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It was raining on the day of the wedding.
Of course it was.
Rain always reminded me of her.
The guests sit attentively beneath a flock of open umbrellas, their heads turned towards the giant weeping willow behind them. From between branches that droop softly like a partially open curtain, she emerges.
Her hair is unbound, the curls furling around her face, bouncing in rhythm as she takes her first step into the aisle and reaches for the arm of her father.
Her sweet lips curve gently in a shy smile as she looks up at him.
It was a cold February afternoon, the air outside chill, but the office warm. It was the kind of slow day where it takes too long to do a simple task. He'd gone into the supply cupboard for parchment.
And there she was. Tears spilling from eyes that were the colour of aged oak. For a moment, she froze, looking at him as if she didn't know what to do or say. He froze too.
"Fuck! I—"
She didn't finish her sentence and he'd turned to leave the moment she started speaking, but then he'd heard a strangled sob.
So instead of leaving he'd stepped inside.
"Are you alright, Granger? What's happened?"
She forced a laugh. "Oh, you know, just up to my old school tricks—crying over boys." She forced another laugh, this one sounding a touch more genuine, and ending in a sniffle. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, inhaling slowly through her nose, attempting to calm herself.
That was when he saw the paper on the shelf in front of her.
Boy Who Lived Finds Love
"You know, Granger," he said in reply, "I don't think boys are for you."
Her eyes shot to his, wide with disbelief.
"Excuse me? It is incredibly inappro—"
"Maybe you should try a man?" He interrupted. And yes, he leaned his forearm against the shelving unit and he probably tensed his biceps a little. He definitely smirked, and raised an eyebrow—this was a challenge after all.
Now he'd done it. She was definitely angry. Shocked and silent—but angry. Her eyes held that fury, that sparkle, like the one she'd get at school when he made her drop her books.
He chased that sparkle.
Every part of her was beautiful.
Especially when she smiled. Which is exactly what she was doing as she walked the end of the aisle.
Her dress is the creamy white of a Vendella rose. Delicate sleeves hang on her upper arms, giving the impression that they had just fallen from the curve of her shoulders. The bodice dips slightly in the center, showing a subtle hint of cleavage. The fabric clings to the curves of her body, over her breasts, her waist and hips before flaring out from her thighs. Every step she takes, accompanied by the gentle sway of the skirt trailing behind her.
She is everything I ever wanted.
Draco hadn't known what he expected when Hermione Granger agreed to have dinner with him.
He had pulled out all the tricks, hoping to impress her. She wasn't the kind of witch who would be dazzled by dining out in fine wizarding restaurants. And Draco didn't know much about the Muggle way of doing things. So, in the end, he had decided home would be best. Al fresco dining in the rotunda by the west end of the lake. Tiny twinkling lights hung around its perimeter and across the ceiling inside. A table for two, dressed in white with silver candle sticks and greenery from the estate's gardens. Strings played gently in the distance, close enough to hear but far enough away that they still had privacy. He had placed heating charms on the ceiling so she wouldn't be cold.
He had tried to make polite dinner conversation, asking what she was currently working on, asking about her family…her hobbies. She'd met each and every question like it was a test…a challenge. Only it wasn't a test of knowledge. She answered quickly, decisively, and efficiently as if she was trying to prove something to herself. Or to him.
Was it that she could be honest and open with him? That she could enjoy herself here, on the grounds of his ancestral home? That she was comfortable, on a date with Draco Malfoy?
She'd been a puzzle to him the entire night, from the moment she stepped through his Floo wearing a red dress and matching high heels. The dress had an elegant square neckline that cut low, showing more cleavage than he had known her to possess. It clung to the curves of her body before flowing freely from her hips to her knees. No, Draco had not expected her to look anything like that.
When dinner was finished she had placed both hands on the table, standing abruptly. He stood too, as was polite. She walked towards the edge of the rotunda, looking out over the lake before suddenly pivoting back to look at him.
"Well?" she asked, spreading her arms out by her waist. "What now? Do we dance? What do your usual courting rituals dictate?"
He had hidden his urge to laugh, coughing gently behind a fist. "There are no set expectations for anything we do tonight," he replied, as he made his way towards her.
"Oh," she said, turning to face back out towards the lake, "no dancing then."
She almost sounded disappointed.
He stood beside her, looking out, trying to see his home through her eyes. "Would you like to dance with me, Hermione?" He let his hand brush against the back of hers.
Suddenly the heavens opened and great drops of rain began to fall, pattering over the roof and the gravel pathway, sending ripples across the water. He felt her finger trace the side of his own.
"Yes, Draco, I would like to dance with you," she said softly as she smiled up at him. Draco was struck by that smile. It was a smile he had never seen on her before. Shy, but real; it felt like a secret smile. One just for him.
He turned to her, taking her hand to start the dance. She held his hand but pulled him out and down the steps of the rotunda, out onto the gravel path in the open night and the rain.
She turned to face him, placing his hands on her waist before reaching her arms up and looping them around his neck. It wasn't the way Draco usually danced, but he could be flexible if this was what made her comfortable. But it wasn't dancing Hermione had in mind. A frown had formed right between her eyebrows, paired with a look of determination he remembered from their time at Hogwarts. A pressure at his nape had his head pulled forward. In the next moment, she surged up on her toes, pressing her lips and her body against his.
He should have been affronted. That someone would kiss him out of…determination? It was a forced kiss and that was not the kind of kissing that Draco Malfoy usually engaged with. He should have been offended. But actually, he was just…glad.
Her lips softened and he melted into the kiss and the feel of her warmth against him, as the rain traced their faces and the places where their bodies did not meet. They stayed there a long time just like that. And then they danced.
When she reaches the altar her eyes flutter upwards, a warm blush upon her cheeks. She smiles, and it's her secret smile, the one she keeps just for me.
Upon her head a crown of tiny white flowers is threaded among her curls. My hand flexes, wanting to reach out and touch the delicate petals, to lace my fingers through the hair at her temple, to feel the softness of her cheek.
She was nervous to meet his mother. She had met her before but…this was different. Now she would meet her as his…just his.
Coming out of her Floo that afternoon, she called, "I bought some flowers for your mum!"
She came over to him, where he waited on the sofa, folding up the paper he'd been reading. She held out a bunch of fragrant light purple blooms for him to see.
"Lilacs?" Draco replied, his brow raised in question, "interesting choice."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he said, taking the bouquet from her hands and placing them on the sofa beside him, "lilacs are a symbol of love." He took her hand, pulling her towards him. "And in this particular shade of purple, to give these flowers would be to declare love or remind the receiver of a first love."
"Hmm…perhaps not the best choice for your mother then." She said as she sat on his lap, legs straddling his hips.
"Perhaps not," he agreed with a smile.
"Then I suppose I'll give these to you," she said, smiling back at him as she picked up the flowers and pressed them to his chest. Then, placing her hands on his cheeks, she said, "I love you, Draco."
He felt a pang in his chest at her words.
Then she kissed him, still holding his face between her palms.
He held her tightly, the scent of crushed lilacs surrounding them as he devoured her words, wanting to believe every one.
She watches as the ring slides easily onto her finger, before raising her eyes. They are tear filled and her teeth show in the way they only do for her truest smile. She is…so happy.
I never imagined that her happiness would be my greatest tragedy.
On the next page, her husband beams down at her as she slides a matching band over his finger. He is dressed in a crisp looking navy suit. He actually looks well dressed for once, I think, begrudgingly.
But I don't want to think about the boy who lived and took the only thing I ever wanted.
A careful outline with the tip of my wand has her image removed from the paper and in my hand. The moment she looks up from her wedding band, freshly placed, to meet the eyes of her husband. There is love in those eyes.
Everything she had once promised me.
I move to the bed, opening the drawer on the side table and reaching inside. I fumble with the stopper, eager to be lost, before throwing the contents back.
Then I lay down, her beside me, and together we sink.
The vial slips from my hands, silently dropping to the carpet and rolling until I hear it clink in greeting with its siblings. Of which there are many.
Each one, an escape.
Dreams of a version of her that I might not have, but I did not lose.
I am a man split in two, caught between the echo of memories and the thought of what might have been.
My other half was her.