Chapter Text
The garden was alive with soft, magical light. Towering trees lined the edges of the venue, their branches adorned with glowing lanterns, casting flickers of warmth over the guests. The air was thick with the scent of roses and freshly cut grass, mingling together in a sweet embrace. Pastel-colored floral arrangements spilled across tables, their delicate petals nodding gently in the breeze, while candles lined the aisle in an elegant row, flickering like tiny stars. It was a setting out of a fairy tale, cozy and inviting, yet undeniably elegant.
Hermione stood at the back of the venue, her eyes fixed on Ginny. She had never seen her friend look so radiant, so alive. The soft glow of the lanterns seemed to catch in her hair, making it shine like fire. Ginny was perfect, glowing in her wedding gown as she walked down the aisle. There was an undeniable magic to the moment, the kind that only a wedding could bring. But for Hermione, there was something else in the air, something heavier.
She watched as Ginny approached the altar, her smile bright and full of joy, but Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong here, not really. She felt like a ghost, standing on the fringes of a world she no longer had a place in.
It wasn’t just the wedding, though. It wasn’t even just the beauty of the moment. It was Ron. He was here, of course, sitting among the guests, looking so comfortable and so happy with someone else by his side. His new partner’s hand was intertwined with his, their fingers laced together as they whispered quietly to each other. Hermione’s stomach twisted painfully at the sight of them.
The breakup with Ron had been messy. Unexpected. It hadn’t been the way she thought it would end, not like this.
Her chest ached. She had tried, so hard, to make it work. She had fought for him, and she had been sure, so sure that they were meant to be. But now, seeing him with someone else, the finality of it hit her like a sharp, cruel gust of wind. A bitter lump rose in her throat.
Did he even miss her? Did he ever feel the same ache she felt now? Or was he relieved, free from all the weight they had carried together?
Her thoughts were interrupted as Ginny, now at the altar, beamed at Harry, her eyes filled with love. Her voice was steady as she said her vows, and Harry’s face was full of admiration, his gaze locked onto her with something pure, something Hermione couldn’t help but envy. It made her heart ache deeper.
Ginny was different today, so much softer, more grown-up, but still unmistakably Ginny. Fierce, passionate, full of love. It made Hermione wonder about the kind of love she had with Ron. What could have been different? Had she done something wrong? Had she not fought enough for their love?
But this was Ginny’s day. Ginny deserved every moment of this, every ounce of happiness. Hermione couldn’t let her own sadness overshadow it, couldn’t allow the pain she was feeling to take away from the joy that was meant to be celebrated here.
But the loneliness lingered, hovering just beneath the surface, making her feel separate from the world around her. Maybe it was the environment, the intimate, celebratory atmosphere of a wedding that made her feel so isolated. So out of place. Even with all the people surrounding her, she felt as though she were standing on the edge of something, disconnected from the celebration that was unfolding before her.
The ache in her chest was sharp again, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on Ginny and Harry as they continued with the ceremony. Today wasn’t about her. Not about her heartache.
But that didn’t stop the emptiness from following her like a shadow.
Hermione’s thoughts were still tangled in her own confusion, the sharp pain of watching Ron with someone else still digging deep into her chest. She was trying to focus on the ceremony, trying to push through it. But just as the emotions began to ebb, she felt a flicker of something else, a shift in the air.
Her gaze drifted toward the back of the venue, where a few late arrivals had made their way in. At first, she didn’t think much of it. But then she froze.
There, standing near the entrance, was Draco Malfoy.
Her stomach tightened at the sight of him. The last time she had really spoken to him had been during the aftermath of the war, and even then, their interactions had been scarce and often laced with bitterness. But now, here he was, standing stiffly at the back of the venue, his eyes scanning the crowd.
His expression was unreadable, his pale features sharp against the soft glow of the lanterns. He was dressed in formal attire, a dark suit that somehow seemed to draw more attention to his discomfort than his elegance. He looked out of place, and yet, it wasn’t completely surprising. After all, it was a Weasley wedding. Chaotic, full of life, but also undeniably family. Draco, for all his past, was here in a way that seemed almost like an afterthought.
Theo Nott was with him, looking perfectly at ease, his posture relaxed as he scanned the crowd, a smile on his lips. Hermione knew that Theo and Ginny had somehow grown close over the years, having both found common ground after the war. It was clear that Theo had invited Draco along as his plus-one, a fact that seemed almost surreal to Hermione. She had never once imagined that Draco would be here, at Ginny’s wedding, a guest among people who had once fought against his very existence.
Draco wasn’t here as a guest of honor, Hermione realized. He was simply along for the ride, an odd, unexpected addition to an already chaotic gathering. And yet, she couldn’t look away.
A brief wave of discomfort washed over her as their eyes met. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Two people bound by the past, yet so far apart now. Hermione was sure he didn’t want to engage with her, just as much as she didn’t want to engage with him. The years of animosity still loomed between them, unspoken but ever-present.
She quickly glanced away, as though the weight of that single exchange might become too much to bear. But something about his presence, a quiet tension, like the calm before a storm, settled into her chest.
She didn’t know why, but Draco’s presence felt... strange. Different. The years since the war had changed them both, and the awkwardness of the moment was palpable, but there was something in the air that Hermione couldn’t quite place.
Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t the only one standing on the edges, an outsider in a sea of people. Maybe it was something else entirely.
But she couldn’t help but wonder, what was he doing here?
She shook her head slightly, trying to refocus on the ceremony, but her mind kept drifting back to Draco.
Hermione tried to steady her breath, forcing herself to look away from Draco, but her eyes betrayed her. Before she could look anywhere else, he and Theo was already standing just a few feet away from her with Theo already engaging in a flirty conversation with a lady.
The space between them felt loaded, thick with the tension of years, of history, of things unsaid. Draco’s eyes flickered toward her, distant yet… almost as though he were waiting for something. His gaze was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something she couldn’t name. Something real. Something different from the usual snide remarks and subtle insults they’d exchanged in the past.
He shifted uncomfortably, his hands tucked into his pockets, the lines of his suit too sharp, too stiff against the warm atmosphere of the wedding. He looked awkward. Out of place. As if this event was one he’d never imagined attending, and certainly not with her standing right there.
"Hello," Hermione said, her voice coming out colder than she’d intended. She felt the awkwardness creep into her words, the coolness laced with the ghosts of their past. She could feel him measuring her, judging, perhaps, just as she was doing with him.
"Granger," Draco responded, his voice smooth but with the faintest edge. No warmth. No hostility. Just a dry recognition of her presence.
And then, as quickly as it had started, the exchange ended. There was no lingering curiosity or need to revisit what they once were or what they might have been. The silence stretched between them for a long beat, neither of them willing to break it, as though the years of their shared history weighed them down.
Hermione glanced back at the ceremony, her thoughts racing. Why does this feel so strange? It wasn’t just Draco’s presence that made her feel unsettled, it was the quiet understanding between them. They didn’t need to say anything; it was all in the air around them. The uncomfortable past, the unspoken truce. The look in his eyes held something, something that made her chest tighten, even though she didn’t want to feel it.
It was a strange combination of being repelled and drawn to him at the same time, and she couldn’t quite make sense of it.
Ginny's voice rang out clear and strong as she spoke her vows to Harry, words that seemed to soar with sincerity and love.
"With this hand, I will hold your heart, binding it to mine through every spell we cast. With this flame, I will light your path, guiding you through darkness and doubt. With this ring, I bind my soul to yours, in magic, in love, now and forever."
She looked up at him with such intensity, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of admiration and hope, while Harry's expression mirrored hers. His voice cracked slightly as he repeated his vows, his gaze soft with devotion.
"With this hand, I will shield you from the storm, warding off the shadows with every charm. With this breath, I will give you life, filling your world with warmth and light. With this ring, I bind my heart to yours, a promise that no force shall ever break."
It was a perfect moment. A moment of pure connection.
And yet, Hermione couldn’t stop the ache in her chest, couldn’t help the question that lingered in her mind. Could I ever have that again? The connection they shared, the kind that Ginny and Harry had found, so effortless, so true. Could she even want something like that again, after everything?
Her eyes flickered briefly to Ron, who was seated nearby, his arm around his new partner. There was a coldness to their proximity, a distance between them even in the closeness of their touch. Could I have fought harder? Could I have made him see that we still had a chance?
But then her gaze shifted, almost involuntarily, to Draco. He stood hands still tucked in his pockets, staring at the ceremony with a faraway look, as though the vows weren’t meant for him. It was a strange thing, really he wasn’t meant to be here, in this moment. But his presence still seemed to affect her. His silence, his distance from the rest of the crowd. Was it possible, too, that he knew what she was feeling?
The vows hung in the air, beautiful and inspiring, but to Hermione, they felt like a reminder of what she had lost and what she was still searching for. Was that kind of connection even possible anymore?
As Ginny and Harry shared their first kiss as a married couple, the crowd erupted in applause. Hermione forced herself to join in, clapping with the others, but there was a tightness in her chest, a lump in her throat that she couldn’t shake.
And then, as if it were fate's cruel joke, she felt it. Ron’s gaze.
She caught it from the corner of her eye, but the second their eyes met, she felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at her, something that was part guilt, part indifference.
She didn’t know what to make of it. Was he sorry? Did he regret how things had ended? Or was he simply... over it? Was she the one still holding on, still trapped in a moment that had long since passed?
And then there was the new partner sitting next to him someone who smiled easily, whose hand Ron held without hesitation. The contrast hit Hermione like a punch to the stomach. It was hard to focus, hard to think. Was this what she had lost? What they had lost? Was this where everything had been heading? She wondered if, perhaps, if they had communicated better, if they had been braver with their words, they could have had something like Ginny and Harry’s love. Something stable. Something real.
But the ache wouldn’t go away.
She fought the urge to break down in tears. She pushed back the wave of emotions that threatened to overtake her. Not here. Not now.
The wedding, the vows, the joy in the air, everything felt like a reminder of what she no longer had. What she had lost, and what she still wasn’t sure she could find again.
The evening had taken on a different energy now that the ceremony was over. The wedding guests had spilled out into the garden, the sound of their laughter and chatter floating through the air. The lanterns had been lit, casting a warm, golden glow across the garden. The night sky above, dotted with stars, felt endless, magical, even. The music played softly in the background, a cheerful contrast to the quiet tension Hermione felt inside.
She needed a moment of solitude, away from the cheerful noise. The happy faces around her, the constant reminders of what she had lost, felt overwhelming. She slipped away from the crowd, silently excusing herself from the festivities, and found her way to a quiet corner of the garden. Here, the noise faded into the distance, and the soft scent of roses and fresh grass filled the air, mingling with the cool evening breeze.
She stood there, letting the quiet envelop her. She watched as the light of the floating lanterns flickered above, their soft glow reflecting off the dewy leaves. It was beautiful, but it only seemed to deepen the ache in her chest. The weight of everything, the breakup with Ron, the memories, the tension in the air settled on her like a thick fog.
It was in this quiet, fragile moment that she heard footsteps approaching. She turned slightly, startled by the sudden presence, and there he was, Draco Malfoy, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby tree. His figure emerged from the dimness of the garden, looking as out of place as he had during the ceremony.
He was alone, his hands tucked into the pockets of his formal attire, his expression unreadable, though there was a hint of something that wasn’t quite annoyance or disinterest. It was almost as if he had sought her out though she wasn’t sure why.
"Granger," Draco said, his voice cool, but not as sharp as she remembered. His eyes swept over her, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than usual.
Hermione wasn’t sure why she felt so uneasy. She had barely exchanged two words with him earlier, and yet now, in the stillness of the garden, everything felt... different. The tension between them was palpable, like the air right before a thunderstorm. Neither of them spoke, but neither could seem to break the silence either. They both stood there, two figures distanced from the rest of the celebration, with the world beyond them carrying on as if they were two ghosts, hovering in the shadows.
"Malfoy," she said, her voice colder than she intended, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the garden around them. She fought the urge to look away, to ignore him completely. But there was something about the way he stood there, looking at her with that unreadable expression, that made her stomach tighten. It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t hostility. It was something different, something that she couldn’t name.
The moment stretched on, neither of them quite willing to break the strange, magnetic pull between them. It was like something between curiosity and hesitation. Neither of them moved closer. Neither of them said what was on their minds. But there was an unspoken understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of everything that had passed between them. The war, the animosity, the uneasy truce that now lingered between them like the space between thunderclaps.
It was strange.
Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of it. She had come here for solitude, a brief escape from the crowd. But Draco’s presence was like an unexpected gust of wind, unsettling, yet undeniable. She hadn’t expected to find him here, alone, away from the wedding’s celebration, and yet... part of her couldn’t help but wonder why he was here. What did he want?
Draco’s gaze, steady and focused, seemed to understand something she hadn’t said. His eyes weren’t filled with judgment, or pity, or indifference. There was no guilt, no confusion like she saw in Ron’s eyes. Instead, there was something almost comforting in the way Draco looked at her. It was like he understood this space between them, this strange moment. More than anyone else here, maybe even more than Ron had ever understood her.
She couldn’t quite explain it, but for a moment, she felt seen in a way she hadn’t in a long time. It wasn’t a warmth that made her feel secure, but a quiet recognition of the hurt they both carried.
It was confusing, and it made her uncomfortable. But it was also... strangely comforting. And that only made her feel more unsettled.
As the night wore on, the atmosphere of the wedding began to shift. The grand garden outside, filled with flickering lanterns and the scent of roses, felt quieter now, the festivities winding down. Ginny and Harry had long since disappeared to begin their honeymoon, and the remaining guests were slowly trickling out, leaving behind the memory of the magical day. Hermione stood near the edge of the garden, surrounded by the soft glow of the lanterns, but she felt distant from it all, like an observer, not a participant.
The wine had gone to her head, and the emotional exhaustion of the day weighed heavily on her shoulders. She tried to lose herself in the beautiful surroundings, but her thoughts kept returning to Ron. To the breakup. To everything she thought she had, only to watch it unravel in front of her. And now, here she was, at Ginny and Harry’s perfect wedding, standing alone and unsure of where to go next.
Her gaze flickered across the yard, over the guests who were laughing, dancing, and talking in the distance. That’s when she saw him.
Draco Malfoy. He wasn’t with anyone, not partaking in the usual mingling. He stood off to the side, looking uncomfortable in his formal attire, his eyes scanning the crowd but never really engaging. It was strange to see him like this detached, almost aloof, but there was something about the way he held himself, the way his eyes lingered on the crowd and then shifted back to her, that caught her attention.
Hermione wasn’t sure why she was drawn to him. Maybe it was the loneliness she felt in the air or the way Draco, despite his reputation, seemed out of place here. Either way, she couldn’t stop herself. She found her feet carrying her toward him, her heart fluttering, unsure of why.
When she reached him, he didn’t look surprised. In fact, there was a slight smirk on his lips as he turned to face her, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
“What’s a guy gotta do to get some peace around here?” Draco drawled, his voice smooth, his posture relaxed but still radiating a sort of quiet intensity.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, feeling the tipsiness of the wine in her body, but she kept her composure. “Maybe you should try joining the crowd. Or is it beneath you, Malfoy?”
His lips curved upward in a lazy smile. “You’re one to talk, Granger. You look like you’re about ready to bolt yourself.”
“I’m fine, thank you very much,” she said, though the words felt a little slurred in her mouth. She adjusted her position, trying to maintain some sense of dignity, but the wine had loosened her tongue, and everything felt too raw, too exposed.
Draco took in her unsteady stance with an amused glance. “Really? You’re ‘fine’? You look like you’ve been hit with a weighty dose of nostalgia and bad choices.” He let the words hang in the air between them for a moment before his gaze flicked over her, taking in her dress, her posture, his eyes lingering on her lips for just a fraction longer than necessary.
Hermione chose to disregard Draco’s comment, refusing to let him see how much it had affected her. She took a deep sip of her wine, feeling the tipsiness begin to settle in. She watched Draco for a moment, his arms crossed as he leaned against the stone wall. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she couldn’t help herself.
“So,” she started, her tone playful but laced with genuine curiosity, “what exactly are you doing here, Malfoy? This is Ginny’s wedding, not exactly your usual scene. I didn’t think you’d be the type to-” she waved a hand vaguely in the air, “-attend family celebrations.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, his usual sneer curling on his lips. "Why do you think, Granger? Because I wanted to see St. Potter and Ginny Weasley get married?" He let out a mocking laugh. "Please. Theo dragged me here said something about ‘a necessary evil,’ whatever that means." His eyes glinted as he looked at her. "But I’m sure you’ll think it’s much more entertaining than that."
Hermione, slightly tipsy but still sharp, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so it’s not because you wanted to witness a beautiful moment between friends?" she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Please. I’m not some sentimental fool like you, Granger." His tone was flat, but the smirk that played at the corner of his lips told a different story. "I don’t even like Weasley’s sister." His sneer turned more pronounced, as if disgusted by the thought.
Hermione smirked, amused despite herself. “And you couldn’t get out of it?”
“Did you really think I’d pass up the chance to watch Potter make an arse of himself?” Draco asked, his tone full of derision. “Theo didn’t give me much of a choice, though. He was all ‘It’ll be good for you, mate. It’s a wedding, not a war.’” Draco made a face as though the idea of attending the wedding was the last thing he’d want to do.
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head at the image of Draco being dragged here against his will. “I’m surprised you didn’t just refuse outright.”
Draco’s gaze flicked over to the dance floor, his eyes narrowing as he watched Ron in the distance, awkwardly attempting to dance. “I could’ve,” he muttered. “But what fun would that be? I don’t get to witness Potter trip over his own feet if I’m not here.” He took a sip of his drink, then glanced back at Hermione. “Besides, if I didn’t come, I’d have to listen to Theo go on about it for the next month.”
Hermione raised her glass slightly, a teasing grin on her face. “You’re here for the entertainment value, then?”
Draco gave a sharp, sardonic smile. “What else? Weasley looks happy. Potter, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to faint. There’s something oddly satisfying about it.”
Hermione shook her head, amused but slightly exasperated. “You really are impossible.”
“Yet, here you are, talking to me,” Draco shot back, his smirk never fading. “Seems like I’m the least of your problems tonight.”
Draco tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Hermione. “So, Granger,” he began, his voice smooth and slightly mocking, “what exactly are you doing here? Aside from trying to avoid whatever’s going on in your head, of course.” His gaze flicked briefly over to where Harry and Ginny were, still lost in their little bubble of newlywed bliss.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the faint smile that tugged at her lips. “Harry and Ginny are friends of mine,” she said, her tone slightly defensive. “And it’s their wedding, Malfoy. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t show up to support them?”
Draco scoffed, a dark chuckle escaping him. “Oh, I’m sure that’s it,” he said with a mockingly sweet smile, his gaze flicking back to her, “But if we’re being honest, I’m sure it’s not the wedding you’re here for. I bet it’s that you’re looking for a glimpse of the Weasel.”
Hermione’s expression faltered just for a second, her stomach tightening at the mention of Ron. She straightened, trying to look unaffected. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Draco arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Oh, come on. You’re not fooling anyone, Granger. I’ve seen that sad, little look you’ve been giving him all night,” he teased, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You thought you could just slip away unnoticed, but you’ve got ‘I’m still pining for the Weasel’ written all over you.”
Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks, her fingers tightening around her glass. “That’s none of your business, Malfoy,” she shot back, though the sting of his words rang true, and she hated it.
Draco replied with a shrug, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re here, you’re watching him, and you’re pretending it’s all fine. You think no one notices? We all know you can’t even stand to look at him for too long, but you can’t quite tear your eyes away, either.”
He took a step closer, his gaze intense as he leveled his eyes with hers. “And, Granger, you decided to come talk to me. So, yeah, now it’s my business. You’re not exactly as good at hiding things as you think.”
Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. “I’m fine. I’m having fun, really. Just... enjoying the wedding like everyone else.” She forced a smile, though it felt more like a mask than anything genuine.
Draco raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Is that so? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been drowning in your own thoughts all night, trying to play the part of the happy, perfect guest." He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "But I guess it's not like I'm surprised. You always did take things too seriously, didn't you?"
Hermione felt a brief flush of heat rise to her cheeks, but she managed to stay composed. "What's wrong with taking things seriously?" she asked, leaning in just slightly, her voice quieter, almost a challenge. "Some of us like to put a little thought into our decisions."
Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as if inspecting her more closely. “Thoughtful... Maybe that’s part of the problem, Granger. You think too much about things that don’t matter.” He glanced off toward the other end of the garden. “Take the Weasel, for example. He’s out there, enjoying himself, still the same idiot, while you stand here sulking. Think he’s giving anything a second thought?” Draco’s tone wasn’t harsh, but there was something sharp about it, an undercurrent of cynicism that made Hermione bristle.
She glanced back at the crowd, her eyes landing on Ron, who was in the middle of a conversation with someone else, completely oblivious to her presence. He looked... happy. Carefree. The same Ron who had once told her he'd always be there, but never seemed to show up when things mattered most.
Hermione swallowed hard. “What’s wrong with Ron?” she asked, though even she knew her defense was weak.
Draco chuckled darkly, his eyes flicking back to her, his gaze almost appraising. “Really, Granger? You’re still holding out hope for him?” Draco’s lips curled into a sneer as he scanned the room, his gaze flicking over to where Ron was laughing too loudly with a group of people. “The guy’s got no depth, no substance. Every time he opens his mouth, it’s like listening to a bloody clown try to be serious.” He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s pathetic. Always running off when things get real, hiding behind that so-called ‘family loyalty’ of his. But we both know the truth. He’s terrified of anything that matters. Couldn’t handle a real relationship if his life depended on it.” Draco’s tone was sharp, biting. “Honestly, who can even respect someone like that?”
The words stung, more than she cared to admit. But it was hard to argue with him. The wine made her feel brave, but also a little exposed, and the reality of what he was saying hit harder than she expected. Maybe she was the one who had been fooling herself, hoping for a future with someone who never truly understood her.
Her mind raced, but before she could find something to say in response, Draco’s gaze flickered over her, appraising her, his lips curled in a smirk.
She shifted awkwardly, the discomfort in her feet finally becoming unbearable. She glanced at the grass beneath her, hoping for a moment of solace.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “What? No more ‘perfect’ posture, Granger?” His voice was laced with a teasing edge, his eyes dancing with amusement. "No more ‘perfect’ Granger standing tall?”
Hermione grimaced, lifting one foot in a failed attempt to shift the heel. She barely managed a chuckle, trying to sound nonchalant. “I think I’ve had enough of these heels," she muttered, but it was clear she couldn't manage to slide one of the shoes off.
Draco’s eyes glinted with humor. “You know, if you're really struggling, I could help you. But something tells me you wouldn't want me doing that.”
Hermione shot him a glare that was meant to be intimidating, though she felt her resolve waver a little. “I can handle it,” she snapped, but there was a noticeable falter in her voice. The pain in her feet was beginning to feel almost unbearable.
Draco let out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh. He didn’t wait for her to argue further. With a flick of his wrist, a chair materialized beside her.
“Sit,” he said, his voice like velvet, yet edged with his usual sardonic amusement. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”
Reluctantly, she sat, adjusting her dress and trying to regain her composure. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but the words died on her lips as Draco simply ignored her.
His gaze never wavered as he dropped to his knees in front of her, the movement smooth, almost predatory. The sudden proximity made Hermione’s pulse race, and a strange flutter of nerves stirred in her stomach as he reached for her first heel. His fingers brushed lightly against her ankle, sending an unexpected shiver up her spine.
Hermione sat there, still processing the strange mixture of frustration and desire bubbling inside her.
She crossed her arms, trying to regain some control over the situation, and shot Draco a pointed look. “I don’t care about your little fetish with feet, Malfoy,” she muttered, her voice thick with defiance.
Draco’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his gaze never leaving hers. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. “Oh, it’s not just the feet, Granger,” he teased, eyes flickering over her. “It’s the unkempt curls, the bossy know-it-alls who think they have it all figured out… and, of course, a damsel in distress, struggling with her heels.” He leaned back with a smirk, letting the words hang in the air, knowing full well how they’d land.
Hermione’s breath hitched at his boldness, her flush deepening. She shot him an incredulous look. “You’re impossible,” she scoffed, the words more to regain some composure than anything else. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of everything swirling inside her.
But as she sat there, the words she had thrown at him no longer felt enough to mask the tangled mess inside her. She thought of Ron, of everything she had given to that relationship, only to find herself standing here with Draco Malfoy, of all people, the person she least expected to see at her side. She thought about her loneliness, her confusion, and the weight of the wedding still heavy on her heart. How had she let herself get here?
The quiet stretched between them, and she suddenly realized she hadn’t said anything in a while. The air felt different now—thicker, almost suffocating, as if every word left unspoken only made the tension grow. She swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of control. But the more she thought, the less she knew what to say.
And then Draco noticed. His sharp gaze caught the subtle shift in her expression, from that fiery irritation to something more contemplative. Her posture stiffened just a bit, as if she were suddenly lost in thought, trying to hold onto the words she had yet to speak. The brief moment of silence tugged at him, and he couldn’t resist breaking it.
Draco leaned slightly forward, his voice cool but still edged with that signature arrogance. “You know,” he started, his smirk widening ever so slightly, “you’re too good for him.”
He leaned back slightly, his tone casual but carrying an undeniable bite. “He would’ve died without you, Granger. Hell, both Potter and Weasley would’ve ended up buried in the ground without you.”
Hermione’s chest tightened at the mention of Ron, but she didn’t interrupt. Her fingers absently toyed with the hem of her dress, her gaze directed downward, trying to process what he had said.
Draco leaned in, his voice lowering with a teasing yet serious undertone. “You should be glad you’re not with him anymore. At least you’re saving a whole generation from the trauma of the possible offspring you two would’ve brought into this world.”
His words, laced with mockery, cut through the tension between them, and Hermione couldn’t help the small, surprised laugh that escaped her lips. It wasn’t entirely out of amusement, more from a sense of disbelief. She met his gaze, a bit stunned by his bluntness, but there was a bitter truth to his words.
“Trauma?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you call it? You’re just full of compliments tonight, aren’t you, Malfoy?”
Draco’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of sarcasm and something more potent. “I’m just stating the obvious,” he replied smoothly, leaning back against the stone, arms crossed. “You always did deserve more than the Weasel. And trust me, the world would’ve survived without him passing on his... genes.”
There was something almost comforting in his straightforwardness, even though his words stung. It wasn’t kindness, but it was an unflinching honesty that she found hard to ignore.
Hermione sighed, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Why do you care, Malfoy?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended. “Why are you even saying this?”
Draco didn’t flinch. He leaned in just a fraction closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe because it’s about time someone told you the truth. Not that I expect you to thank me for it.”
Hermione shook her head, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“I know,” he said with a chuckle, “but I think you needed it anyway.”
She could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken words hanging between them. He was right, in some way. Even if it was coming from someone like Draco, who was always more prone to mocking than sympathizing, there was a truth she couldn’t escape. Perhaps she had been too much of a fool, hoping for something from someone who would never meet her expectations.
But even in that moment, she wasn’t sure what to make of it, of him, of this strange connection they’d somehow found themselves in.
The silence stretched between them again, this time a bit less charged, but still heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. Hermione couldn’t help but feel the oddest tug of... something. Something she couldn’t quite place. And despite herself, despite everything she knew she should be feeling, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting more of the enigmatic Malfoy who always seemed to have a way of cutting through the layers of her emotions.
Draco leaned back against the stone again, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “You should just be thankful, Granger. The sooner you move on from him, the sooner you’ll stop being so damn... well, you.”
She narrowed her eyes, an almost teasing glint appearing in her own gaze. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Draco didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze flickered over her once again, this time, more thoughtful and less mocking. The moment stretched out between them, longer than either of them was prepared for, until Hermione’s breath caught in her chest, unsure of where this conversation was heading.
“You’re smarter than you let on,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “But sometimes, that’s the thing that holds you back the most.”
Hermione frowned, her brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Draco leaned back slightly, the sneer never fully leaving his lips, but there was something else behind his eyes an almost reluctant sincerity. “You overthink everything, Granger. Always have. It’s like you’re trying to be two steps ahead of everyone else, like you’ve already mapped out your entire life before you even step out the door. Maybe that’s why you’re still stuck on him. You’ve planned it all, but he’s not part of that plan, is he?”
Hermione opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. He was right, in a way. She had thought she knew what her life was supposed to be, what it was meant to be. She had planned for a future with Ron. But now… she wasn’t so sure.
Draco noticed the brief flicker of hesitation in her eyes, and his tone sharpened, turning almost mocking again. “But of course, you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? The perfect life, the perfect love story. Maybe if you spent half the energy you put into your little ‘plans’ into living a little, you’d stop feeling like you’ve been boxed in your entire life.”
Hermione glared at him, but it wasn’t as sharp as before. “I’m not some reckless idiot, Draco. I don’t just throw my life away on a whim.”
Draco scoffed, but this time there was a genuine amusement behind it. “Of course not. You’d rather stay stuck in your little perfect bubble of control, right? Where nothing goes wrong, where every choice is calculated, even if it means you’re missing out on what’s really happening in front of you.”
He let the silence fall between them, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her struggle with his words. “But I suppose that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re so busy looking ahead, you forget to live in the moment.” He leaned in just a little closer, the sarcasm curling back into his voice. “You wouldn’t know what to do if you let go of that perfect plan of yours, would you?”
Hermione’s lips twisted into a small, skeptical smile. “So, you’re suggesting I should just... do things without thinking? Is that your big advice, Malfoy?”
Draco smirked, leaning back slightly as if savoring the moment. “Well, you’re the one who’s always two steps ahead, Granger. Maybe you should try taking just one step behind for once. See where it takes you. Live a little dangerously, instead of making sure every little detail fits into your perfect little box.”
Hermione huffed, shaking her head, though there was a glimmer of something deeper in her eyes now, a flicker of curiosity, maybe even uncertainty. “You think that’s wise? Just… letting go of everything I’ve spent years building?”
Draco’s smirk faded, but there was still a sharp edge to his words as he leaned in just a bit, lowering his voice. “No, Granger, I’m not saying to throw it all away. I’m just saying… sometimes the best moments aren’t the ones you plan for. Sometimes, you need to let yourself feel something real without overthinking every second of it.”
Hermione’s breath hitched slightly at his words, the raw honesty cutting through the sarcasm. For a moment, she was speechless, unsure of how to respond.
Draco straightened up, his voice slipping back into that trademark sneer. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to get it. You’re far too busy trying to be perfect, to do everything right, to think your way through life. But you might want to try letting go of that need to control everything for just once, Granger.”
Hermione couldn’t help but feel a tug of frustration and something else at his words. She swallowed, still processing what he was implying. “Maybe I don’t want to let go. Maybe I like having control.”
Draco chuckled darkly, his gaze never leaving hers. “Control, eh? Is that why you’re sitting here, alone, watching your ex have the time of his life without a second thought for you?
Hermione’s jaw clenched at his words, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue. His observation hit too close to home. She crossed her arms, trying to regain some composure. “I’m not alone,” she said, more defensively than she intended. “I’m perfectly fine being by myself.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Oh really? Because from where I’m standing, you look like someone who’s desperately trying to pretend they’re fine when they’re anything but.”
Hermione’s eyes flashed with irritation. “You don’t know anything about me, Malfoy.”
“Maybe not everything,” Draco replied, voice smooth and condescending, “but I know you better than you think. I know that look you get when you’re pretending to have it all together, and I also know that look when you’re this close to cracking.” He leaned in just slightly, his tone lowering to something more dangerous, more intimate. “And right now? You’re cracking. No matter how much you try to hide it.”
Hermione swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. For all the words they exchanged bitter, sarcastic, cruel, there was something almost gentle in his observation. And it unsettled her.
“Maybe,” she said finally, voice quieter, her defenses slipping just a fraction, “I don’t want to crack. I don’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me like that.”
Draco’s lips curled into a sly grin. “Oh, Granger, I think you underestimate the power of not cracking. You’d be a lot more interesting if you did, you know. But then again, I suppose you’d rather stay in your little perfect bubble where everything’s in control. A bubble that’s so tightly wound, you can barely breathe.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air. “Tell me, Granger, do you ever just… let go?”
Hermione’s breath hitched. She wasn’t sure whether it was the alcohol still lingering in her system or the fact that his words were having an effect on her, but she found herself leaning slightly forward. “I’m not sure what you mean, Malfoy,” she said, her voice low.
Draco’s smirk deepened. “Don’t play coy with me now, Granger. You know exactly what I mean.” He paused, his eyes flicking to her lips, then back to her eyes. “You’re so careful with everything. But I can’t help wondering… what would happen if you stopped being so damn careful for just one night?”
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Draco leaned in, cutting her off. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said with a teasing chuckle. “You’re already saying it with that look on your face. That little spark in your eyes. I’d say you’re dangerously close to doing something reckless.”
Hermione stared at him, her mind whirling with thoughts, emotions, and a strange, unexpected pull toward him. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What was it about him that made her feel like this? She could feel the tension building again, the pull between them impossible to ignore.
Draco gave her a knowing look, his voice taking on a taunting edge. “Well, Granger, it’s been fun, but I’ll leave you with this thought: You can either stay safe in your perfect little world… or you can step outside of it for once. But then again, I suppose staying safe is a Granger thing to do, isn’t it?”
And with that, Draco straightened up, his smirk never fading. He turned to leave, but his eyes lingered on Hermione for just a moment longer than necessary. He took in the way she was still processing his words, the mix of irritation, confusion, and something else he couldn't quite place. A teasing smile played at the corner of his lips. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Granger,” he said, his voice cool again as he turned to walk away.
But he paused just before he left, glancing over his shoulder with a look that was far more intense than she expected. “You know,” he started, his voice lowering just a touch, “if you ever find yourself… wanting something more than what you’ve got now… let me know.”
He gave her one last, lingering look, one that felt like a promise and a challenge before his lips curled into that infuriatingly smug smile once again. “It’s always an option, Granger. If you’re brave enough to take it.”
And with that, he walked off, leaving Hermione sitting there, her heart pounding in her chest, her thoughts a whirlwind she couldn’t quite make sense of.