
They held each other's gaze for a moment, and Hermione could feel a thousand words coming to her lips, reminding her of all the things she wanted to say to this man, if she ever had a chance. But when she opened her mouth, all she said was: "I believe that is my glass you have there."
What she had really wanted to do was snap at him to "Give it back, you arse!" She couldn't, of course. Not here. So she just had to hope that he would be able to read between the lines. As it appeared, he could.
"That cannot possibly be true," he replied in the most courteous tone. "You already have your drink in your hand. And these are charmed to refill at will, so I see absolutely no reason why you would need a second one."
"I knew you were a pitiful drunk, but this is a new low even for you" was what he really meant. He might not have actually said it, but she could hear it distinctly anyway. She knew him all too well not to understand exactly what his words implied. And he knew that, which was why he bothered in the first place.
She smiled. "The second one is for my husband, actually." She reached out to grab the glass from his hand.
"It's him I share my drinks with, now," the implication was. He understood, and his knuckles whitened around the cup for an instant before he finally let it go. But his gaze did not leave her eyes.
"Oh, of course," he said much too apologetically. "I am sorry, I almost forgot ..."
"... he is so insignificant, after all" she could almost hear him finish. She felt her anger flare up inside, but she kept a tight grip on it. On the surface, at least. There were other ways to get back at him for that.
"And how is ... Crystal, is it? Oh, no, sorry, I think I'm confused. Who is your fiancée, now?"
"You've had so many different ones, it's hard to keep track!"
Draco's lips tightened slightly, and she felt satisfied. For a second or two.
"Oh, she's here, actually!" he said, turning around. "Let me introduce you. Astoria, dear! This is Hermione Weasley."
He imbued the last name with a special measure of contempt as he waved a slim blonde woman over to join them. Astoria did not seem to notice as she smiled politely at Hermione and murmured, "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Weasley." Hermione winced inside. Being called Mrs. Weasley made her feel like she was her own mother-in-law. She loved Molly dearly, but being called by her name made her decidedly uncomfortable.
"Likewise," she replied, smiling back at the woman. "Congratulations on your engagement," she added to both of them.
"Again," she meant for Draco to hear. He did.
"Thank you. We haven't know each other very long, but we have been getting along amazingly so far."
"She's entertaining enough for now," his tone implied. "And when I'm tired of her, I'll dump her like the others."
Before Hermione could think of a response, Astoria spoke. "Arranged alliances can be difficult," she said, laying a hand on Draco's arm, "but it doesn't mean that they can't work. My parents' marriage was arranged for economic purposes, but they have lived a very happy life together."
She looked at Draco as she spoke, and Hermione realized, with a shock, that she meant it. She wasn't stupid—she knew that he didn't love her. But she still cared. And she was determined to make it work.
"I should go," Hermione said, feeling troubled. "Ron is probably wondering what happened to me. Again, it was a pleasure to meet you, Astoria."
She nodded at the two of them and left, feeling the weight of Draco's eyes on her back before she lost them in the crowd.
The evening didn't go as badly as Hermione had feared, and to be perfectly honest, the alcohol probably helped a lot as well. The Minister had wanted to seize the opportunity of the Hogwarts Reconstruction Anniversary Ball to announce her as the new Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione had feared that the journalists present at the event would jump on the opportunity to get an exclusive interview with her before the news got out to the others. Luckily, she had mostly managed to fend them off by insisting that she wouldn't speak about it until the press conference the next morning, and Harry had been very useful in intimidating the few who wouldn't listen about leaving her alone. She had just stepped out onto the grounds for a breath of summer air and a break from the crowd when she realized that somebody else was already here, leaning against a tree and puffing on a cigar. It was dark out here, the only light coming from behind the Great Hall's closed windows and doors. The end of the cigar glowed red in the shadows.
"You again," she said, stopping a few steps away from him and crossing her arms.
Draco let out a puff of smoke and sneered. "Not so polite now, are we?"
She snorted. "Please. Being polite to you is like trying to be nice to a Blast-Ended Skrewt."
"Funny that you should mention that, since, if my memory serves me right, you and your friends tried exactly that, once."
She glared at him but decided not to reply. "You should be kinder to her," she said instead.
Draco looked confused for a moment. "Who? The Skrewt?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, you git. Astoria."
He arched an eyebrow and puffed on his cigar again. "Since when do you care? I've never seen you object to my treatment of the others."
A cloud of smoke reached Hermione's face and made her cough. She hated cigar smoke. She stalked up to Draco and snatched the cigar from his hand before he could put it in his mouth again.
"That's because they deserved it," she said, ignoring his angry protest and holding the cigar away from his reach despite his efforts to take it back. "They were either superficial twats who only cared about marrying your name and money or calculating thieves who were looking to take advantage of them. But Astoria is different. She clearly cares about you, and if you don't feel the same way, you shouldn't string her along like you're doing. It's cruel."
Draco finally managed to get a hold of her arm and pull it forcefully back towards him, wrestling his cigar back from her but not letting go of her arm. "Says the woman who cheats on her loving husband," he whispered, his mouth inches away from her face, now.
She shook him off angrily, and he let her go. "I've never cheated on him, and you know it," she replied as she glared at him, cradling her sore arm. She couldn't see it very well in the darkness, but she was fairly certain that his fingers had left a mark on her skin.
Draco took another puff of his cigar, staring at her mercilessly. "You can tell yourself that if it helps you sleep, but we both know that's a technicality. Do you look him in the eyes and tell him that you love him? You must be a very good liar if you can manage that. I bet you're not fooling anyone, but you're both too weak to admit it. What do you feel when you kiss him? Do you pretend to enjoy it? Who are you thinking about when he makes love to you and you—"
She slapped him across the face, so hard that her hand hurt from the impact and the sound echoed in the darkness, cutting off his words. Draco stumbled from the shock, grunting loudly, but he didn't retaliate. He simply held his hand to his cheek for a moment, breathing deeply, then straightened himself up again.
"I guess I had that one coming," he finally said with a sigh.
"You have no right," Hermione whispered angrily. She suddenly realized that there were tears in her eyes and she cursed her weakness. She did not want him to see her cry. She did not want him to see how much he was able to hurt her still. She forced her tears down and continued, more forcefully: "You chose this. You're the one who decided that things had to be this way. You're the one who was too terrified of what people might say to run the risk of actually being happy. So you have no right to stand here today and pretend that you have any idea what love really means."
He barked a laugh at that, and she felt the urge to slap him again, but she stopped herself. Her hand already hurt too much, and it was probably pointless anyway. She could hex him instead, but then it would leave traces, and she would have to explain herself. The reporters would love writing about how the new Head of Magical Law Enforcement had hexed one of the most famous men in Britain on the night of the Hogwarts Anniversary Ball.
"What's so funny?" she asked darkly.
"Love," he replied, his laughter fading into a grim smile. "You speak as if love meant anything. The truth is, love is irrelevant to people like us. You can pretend otherwise if it makes you happy. You can blame it on me all you want. But we never had a choice, not really. You say I'm the one who ended it, but I only did what you wanted me to. The whole time we were together, you knew it was just temporary. You knew you'd go back to your dear Ron eventually, and I'd just be a little mistake in your past, an unfortunate episode soon to be forgotten in your happy ever after with the man you always knew you'd marry. All I did was leave before you realized it. If I'm guilty of anything, it's of hurting you before you had a chance to hurt me."
Hermione realized that her anger had faded. The burning desire to punish Draco for his hurtful words was gone, replaced by a deep, quiet sadness. He was wrong, she realized. He had always been, but then again, so had she. They had both assumed, not understood, and had proceeded to hurt each other deeply because of it. Could it have been different? If she could go back, start over, would things have ended differently?
She tried to imagine it. Imagine he had never left her. Imagine her heart had never been crushed into a thousand tiny pieces. Imagine them still together and married, now. Would they have been happy? She pictured it. Draco's parents would never have really accepted her, and so the rift between him and his family would have grown over the years. Ginny would never have forgiven Hermione for breaking her brother's heart, and being around the Weasleys would have been more than awkward. She would see very little of Harry now, and her other friends would become increasingly distant as they would have had to choose between her and the Weasleys. All in all, they would have lived a rather isolated life, and they would resent each other for it. They would not have been able to really get along when it came to the day-to-day things—the only times they would not be fighting were when they were having fiery, desperate, passionate sex. But even that would lose its appeal, and their marriage would slowly disintegrate. Would they still love each other? Did they now? She wasn't even sure of that anymore. Hermione realized she was crying again, and this time, she didn't try to stop.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, walking up to him and putting her hand on his. She shivered—even after all this time, the touch of his skin was electrifying. She resisted the temptation to run away from that feeling. "You're right. It couldn't have worked. Not because of the reasons you think, but—it wouldn't have worked anyway."
He stared into her eyes searchingly, and she could see her sadness reflected in his gaze. "You don't know that," he whispered.
She smiled slightly. "You're the one saying that now? I thought it was all my fault."
He shook his head. "I was only saying that because I was angry." He turned his hand in hers and took hold of it, tightly. "Hermione, maybe it's not too late. Maybe there's still time to go back and—"
"And what?" she cut him off, wiping her tears with her free hand. "Start over? Hurt everyone who cares about us because we're selfish enough to gamble everything once more?"
She stared at him challengingly, and he opened his mouth but didn't speak. She took a deep breath.
"No, Draco. I won't do that. No matter what you say, I do love Ron. Not the way you think, maybe, and not the way I once wished, but I love him, and I would never forgive myself for hurting him. I can be happy with him, if I allow myself to let you go. And you can be happy, too—maybe with Astoria, maybe with another—but only if you let me go."
They stood silently for a while, staring into each other's eyes, speaking without words of all the things they had never told each other, all the things they would never say. Finally, Draco looked away, and Hermione sighed.
"I guess you did manage to break my heart, after all," he said with a small, joyless chuckle.
"Maybe it was time," she replied softly. "Maybe now, you'll let someone else pick up the pieces and make something new out of them."
She let her hand slowly slide out of his, and he didn't try to hold it back. "Good night, Hermione," he said as she stepped away. There was a tenderness to his voice, one she hadn't heard in a very long time.
"I'm sorry," he seemed to say. "I do care." Maybe this was the goodbye they had never had, all that time ago, when she had come home one day to find him simply gone. And maybe this was the forgiveness she had never found before in her heart for him. It was here, now. She wasn't angry at him anymore.
"Good night, Draco," she replied quietly before walking away.
"I'm sorry too," it meant. "But I understand. This is for the best."
She couldn't be sure—it was dark, and she was already far away—but she thought he had nodded to her in response. She thought she knew what it meant. All these years, she had become quite good at hearing the words he didn't say.
"I love you, Hermione."
She looked at him one last time as she walked back towards the castle.
"I love you, too, Draco."
She turned away as she reached the door and didn't look back again.