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Hermione Granger was in the library.
To nobody's surprise, really.
It was more often than not the first place any of the ones those she cherished with all her heart, checked when they looked around for her. Because the witch spent hours there, buried behind tomes twice the size of her head. However, they knew well to avoid disturbing her when she was busy with some urgent deadline or other.
For Hermione worked in wizarding law, as a public defendant of the rights of all magical-kind, Wizarding or not.
One of her favourite projects that had flourished after months of hard work was the law that required muggleborns to be acclimatised to the world of magic at the earliest age possible to reduce the risk of of them growing up with the misery of not being the same as the ones around them. As a result, magical preschools bloomed all across England with a mixed curriculum of both Muggle and magic where children born with the gift had a safe space to let their magic thrive.
The witch worked hard, so much that she often lost track of time and didn't realise the many meals she had replaced with endless cups of coffee in order to keep working till she collapsed. Her loved ones worried for her, but Hermione was determined to plow along. There was one, however, who didn't care if it annoyed her or she would raise her wand at him. Or yell at him. Or threaten him.
All so he would leave her alone, which he wouldn't. Not ever.
Which brings us to one afternoon in November where the witch, as usual, haunted the library — hunched over her usual corner table that wept beneath the weight of a small mountain of parchment, quills and books alike.
She was glaring at a paragraph in the book as if it dared to have the audacity to offend her so, unaware that she had an audience of one, currently smirking at her as he leaned against the frame of the library door.
His silver eyes tracked her wild curls held back by a clasp that he didn't quite enjoy, but it did grant him the view of her lovely neck, so he found he couldn't complain. Her scowl amused him as did her lack of awareness that she was not alone.
"Granger," he drawled in his most insufferable manner that she often complained about, knowing it would irk her to no end. "Why are you looking at that book like it's about be confringo'ed out of existence?"
He was delighted when she turned to level a glare at him so hot that he could burst into flames.
"Leave me alone," she grumbled, writing something furiously on a scroll.
But he wasn't about to leave her alone. Definitely not. He sauntered up to her table, leaning a hip against it as he looked down at the grumpy little witch who was trying so hard to not look up at him and the rimless glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose — her weakness. She wouldn't give him the chance of making her weak when she needed to focus.
That wouldn't do.
That wouldn't do at all.
She gasped as the quill bounced out of her hand, turning into a little bunny before it hopped away and scowled at the chuckling wizard who was directing the Lapifors away from her and that had her pushing herself up onto her feet.
"Now, listen here—"
"Always." His free arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her flush against his body and flicked his wrist so that the bunny hopped back onto the table, returning to it's quill-like state.
"Draco." She tore her gaze from the quill to frown at her husband, who seemed so unaffected by her annoyance, bending slightly to press a gentle kiss on her forehead. She couldn't lie — that weakened her will to stay mad at him — but she needed to tell him to leave her alone.
"Hermione." His tone was teasing as he pulled back, flashing that special smile she knew he had always reserved for her. So wide and full of love, warm like the first rays of sunshine after a dark, cold winter.
She almost smiled back.
Almost.
"I have to work." Her lips twitched as he pouted back at her, pinching her side.
"But it's the first week of Autumn and I want to go out for a walk." He was nuzzling her neck and she wrapped her arms around him, breathing in the smell of him — bergamot and mint.
"Then go for a walk, Mister Malfoy." Her eyes twinkled. "You have a wonderful park around your manor to explore to your heart's content."
"And what? Am I to suffer the agony of being alone?" His eyes met hers, accusing and pitiful, still holding her close as he waved a wand around. Music played from the gramophone off on a side, a slow song playing and she giggled, letting him sway her to the sweet melody.
"Draco, love..."
"Hermione." His lips met her's in a sweet kiss. "Is it so wrong to want you?"
"But the Mer," She began as he twirled her around and pulled her back into the warmth of his embrace.
"The Mer won't mind you taking a break for an hour or two." He kissed her again and pulled back to regard her with a quirk of his elegant brow. "Mer?"
"Yes, some of them wish to learn the language of the land."
"Is that even possible?" He wondered aloud, drawing to a still as he looked down at her curiously.
"If we are able to visit their world, we could always find a way to allow them to visit us," said the wise witch with a sweet little smile.
"Of course, my love," he smiled back, "Now would you indulge me with a walk and an explanation of how you plan to make this dream of their's a reality?"
She loved him, how he always wanted to know everything she was working on, how he pushed himself into the solitude of her circle and demanded that she acknowledged the world for the beauty that it was. If it wasn't for him, she would have never had a life beyond work and her books. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be half as happy as she was today.
So she let him have this one, let him lead her out into the beautiful grounds around their manor, let him tuck a daffodil into her hair and tell her she was his world.
Because just as the world was born and reborn as the seasons passed and the greens ebbed away, so did their love. In leaps and bounds. It was reborn with each passing phase of their life. It grew and twisted and turned till it became something entirely their own, sinking it's roots deep into their hearts and made them two of halves of the same magical pulse.
Soul mates in every sense.
She healed him the hurt he thought he deserved.
And he reminded her that he was never more than an arm's reach away.
So, there they went into the cheeky autumn breeze, the golden girl looking up fondly at her silvery husband of seven years who met her gaze with a warm smile of his own, the one reserved only for her.
His witchy little wife.