Hermione was crying.

She had been crying all day: when she woke up in Ginny's bed that morning, remembering the countless times they stayed up well past midnight, whispering their secret hopes to each other in a life that did not seem like theirs anymore; when she trudged up the stairs to Percy's old room to sit at the edge of the bed, her handing nudging Harry's shoulder, she cried when he flinched, pulling his wand out, pushing it against her cheek. When he settled, he muttered an apology, retrieving his glasses before he wiped her tears away, telling her he did not mean to frighten her. But that was not why Hermione had cried; her heart broke at the damaged parts of his mind the war had left behind, but also out of relief for the future it did not take away. After helping Mrs. Weasley with last-minute changes to the flowers, Hermione cried when Mrs. Weasley gave an approving nod; the war had taken one of her sons, but she still stood strong, breathed every day for the children she did have. After slipping into a beautiful, silk, pale-blue dress, Hermione cried when she opened Ginny's bedroom door and saw her in white.

"Enough with the crying, Granger," grunted Pansy as she pushed past her to get into the room, several makeup brushes floating behind her. "If I have to retouch your mascara a third time, I'm just going to curse off all of your eyelashes. Do not test me."

"Ah, there it is," said Ginny with a happy sigh, closing her eyes so Pansy could apply a wash of glitter on her eyelids. From where Hermione stood next to Luna, there was a reflective sheen that matched the icy, pale-blue shade of their dresses. "It isn't a Weasley wedding unless someone threatens a maid of honor. Remember when I had to scare petite Gabrielle from trying to use her veela-ness on Harry?"

Hermione took a deep breath, patting her cheeks with the bottom of her palms to dry the few tears that had dared to defy Pansy Parkinson. Although she was not the least bit unnerved by the Slytherin witch, Hermione understood what she was trying to do for Ginny. Pansy wanted everything to be perfect: the wedding dress, her hair and makeup, the maid of honor's hair and makeup, the bridesmaids', her mother's, and even Ron, who had slept in while everyone else scrambled to get started for the special day. If Pansy had all of that under control, then Ginny only had to worry about meeting Harry at the other side of the altar.

As maid of honor, of course, Hermione had checked ten times over that everything was running as it needed to be. When Pansy had arrived at the Burrow with a clipboard of her own, checking things off as she moved about, Hermione bit her tongue from reminding her she had taken care of everything already. After all, she understood what it meant for Pansy that she had been asked to be a bridesmaid. 

Whereas Pansy's wealth came from stacks of gold, the Weasleys were rich in the people they called their own. She had never known that type of wealth; affection and loyalty were things she lacked, but it was what Ginny extended out when she asked Pansy to be a part of her wedding. It was not because she was Ron's inevitable spouse, but because Pansy had earned the family's loyalty. 

They had seen what she had done for Ron in a few weeks. 

"You really do look beautiful, Ginny," said Luna with a smile breaking past the sad glitter in her blue eyes. "Like Occamy eggs before they hatch."

"Thanks. I think?" said Ginny with a grin, opening her eyes as Pansy's next brush dusted pink on her cheeks. "You look beautiful, too, Lu. I thought you were going to wear the lion's head?"

"Pansy warned me not to," said Luna, rocking slightly on her bare feet. "I thought it was fitting, but if it's a Weasley tradition for your bridesmaids to get threatened, I will happily be intimidated."

Ginny turned narrowed eyes at Pansy, but the latter only scoffed. She knew Ginny would have not cared if all of her guests showed up in costumes, naked, or sporting giant lion heads, but Mrs. Weasley had asked her to make sure Luna left the head in a closet. And that was exactly what Pansy did.

"Is Dean here already, too?" asked Hermione as she looked out of the bedroom door, her ears picking up muffled voices from downstairs. "Did you Apparate here together?"

Luna stopped swaying on the balls of her feet. She raised the left one up, wiggling her toes and forcing her smile to widen. "Better go find my shoes. The gnomes took them when I got here."

"Lovegood, wait," said Pansy, but Luna had already hurried out past the door. "I better go make sure she actually gets her heels back. I don't want her with gnome-bitten toes," she said, taking all of her makeup brushes into one hand after giving Ginny a once over and nodding at the result. 

She then marched over to Hermione, squinting at her face, proceeded to dust powder on her cheeks with the largest brush she had, then marched out of the room.

"There's something wrong with her, isn't there?"

"Definitely, but that happens to be Ron's problem," Ginny laughed. "Although, I think he needs some structure. Someone who terrifies him a little."

Hermione raised a brow. "No, not Parkinson. I meant Luna."

With a reluctant sigh, Ginny nodded. "I think so. She's a breakdown away from a rain cloud over her own head. Dean actually had a little typhoon over his on the last day before the holidays."

Hermione bit her bottom lip before saying, "The sorting hat was supposed to pair us with the person we are most compatible with. What if that happens to be the person who can hurt us the most? How's marriage supposed to work then?"

"I don't think Dean's capable of hurting Luna," she managed to say before taking a pause, brows furrowing together as she surveyed Hermione's face. "Why are you asking? Did Malfoy upset you?"

"No! I was just—" The rest of Hermione's explanation was interrupted by a gang of redheads trying to force their way into Ginny's small bedroom door at the same time. 

Triumphantly, Bill forced his way in first. He cast a smug gaze at his brothers still pushing each other to get in, but when he turned them to Ginny they glittered instantly with tears. He had not realized his little sister had grown up; Bill knew her to be fierce, a force to be reckoned with, but Ginny had always been so. When she was a toddler, she would grip on to his finger, daring him to try and leave with his friends when all she wanted was to climb on his shoulders and chase the butterflies in their garden. When Bill left home, she had been angrier than their mum; a little girl, barely as tall as his knees who almost made him unpack his belongings and vow he would stay forever if she would just smile at him again. Bill did leave, but not before promising he would write to her every day. He still had those letters. And that was how Bill kept Ginny in his mind: his baby sister in every scribbled line on floral parchment, demanding to know every detail about his adventures as a cursebreaker. 

Now the little girl in the letters was getting married.

When George broke past a wrestling Charlie and Ron, he entered the room with a grin that reached his eyes. It was real—all his happy, amused, teasing expressions were starting to become so. There were still shadows in his eyes as he looked to his left, searching for a constant companion that was waiting for him in a realm George was not able to reach yet, but he no longer dwelled too long in them. When his eyes found Ginny in her pretty, white dress, he remembered once more all the things he still had on this side of life. No matter how many times he wished he could find his brother, George knew Fred would have wanted him there. Both had made Ginny a promise: they would tear the mickey out of whatever git thought they were worthy of their little sister. Sure, they liked Harry, but a promise was a promise. 

And Gred and Forge had never broken a promise to Ginny. 

Once Charlie slammed Ron onto the floor, he entered the bedroom with his arms raised high, demanding praise (George clapped and Bill whistled). He had been about to take a bow, but he caught Ginny rolling her eyes at him. Like Bill, Charlie felt the weight of time crash down against his shoulders. He had not realized his little sister was no longer that—little. When Romania and dragons called Charlie straight out of Hogwarts, Ginny was still braiding flowers into crowns, putting on plays in the living room, and demanding to be taught how to properly ride a broom. Charlie was rough around the edges, always had been, but he had always been the one less inclined to put Ginny in any situation where she could get hurt. She would kick his ankles, did so plenty of times when she and their parents visited him in Romania and she wanted to pet one of the baby dragons, but he would never risk her. He promised to protect her forever. 

She didn't need him to now; Ginny could protect herself better than he could. 

While Ron failed to save face and rise up in a smooth action, Percy stepped over him as he pushed his horned-rimmed glasses back up against his face. He avoided looking at Ginny for a moment, his eyes scouting the room. He lingered on the old drawings on her walls; on rainy summer days, back before she and Ron were old enough to even go to Hogwarts, they would go to his room with parchment and crayons. Percy would always frown at the intrusion, but he would always end up closing whichever book he was reading to join them on the floor. They would spend hours drawing Newt Scamander's discovered beasts, the Gryffindor lion, or, Ginny's favorite, their family out in the garden when the weather was nice. Guilt for the things Percy had let go started to drown him inside out, but Ginny had reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers to bring him back to shore. 

I need you to live, brother, she said once, taking a bottle of firewhiskey from his hands.

Once Ron managed to get himself back on his feet, there was a scowl on his face as he made his way in. His ire had been directed at his brothers, but it settled on Ginny when he saw her face. Who had given her the right to grow up? Who had allowed her to stop being the little girl always attached to his hand, both running from the twins' pranks, Percy's lectures, or their mum's bowls full of vegetables? When had they stopped climbing trees, breaking off branches to use as wands in order to play Aurors and Thieves? When had she stopped jumping on his back, pointing a finger forward and told him to charge toward victory? When had she stopped offering a pink teacup and a plastic tiara so he could join her and her dolls for a tea party? When had she stopped being his partner? 

If he didn't get to be hers anymore, Ron was relieved it was Harry. 

"Why are all of you here?" demanded Ginny, eyeing her brothers carefully as Hermione quietly left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. "Shouldn't you all be seated by now?"

"We made a quick stop to visit Harry," said George, with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Ginny glared. "What did you idiots do?" Charlie laughed loudly along with Ron. At their audacity, she let Percy's hand go to use both of hers to smack them. "If I walk down the aisle and Harry isn't there, I guarantee none of you will be leaving the Burrow with your lives. And I'd feel terribly sorry for you, Bill," she added in a hiss, directing a finger at her eldest brother when he starting laughing, too, "because I just started liking Fleur."

Bill latched on to her finger. "Oh, be nice, Ginevra. You wouldn't murder a bloke who's about to be a father, would you?"

The siblings turned to each other, sharing confused and suspicious looks as Bill reached into the pocket of his trousers. He pulled out a small scroll wrapped in a gold ribbon. 

Ginny snatched it out of his hands, unrolling it. 

It was a sonogram. 

"Fleur's pregnant!" she shouted, eyes wide just as George took the picture from her hands. 

"It's your wedding gift, Aunt Ginny," said Bill with a grin. "Well, not really. Fleur did have something come in from France, but I thought you'd like this better than antique goblets."

Ginny tried to keep tears from falling past her dark lashes, but her brothers were hardly containing theirs.

After their loss, the world was giving them another Weasley. 

In the same way as when she was a little girl, Ginny launched herself at Bill's back. He laughed, hoisting her up as his other siblings rounded in on them, too. 

XX

In the midst of the chaos taking hold of the Burrow, no one noticed when the fireplace burned with emerald flames to welcome Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin. Upon being released from his grandmother's hand, Teddy did not wait to linger by the hearth. He tore away, shiny, new shoes covered in soot as he launched himself at the first person he saw.

"Mine-y," he greeted loudly, his arms around her knees as he looked up with a grin. 

Quick to find her balance at the sudden hug, Hermione flicked her wrist, sending the flute of champagne she'd been carrying to the Weasleys' demanding Auntie Muriel. When her hands were free, she dusted off the ash in Teddy's blue hair before using a nonverbal to clean up his new suit. 

"How could I forget a charm to repel the soot?" said Andromeda as she left the fireplace, waving her wand over herself to return her emerald dress back to its pristine state. "With all the fuss I made to get him ready, you'd think I'd remember to keep him clean."

"You do your best, Andy," replied Hermione with a smile. "Honestly, Ginny and Harry would have been perfectly okay if Teddy walked down the aisle in that footsie pajama he likes."

Andromeda bent to fix the little blazer on Teddy. "Yes, well, Ted would have loved that himself, but Pansy Parkinson stopped by this morning to make sure his suit had been delivered. I told her you personally delivered it the night before, but she said it was on her checklist."

Hermione sighed. "This wedding is being overrun by Slytherins, I'm afraid. Blaise Zabini, a classmate of ours, stopped by with a stylist to fix Harry's hair. They almost shaved his head when they realized it was a lost cause. Still, it's sticking up a little less than usual."

"About Slytherins," Andromeda started with a clearing of her throat, watching carefully as Teddy detached himself from Hermione's legs, "I was told this law paired you with my nephew Draco Malfoy."

"Draco!" squealed Teddy, pulling out a snitch from his pocket. "Nanny! Snitch!"

Andromeda smiled at her grandson, nodding to let him know she registered the winged ball that had instantly become his favorite toy. 

In her place, Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She felt like she owed Andromeda an apology. She and Ginny had taken liberties that belonged solely to Andromeda—even if the woman had first agreed to send Teddy to Malfoy Manor when Hermione had been there a few days back. It was not up to Hermione and Ginny to decide when Andromeda was ready to forgive or not forgive her estranged sister and her family, or when it would be okay for Teddy to associate with those relatives.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione was startled by the soft-spoken question and the concern in Andromeda's eyes. "Yes. I think I really am," she told her with absolute sincerity. "Draco...he's trying his best. To live after the things he has done and to make sure I'm okay with having to marry him."

Silence fell between them for a moment. They watched George rush past them, his arm linked with a stunning Angelina Johnson. Then, Andromeda whispered, "And my sister?"

"I liked Mrs. Malfoy," said Hermione, attempting a reassuring smile. "And I think Teddy liked her, too."

"Teddy also likes the garden gnomes, so I wouldn't really trust his judgment." Hermione and Andromeda turned to the staircase; Harry was descending the last three steps before touching the floor. He was adjusting the sapphire cufflinks Blaise had insisted he wear (because he had heard a Muggle tradition called for something old, blue, and borrowed—no matter how many times Harry and Hermione had explained that only applied to brides).

When Hermione started frowning at him, Harry quickly added, "They were great with Teddy, Andromeda. Really. As someone who grew up with only the Dursleys, constantly wishing for more family, I can't say it wasn't comforting to know Teddy has them. I could tell it meant a lot to Mrs. Malfoy."

"It meant a lot to her and—"

"Draco!"

Hermione turned her body at the excited shout Teddy let out, pointing a finger at the fireplace burning emerald again. Her heart sprouted wings, thundering against the bones around it to try and fly where Draco and Narcissa Malfoy now stood. Her brain screamed at her feet to move, but Teddy sprinted to them before she could obey orders. He flung himself at Draco's knees, looking up at him with the same grin he had given Hermione before lifting his left, little fist, his snitch in hand. 

The chaos that wrapped around the Burrow was invaded by a dominating silence when Andromeda and Narcissa's eyes met. 

No one else claimed to know the history that bound the sisters, but Hermione was hoping that amid the bad memories, they were also remembering the good. She hoped they could see themselves as the Black sisters. Andy and Cissy: growing up loving one another, sharing secrets and dreams, sharing jokes and fears before blood purity forced them apart. 

Hermione hoped they remembered what it was like to be family. 

"Glad you could make it, Malfoy," said Harry, clearing his throat as the women continued to stare at each other, their faces completely masked of all emotion. "Was really worried you wouldn't."

Draco scoffed, but there was not too much dislike mixed in. "Yes, I can't imagine how you'd cope if I wasn't here." He did not step away from his mother, but he did cast silver eyes at Hermione. She could tell he was nervous about what was happening around them, but he still managed to say, "You look beautiful, Granger. Remind me to gift Weasley another bag of gold for putting you in silk again."

"Thanks," Hermione said, her cheeks turning pink, "It's blue."

Harry was torn between laughing or being uncomfortable when Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth, growing horrified at the embarrassing reply she'd given Draco. 

Fortunately for her, Draco was distracted when Andromeda stepped forward, wrapping arms around his mother. It took Narcissa a few seconds to comprehend what had just occurred when she, too, embraced her sister. 

"Harry! We're five minutes behind from—Oh!" cried Mrs. Weasley as she stormed into the living room from the kitchen, her eyes growing wide at the sight of Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy reuniting after decades. "Well, that's lovely."

"Quite," said Harry, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He flashed worried, emerald eyes between Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. "I should go stand in my place, right?"

Hermione felt another wave of tears swim to the top, but Mrs. Weasley had cried hers first. She looked at Harry the way she had always looked at him: like he was hers—another son she loved and was proud of. Mrs. Weasley had been just as sentimental as Hermione had been all day, reminiscing about Ginny starting a family of her own, longing for the days gone when she would still carry her on her hip, but Mrs. Weasley also wished for the early years when Harry was just a boy sitting at her kitchen table, innocent and not yet forced to save their world from a madman. 

"Yes, dear. It's time," said Mrs. Weasley, cupping his cheek with motherly affection. "I'll go make sure everyone's in their seats. Three minutes, okay?"

She left before Harry could find his voice, frantically smoothing down his pale-blue tie for any sign of wrinkles (forgetting that Hermione—and Pansy—had cast a charm to stop anything from ruining its perfect state). 

"Scared, Potter?"

"Yeah, actually," mumbled Harry as Hermione dusted off his grey suit jacket. "You'll know what I mean when it's your time, Malfoy."

Draco cast his eyes at Hermione; her cheeks were still flushed pink, but she did not look up at him. She wrapped a hand gently around Harry's elbow, letting him lead the way to the backdoor of the Burrow. 

"Mrs. Weasley has outdone herself," Harry whispered to Hermione when they approached the garden. He caught sight of Ron in his place at the front of the altar and it eased his nerves to know his best man was there already. Harry had known for ages now that he could conquer anything if Ron was always by his side. 

"Molly has, hasn't she?" said Andromeda as she and Mrs. Malfoy approached them. "It all looks wonderful, Harry."

It had yet started snowing on their end of Britain, but Mrs. Weasley (with a little help from Hermione and George) had managed to create drizzles of snowflakes that never touched the floor. It was the canvas for the rest of the garden: a winter wonderland in hues of white, silver, and pale-blue. Benches that looked like they were made of translucent ice were lined up in rows, white rose petals leading the way up the aisle where frosted branches and fairy lights braided together to arch over where Harry and Ginny were meant to say I do.

"Come on, Ted," Harry whispered to his godson, whose hair was slowly turning black and disheveled now. When his hand touched Teddy's, he added, "Dad's getting married."

Hermione wanted to leap into Harry's arms, but she let him go to where he needed to be. She would have time to cry happy tears later; for now, she watched as Ron and Neville waited for him down the aisle, huge, supporting grins on their faces when they saw him. 

When Andromeda and Narcissa passed her to head for their seats, Hermione felt Draco's hand slip into hers. He watched his mother for a moment before meeting her eyes. They were a soft silver, like the moonlight pouring in through the falling, glittering snowflakes. His eyes, Hermione had learned by now, turned that color when he allowed himself to feel things that weren't drenched in red. 

"You did that, Hermione," he murmured. "You helped do what my mother thought was impossible."

"It wasn't me," she told him, "and there's still a lot that needs to be said between them."

"Yes," Draco brought the hand he was holding toward him, his lips lingering over her knuckles, "but this was the first step."

Her breath hitched as she waited for his mouth to touch her skin, but instead Draco tugged gently on her wrist to push her against him. Hermione felt every atom in her body ignite at his warmth, but dissolve into light when his lips pressed against hers.

She pushed herself up on her toes, her free hand coming to the back of his neck before disappearing into his hair. He had just taken a hold of her hip, pushing her further against his body like there was still space they needed to vanquish when, "Granger! We're a minute from a fucking wedding here!"

Draco and Hermione tore away from each other to find Pansy and Luna standing behind them, their bridesmaid bouquets in hand. A few feet down, Ginny and Mr. Weasley approached.

"Leave the git!" hissed Pansy. "I've snogged him before—trust me, it's not worth me cursing you!"

XX

As promised, Hermione ended up crying happy tears into the crook of Harry's neck. 

He laughed while she did, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as they swayed with the soft melody being sung by a Delacour cousin. Over Hermione's shoulder, he could see Ginny being twirled by Hagrid, her laced, long-sleeve wedding dress sparkling under the soft moonlight, rivaling the glitter of her eyes as she relished the moment. His chest filled with everlasting love and adoration—not just for his wife, but for everyone present to witness his union with the woman who had chosen to love him despite all his faults and shadows. 

"This is all I wanted for you," whispered Hermione, tears still diving past her lashes. "A chance at a good future."

Harry hugged his best friend tighter, their dancing more of a sideways rocking now. "I couldn't have gotten here without you or Ron, 'Mione. You know that, right?"

"Thank Merlin for that mountain troll that brought us together," she managed to laugh. Then, with a fresh wave of tears, she said, "It's okay to be here, Harry. It's okay to have a life despite all that we lost. Please...Always remember you deserve the chance to live no matter how many times the nightmares wake you up at night."

He wanted to ask how she knew, but Hermione pressed a kiss on his cheek and saw it in her brown eyes: she was his best friend. She knew just as Ginny knew. They knew him well enough to know what he kept to himself; and because they loved him, they would be beside him, traveling through shadows and light until the end of their days. 

Hermione slipped out of his arms, offering him up to George who had waited his turn to dance with the groom. She knew George would take the opportunity to half-heartedly threaten Harry with all the possible ways he could main him if he ever hurt Ginny, but Hermione laughed along with the crowd as the two slow danced together. 

The Potters' reception was a scene from something no one could have imagined before the war: not only were family and friends gathered together to celebrate Harry and Ginny, but there were other people they once considered adversaries honoring them, too. In the crowd of Weasleys, Pansy Parkinson sat on Ron's lap, clinking a glass of firewhiskey with Bill and Charlie while Ron engaged in a conversation with Goyle and Parvati. Blaise, who was well into his cups, was forcing Luna out of her seat, his arms waving in a manner ill-fitting of his dance skills. Beside Luna, Neville and Hannah encouraged her to join in, both of them shaking their bodies in the best and most odd way they could to make her smile. At a corner table, Andromeda and Narcissa spoke in murmurs to each other, little Teddy stretched out across both their laps, sound asleep despite the noise of the wedding reception. Furthest from the crowd, Draco and Dean sat together, passing a bottle of scotch between each other. 

"This is a party, you know," said Hermione when she had approached them. "Bit of a downer drinking in the shadows."

"Leave it to Granger to admonish us for not having fun at a party."

"People really change, don't they?" snorted Dean, attempting a smile after Draco extended the alcohol to him. "Who would've thought Hermione would one day be telling us to let loose?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione snatched the bottle from Dean before it even touched his mouth. "I just don't condone drinking your liver away to deal with your emotions. Why don't you just go talk to Luna, Dean?"

"She hates me."

"She loves you—"

"No, Hermione," Dean whispered, putting his hand out for the bottle. "She doesn't. Not anymore."

Hermione did not give the scotch back to him. Instead, she turned to Draco, searching for the voice of reason she knew did not dwell too far from his head. 

"Go home, mate," Draco said, slapping Dean on the back before standing. "You've shown up for your friends. It's okay to leave now if looking at Lovegood hurts this bad."

Dean braved a look past Hermione: Blaise and Neville had managed to make Luna laugh now, each one holding one of her hands as Hannah took a picture of them with the disposable cameras at every table. He wanted nothing more than to skid through the thin ice that kept him away from her, but this was Harry and Ginny's wedding. He did not want to make a scene and ruin their day just because Dean could not breathe if Luna was not near him.

He stood, too, nodding once at Draco before letting Hermione hug him. When she let him go, Dean forced himself not to look back at Luna and maneuver past the crowd to head for the Weasleys' open Floo. 

"You're not drunk, are you?" asked Hermione as she turned from the sad trail her fellow Gryffindor left. 

Draco snorted. "Contrary to popular belief, my mother actually taught me manners. I know better than to get plastered at a wedding. Sure, it's the only way to tolerate a Potter—two now after Weaslette agreed to be part of that trainwreck, but I suppose you can count me being sober as their wedding gift."

Tempted to throw the bottle at his head, Hermione instead took a sip from it herself. When Draco raised a blonde brow at the action, she said, "Oh, this? This is me having to drink to tolerate a Malfoy." 

"Hermione Granger: Funniest Witch of the Age," said Draco with a dry chuckle. "How'd they mix that up with Brightest?"

She took another drink to hide her laughter but failed when the scotch burned on her way down her throat. Despite his smirk, Draco took the bottle from her hand and handed her a goblet of water. She sipped tentatively, her cheeks bright pink at knowing this was the second time she made a fool of herself in front of him. 

Once she settled her coughing, Draco wrapped his fingers around her right wrist. Hermione looked down at his touch, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she recalled the kiss they shared at the edge of the garden before the wedding ceremony started. It brought back memories of her brown eyes finding his silver during it, too; he had been sitting beside his mother, both looking like they belonged among the crowd. 

Hermione wanted them to be. 

She wanted Draco to fit like a missing jigsaw piece with the rest of her life. She wanted him to see himself there, among the people she loved and consider himself and his mother as Hermione's family, too. 

It was a terrifying thought, she knew that. Hermione's knees shook at the idea that she actually wanted it, but her bravery was not only capable of surviving a war, but to cross turbulent seas for forgiving shores.  

In the same way he had done when he kissed her, Draco pulled Hermione against his body. His arms slid around her waist and she found herself resting her head on his chest, breathing faint traces of cedarwood and mint that lingered on his clothes. 

"Summer," he whispered, one of his hands traveling up her spin, leaving tingles behind. "For us."

"Our wedding?"

"It's fitting," said Draco, his hand now on the back of her neck, slowly reaching up to cup the left side of her face. She looked up from his chest, brown eyes bright like the summer sun despite the rain of snowflakes over their heads. "After we're done with Hogwarts."

Hermione swallowed the knot in her throat that formed by how his silver gaze bore into her, searching for things she had been so afraid of giving him before. "I didn't know you preferred warmer weather."

Draco leaned in; before he reclaimed her mouth in a kiss, he said, "I like the sun."

Eagerly, she rose up on her toes, her hands sliding up against his chest to wrap around his neck. Behind them, she faintly registered the music's tempo changing, more people joining the dance floor,  but she wanted to stay here long after all sound ceased to play. Maybe she wasted time accepting that the sorting hat had been right—that being with Draco Malfoy felt like finding a piece of herself she had not known was missing. Maybe it was too early to call it something more than what the feeling aspired to be, but she wanted it. 

Hermione wanted him.

She was tempted to take his hand and lead him down the hill to where the shadows were thicker and plush grass was more inviting, but Draco pulled away before she settled on that course of action. She had been about to protest the loss of his lips, but he slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers and a silver ring glittered beneath the moonlight.

"Don't worry," said Draco when Hermione's eyes widened, "It didn't belong to generations of horrible pureblood women. It belonged to me."

Again, he reached into his pocket and another ring came out. 

"My mother gave me a ring when I turned seventeen. It had the Malfoy crest at the top. I think she wanted to remind me that we were still a family, but I didn't think too much about what it meant. Not when we had just been freed from Azkaban because of the choices she and my father made."

Hermione could hardly steady her lungs, but she found herself reaching to touch his jaw when the silver in his eyes darkened like the night sky. He came back to her, breaking past hazy clouds.

"I know we're not getting married because of a choice you or I made, but it doesn't have to be something off a checklist," he told her. "So I took that ring and had them melt it down to two. A promise from me to you, Hermione, to one day be a real family."

Her hand trembled as he slipped one of the rings on her finger. She wanted to say so many things at once, but only managed to whisper, "I know we will, Draco."