One for sorrow, two for mirth

She wakes up in Draco Malfoy’s bed, naked and mirthful. This is exactly how she’s been waking up almost every morning for the past month. That Draco is still asleep is a first, though. He wasn’t lying when he told her he barely sleeps. Every morning she met in his room up till now, she’s woken up alone, with him already in the shower. Hermione scoots closer and props her head on her hand so that she can stare at him in full comfort. He looks serene in his sleep, which is a relief. She’s already had the pleasure of waking him from his nightmares a good dozen times, and only Merlin knows how many of them she’s missed, sleeping deeply. But now he’s not in pain. She can’t stop herself from running her fingertips down his temple and cheek. 'Granger…' he murmurs and jerks his hand towards her, still in his sleep. Her heart aches from an inescapable surge of tenderness. Hermione kisses his palm that has landed between her jaw and ear. What is left of the Dark Mark is clearly seen on his forearm. An ugly contorted scar, standing out from the even cuts of Sectumsempra. He is just a misguided, vulnerable boy who got ground beneath the gears of war that had maimed him on the inside and outside alike. He had been one step away from the abyss which would have swallowed him whole, but at the very end, he’d managed a deed. The smallest thing everyone forgets about — even she had — because all of them had been too overjoyed to see that Harry was, in fact, alive. But Draco had risked his life to arm Harry with a wand. He’d won himself back in that moment. She cuddles up to him, feeling his half-hard cock grow against her thigh. The way this want wakes in him even at the simplest of her touches is still a bit strange to her, but also awkwardly flattering. 'Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus, ' he whispers with a drowsy snicker. Hermione smiles. It’s genuine, but she also wants Draco to wake up to the sight of his lover smiling at him. 'You know, I like how it sounds in Latin, ' she whispers, when he finally opens his eyes. 'Draco'. She’s spent enough evenings honing her Latin pronunciation, so the alveolar trill sounds just like it should. He raises his brows and opens his mouth to say something, but then decides to kiss her first. His kiss is sleepy and lazy, just lips. 'Believe it or not, I’ve also liked the Latin version more, ever since childhood. Sounds more exquisite.' He makes a face and rolls back to his side of the bed — if that can be said for a bunk made for one person. 'As if such a name on its own isn’t enough of a showboat.' 'Can I call you that, then? As a- term of endearment? ' He doesn’t get to answer because of persistent knocking on the door. They exchange startled glances. Who can be looking for Draco Malfoy first thing in the morning is quite a riddle. 'Mione, I know you’re there! ' a voice she recognizes as Ginny’s states from behind the door. Draco flops back on the pillow, relieved, and Hermione jumps out of the bed, pulls on a long t-shirt she’s brought over a couple weeks ago along with a spare toothbrush, and shuffles to the door barefoot, wincing at the cold bite of the floorstones. 'Hi, Gin.' She tries to look casual when she opens the door and faces her friend who is also her ex-boyfriend’s sister. But there’s nothing casual about Ginny coming up here. They’ve patched it up last week, after Gin got to be a witness to one particularly ugly scene. A friend of Pinescrew’s — Hermione doesn’t know his name and wouldn’t want to — had decided to trash her in the middle of the Grand Hall for simply sitting next to Draco. After calling her a Death Eater’s bangtail, he’d very swiftly ended up at the tip of Draco’s wand, even before she could stand up for herself. The guy had shaken like a leaf. All of them had been so cocky all year because Draco hadn’t retaliated once. He’d simply let them torment him, thinking he deserved that. At some point, they clearly had forgotten that a Death Eater is not just a snobbish title, that Draco could arise at any given moment as a force to be reckoned with. Yet he’d done nothing. He had stared at his prey for a few terrifyingly silent moments, then lowered his wand and declared: 'If you — any of you — have problems with me, solve them with me. Don’t ever dare to drag Granger through mud because I screwed up. She saved all of your sorry arses, so be fucking grateful.' The same evening Gin came up to her, biting her lips nervously, and said only one thing: 'I see now that he’s changed, Mione. I- I should have trusted you.' And they hugged it out for a good ten minutes which made them both teary and giggly at the same time. However, this is the first time Ginny has come searching for Hermione here. She has made it a point that as a Weasley and as Harry’s fianceé (Hermione had yelped at the news in an absolutely undignified way) there is no way she’s going to try and bridge their gap with Malfoy. Well, Hermione understands and wouldn’t ask her to — simply acknowledging her relationship with Draco is enough. 'Professor McGonagall is searching for you, ' Ginny says, making every effort not to look behind Hermione’s back, where the dreaded and possibly naked Draco Malfoy might appear. 'She sent a note via her personal owl, must be something urgent. Here.' She hands her a small roll of parchment. 'Thanks. Oh, Ginny, by the way, haven’t you seen Crookshanks? He hasn’t been around since yesterday morning, so-' 'Mione, are you happy with him? ' Gin interrupts, grabbing her elbow. 'Like, honestly? ' Hermione steals a quick glance at Draco. Having a stretch in the warm morning sunshine, he himself reminds her of Crookshanks. And he is like him — nonchalant, restive, and unlikable. To everyone but her. 'Yes, Gin. More than I’ve ever been.' She feels her lips strain in a silly smile. 'It’s not like we were meant to be, no, but… There is some magic in it — him choosing me and me — him. I am — honestly — the happiest.' Ginny responds with that unique Weasley smile that usually means something along the lines of 'You are mental, but I’m all for it'. Which is weirdly appropriate in their case. Hermione cannot help herself and abruptly hugs her. Ginny snickers, hugs her back, and runs away hastily. 'She is asking me to give an opening dance at the ball, ' Hermione scowls, diving into the safe haven of their bed and his arms. She continues her grumbling even under his kisses. 'What is- so wrong- with opening speeches?! I didn’t ace my N.E.W.T.s or fight Voldemort with dancing pas! ' 'You’d ace that too, I’m sure, ' Draco smiles at her. 'No, I was awful at the Yule Ball! Viktor was dragging me like a potato sack. Are you ready for a potato sack as your dance partner? ' He freezes. 'Oh. Granger, no, I- I’m all for dancing with this shamelessly alluring potato sack, but I can’t possibly… appear at the ball. Especially giving an opening dance. Just imagine the newspapers: Death Eater this, Death Eater that, I- Sorry.' She feels her heart drop. Ever since Headmistress McGonagall announced the Victory Ball — a special occasion for the first post-war year — Hermione has fantasised about dancing with Draco. For some reason, the thought of his hand placed firmly onto the small of her back is particularly thrilling. She’s even bought a backless dress for the occasion… But he is right. She wouldn’t want the newspapers trampling over him just because of her silly fantasy. Which would be a given now that her involvement in the event is as notable as opening the whole damn thing. 'Yes. Yes, I’m- I haven’t thought of that, forgive me. It really would be better for you to lay low.' 'I’m sorry. Honestly. We can dance here all night if you wish.' She feels her cheeks grow hot. 'Draco! You lewd oaf! ' He makes a very offended face. 'I- Meant that literally. And what did you imagine?! ' Hermione snickers and slaps him on the shoulder. 'Oh, no. No, you are not making me blush for this, Draco Malfoy, I know what you meant! ' He silences her with a thirsty kiss. Seems like he plans to practise their dance moves without delay. *** Hermione checks her dress for the umpteenth time. Well, seems like in the last twenty seconds it didn’t catch fire or anything. 'You look great, seriously, stop fussing, ' groans Anthony Goldstein, her fellow Head Boy, who graciously agreed to accompany her to the Ball. 'Oh, I know, I- Drat. I mean, thank you.' Oh, this is humiliating. 'You look nice too.' She went and asked Anthony out the very day McGonagall sent her request. He agreed on one condition: they stay together for the opening dance, and then he moves on to winning over single girls who apparently should get impressed when he makes such a striking entrance. Well, this suits Hermione perfectly: she wouldn’t want to spend the whole evening with someone she invited out of necessity. Unable to stand still, Hermione yet again looks over her dress. It’s nothing too fancy: a dark shade of blue, adorned here and there with fairy dust and tiny moonstones. The only striking thing about it is a really low-cut back. Hermione feels eerie goosebumps all over the naked skin of her back every time she imagines Anthony’s palm there. She only hopes she won’t panic because of such a trifling matter. It’s nothing, really: they go in, dance for three minutes tops — and voila, the torture is over! She squeezes a phial of the Calming Draught inside the pocket she conjured into her dress yesterday for this exact purpose. Mere minutes are left until the whole thing starts. 'Granger, are you going to hover through the entire event? Chill! ' Anthony gives her a mocking smile and lays his hand on her waist. Hermione freezes. She feels his fingertips with her bare back. It’s not disgusting. And she doesn’t start to panic, but… 'Anthony, I can’t,' she announces and beams with a smile. 'I can’t dance with you, really, there is only one person who should see this dress and I- I have to go show it to him right now. Please, tell the Headmistress that I’m sorry, but- I’ve given this school every fibre of my heart. I can have a single day-off, I think.' She leaves him there, speechless, and starts for the only place Draco can be at right now. As soon as she turns around the corner, she breaks into a run. She wants to see him right now, wants to catch every small detail of his reaction to her dress, wants to feel his fingertips on her back. She pulls up her skirts and runs down the stairs in the Entrance Hall. She’d prefer to go up the Grand Staircase, so that the hem of her dress wouldn’t get all muddied, but the stairs are moving right now and she cannot stop. The Castle’s Gates open, and Hermione runs out to the Viaduct Courtyard. The day is so wonderful — the warm rays of sun, strong scent of greenery, fresh after yesterday’s rain, even the lilac linnets are already singing their magical tunes in the canopies. Was it any other day, she’d bask here in the sunshine for a good hour, no less, but she cannot stop. She clears the convoluted stairs down to the Viaduct and runs across it, not giving a second glance to the breathtaking view over the Black Lake. Hermione is mostly indifferent to such grand amenities of nature, yet the Viaduct vista is one of the rare exceptions. She always stops to admire. But she cannot stop now. Her heel catches in a crack in the pavement, and she nearly falls. Running in heels is not easy in general, let alone over block stones, and slowing down is not an option, so she takes off her shoes and runs barefoot — through the entrance and down the marble stairs to Central Hall. Then she pauses by the fountain to put the shoes back on. The Library is just straight ahead. She doesn’t know why, but she feels it — her happiness is right behind this unimposing wooden door. She wants to fling it open, but Hermione Granger would never. This is the Hogwarts Library, a place where she used to calm all her worries, sorrows, and anxiety. She will not be disrespectful to it on her last day at school. Hermione silently opens the door and feels a fluster creep up her cheeks. There he is. With his forehead upon his hand, completely immersed in the book, he doesn’t even notice her enter. The sun, which decided to grace the Scottish Highlands with its presence today, outlines Draco’s lithe figure. He is dressed in white evening robes: looking closely, Hermione recognizes his Yule Ball attire. She wonders how it still fits him and then snorts at herself for such a Muggle question. This draws Draco’s notice. He raises his head from the book and looks surprised to see her, but only for a brief moment. 'You ditched Goldstein? ' he enquires and gets on his feet. She nods silently, for fear that her voice may fail her right now. He is shamelessly beautiful. Somehow, the pristine shirt and the well-tailored waistcoat, almost blinding in the sunshine, make him look like a goddamn fairy prince. 'What’s with that face, Granger? ' he asks, eyeing her askance. 'Your sodding robes are ridiculously obscene. I would like to kiss you right now if this is fine with you,' she gabbles, already cursing herself internally for this rattle-brained nonsense pouring out of her mouth against her will. Draco gives a series of badly stifled snorts and eventually bursts into laughter so hard he throws his head back. She is tempted to take serious offence, but then it strikes her. He is laughing for the first time in years! Not smirking, scoffing or snorting — this is an honest whole-hearted laugh… 'Granger, you are the only person in the world who can tell someone off as a compliment.' He strides up to her and steals a leisurely kiss, running his fingers down her bare back, just like she’s dreamt he would. 'Your dress is also ridiculously obscene, if you ask me.’ Hermione feels her cheeks grow even hotter. She has hoped Draco would notice her dress, but maybe not in such a suggestive manner. 'You said you are not coming, why are you dressed-up then? ' she asks, trying to keep her thoughts straight. Draco sighs and smoothes his hair. 'Well, I knew you want me to be there, despite all the comforting things you’ve said before. So, I guess… This whole day I have been trying — unsuccessfully — to muster up courage and ruin your reputation with my head held high.' So this wasn’t about him wishing to lay low, but about her reputation. He is still afraid people would think less of her because of a former Death-Eater by her side. And… He is right. But she would never admit it, since she doesn’t really care. Plus, if anything, a Malfoy would be able to fling open all the stuck-up pure-blood doors she may need opened, while any other door Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, is capable of opening herself. 'I don’t give a damn about my reputation,' she argues. 'Well, you should start if your mind is set on the Minister’s chair…' She smiles and reaches for a quick kiss. 'I had the worst possible reputation in your eyes, and look where we are now.' She lightly caresses his cheek, noticing that it has finally regained some colour. 'Bickering like a married couple.' 'Hermione, marry me.' Her hand freezes. This is officially the first time he has called her Hermione. She is not sure, but it may have startled her more than the proposal itself. 'I’d be happy to, ' she whispers, her voice betraying her. 'Right now? ' Now is his turn to look startled. 'Probably not… Why? ' She shrugs. 'We are both in evening wear. Also, I managed to make my hair look decent today. It’s a serious endeavour, I’d prefer not to waste it.' Draco gives her an uncharacteristically warm smile. 'Fine. It’s not like my parents would come to our wedding anyway… As a matter of fact, I’ve just been reading a book on handfasting. You’ve asked once, remember? ' 'Oh. So, a Muggleborn can be handfasted? ' 'Yes. There is no difference between a pure-blood and a Muggleborn.' Hermione nearly chokes on air and feels tears pricking her eyes. 'Draco, have you heard what you said? Could you… Could you repeat that? ' 'There is no difference between a pure-blood and a Muggleborn. Aside from most pure-bloods having a stick up their arses. I would have said that years ago, if I weren’t an absolute idiot, Granger.' 'Aren’t you calling me Hermione now? ' 'Give me time. I am working on that.' He leans in to catch her lips, but a sound of an opening door interrupts them. Hermione starts back from him and turns to the door. It’s Luna. Today she is sporting a puffy lilac dress, as well as a pair of blue bell-bottoms. Her golden hair is adorned with dozens of colourful ribbons. 'Why aren’t you at the ball? ' she asks, omitting any greetings. 'Luna, I’m sorry, but we are in the middle of some personal stuff, ' Hermione starts apologetically. 'So, if you could-' 'No, wait. We need a handler for the ritual, ' Draco interrupts, and before Hermione gets to say anything, he addresses Luna directly. 'Lovegood, would you please help us with our personal stuff? ' Luna smiles curiously. 'I can try.' She shrugs and finally enters the Library. 'You see, Granger and I want to marry, and for that she would like to invoke the handfasting ritual. So, if it’s fine with you, we’d like to ask you to be…' 'Oooh, the handler? No problem.' 'Great. Now, as I’ve read, your task is to-' 'I know what to do, Draco. Surely you don’t think this is the first handfasting I’m handling.' She raises her hand and runs it through her hair lightly. 'So, which colour do you want? ' They give each other a perplexed look. 'The ribbon, ' Luna elaborates. 'Oh! ' Hermione doesn’t really care, and Draco obviously cares even less. 'Your choice, ' she replies politely. To her, Luna Lovegood has always been the kind of mystery you don’t really want to unriddle. Luna gives them a curt nod and draws out of her hair a white ribbon with a slight pearly lustre. She inspects it closely and concludes: 'This one will do.' Hermione didn’t give a damn about the ribbon a moment ago, but now it suddenly seems just perfect to her. Is this what people call 'wedding fever'? She jolts when Luna chants loudly: 'Unnid yn daa! ' She isn’t holding a wand, but something undoubtedly happens: the ribbon is now glittering with golden and silver specs. 'How..? ' 'Oh, this is an ancient ceremony of druidic origin. Druids didn’t use wands and spoke Ancient Celtic! ' Luna explains while tying the ribbon around Hermione’s wrist. Just great! So she has to go first, and her knowledge of Celtic languages is non-existent in general, let alone their ancient forms… 'I didn’t have a chance to read anything! ' Hermione lashes out on Draco in an indignant whisper. 'What do I even have to say? ' 'Anything you want, Granger. We are not getting a grade for this, ' Draco teases, and she lightly stomps on his foot. This is somehow worse than her nightmares about failing the N.E.W.T.s. She was so sure there were exact lines they had to recite, much like in a traditional Muggle church wedding… What should she say? 'You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself, ' she finally says. Her cheeks are profoundly flushed, but she looks him straight in the eye. 'You cannot command me, for I am a free person.' All of that may sound too audacious, yet somehow she feels these are the right things to say. 'But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.' Something flickers in Draco’s gaze at that last sentence. Meanwhile, Luna ties his hand with the other end of the ribbon. Hermione feels magic starting to slightly thrum inside it. 'I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry out loud in the night…' Draco starts without as much as raising a brow. She turns red up to her ears in a split second. Cry in the night? What kind of a vow is this?! Stupid perverted buffoon in his lewd waistcoat! 'And the eyes into which I smile in the morning, ' he goes on and actually smiles at her. 'I pledge to you the first bite from my meat and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care. This is my wedding vow to you.' The last lines seem to be all-around traditional, which makes Hermione even more confused about 'crying names in the night' part (and absolutely furious about his exceeding knowledge on the matter). He takes her hand, and Luna wraps the ribbon tightly around their wrists and entwined fingers. 'Now repeat after me,' she says and tilts her head to the side. 'By the way, Draco, you really should use Hermione’s first name, this magic can be quite capricious. Nish as son dy bragh!' Draco squeezes her hand even tighter. 'Nish as son dy bragh, Hermione, ' he repeats, obediently using her name, and his attempt in Ancient Celtic sounds so fluent and unforced that she starts to panic. 'Nish as son dy bragh, Draco,' she enunciates, and to her surprise it doesn’t come out all that horrible after all. The ribbon gives out a blinding shine and dissipates. Is it now somewhere inside them? Or simply gone after serving its purpose? 'Congrats,' Luna says matter-of-factly and starts for the door. 'I’m gonna go tell everyone, I guess. This might shake up the ball a little.' She reaches for the doorknob and pauses. 'Are you coming, guys? ' 'Oh, you see, maybe not, we…' 'In a minute, Lovegood. You go first, ' Draco replies in Hermione’s stead, and Luna is satisfied with his answer enough to set out. 'She probably will ask why we didn’t come, you know? ' 'Who said we wouldn’t? ' Hermione gives him a doubtful look. 'Are you sure you are ready for this? ' Draco picks up his outer robe and offers her a hand. 'I am not made of glass, Gran- Hermione. I can bear a couple of signature Weasley glares.' 'This is going to be a disaster,' Hermione thinks, taking his hand after all. 'Does the ritual somehow make you call me Hermione? ' 'No. But though I love calling you by your last name, I’m afraid you’ve become a Malfoy mere minutes ago, and that doesn’t have the same ring to it. I enjoyed the growling sound of 'Granger', I suspect.' Oh, Godric. She was so desperate to make this final step towards him that all of her conditions simply slipped out of her mind. It’s so obvious that a rite used by pure-bloods wouldn’t consider any of the bride’s wishes: their ways are strictly patriarchal up to this day. She forgot and Draco couldn’t even suspect a problem here, given his upbringing. And because of his ignorance and her sheer stupidity (mostly the latter) she is now Hermione Malfoy, for fuck’s sake! 'Right…' is all she manages to squeeze out of her throat. They walk out of the Library and proceed to the Great Hall. Music is getting louder with each step they take, but they walk in icy silence. She cannot possibly tell him she doesn’t want his name! This will ruin any and all of the progress he’s made in un-hating himself… 'Hermione.' 'Yes? ' 'It was a joke. About the family name. As much as I enjoy teasing you now and then, this one wasn’t worth it. Actually, now I’m almost offended that you couldn’t even give me the benefit of a doubt.' 'What do you mean? I’m not a Malfoy? Wouldn’t the ritual incorporate the bride into her new husband’s heritage?' 'Why would it? ' 'Well, aren’t pure-blood ways-' 'Druidic handfasting has nothing to do with pure-bloods. We’ve made a union of sorts — just you and me, as equals — and you’ll remain Hermione Granger as long as you’d like. You know, I’d even prefer you as Hermione Granger, I think… Oh, and by the way. The only people I’ve heard of invoking handfasting for their wedding ceremony are my parents, so it isn’t that popular nowadays, even among pure-bloods. I hope having my illustrious Dad as a fellow handfaster wouldn’t ruin the excitement for you.' 'Doesn’t that ruin it for you? ' He stops abruptly and turns her to face him. 'I am binded by the foundations of primal wizardry to the woman I’ve loved since I was twelve. Nothing can ruin this for me.' Hermione sincerely hopes the fact that she considers a twelve-year-old being in love with her not only adorable, but also damn hot, doesn’t make her… Morally defective. He leans in to kiss her, but they are interrupted again. 'Nothing? Even me butting in can’t? Even a little bit?' a jestful voice right behind them inquires. 'Harry!' She jumps into his arms with laughter. Clearly, he already knows of her and Draco — somehow — and doesn’t mind. That alone is a relief. 'Even you, Potter, ' Draco replies, rolling his eyes a bit. 'I trust you’ve been well? ' Harry studies him with a persistent gaze for a bit and then nods. 'Stay well.' Draco nods in response. Harry pecks Hermione on the cheek, whispers, 'You’ll tell me later,' and proceeds to the Great Hall. She and Draco follow his lead at arm’s length. 'You know,' Draco starts quietly, 'I suspect the magic we’ve delved into today is much like that famous protection spell which helped your mildly annoying heroic friend to brush off an Avada.' 'Draco!' she assails, her teeth set. 'What? The spell has a name and I’m calling it accordingly. You know very well that whatever I say, I lack any murderous ability whatsoever. 'Remember that when we enter, ' she says with a smirk as they make the final steps to the doors, right behind Harry. 'I suggest you start kissing, then I dramatically fling the doors open with a spell and everyone just gawks at you with their jaws dropped, ' Harry says with a straight face. 'No? Bad plan? ' 'If your war plans have also been like this, it’s a miracle we’re all alive, ' Draco utters, but then snorts. 'Let’s just walk in quietly. Harry, you go first, everyone goes bonkers about you being here and we enter on the sly.' Harry nods with a sigh. 'Since you wonder, Malfoy: we are alive mostly because the plans were hers often enough.' 'Thought so.' Harry opens the door and dives into an immediate uproar. Hermione bites her lip, hoping these claps and barks don’t sound like a battlefield to him. They still do to her. Draco squeezes her hand, probably feeling her stiffness. 'I have returned here afraid of everything, ' he says calmly. 'Now I feel invincible, Granger. You should try it too.' 'You have years of experience in feeling invincible, Malfoy.' She snorts. 'I don’t ever feel like that, but I know I am. And knowledge is what comforts me most. Not only the kind I gather from books, but knowing simple things. Knowing that Voldemort is dead once and for all. That my parents remember me again. That Harry is finally coping with everything. Right now… What comforts me most is knowing that you are by my side. And hoping that it would always be like this, druid magic or none.' 'Hermione…' 'Fortunately, both of us happen to be impossibly devoted to the people we’ve chosen. So my hopes are high.' Draco draws her into his arms and kisses her deeply which makes her fingers tingle in anticipation. Or maybe it’s the sparks from Luna’s pearly ribbon.