I've had this story in my head for a while now and I had to give it a shot. I don't know how long it is going to be or the actual direction it will take, but I'll figure it out as I go on.

The story will 'dance' around Hermione's and Draco's present day and past, with intercalating chapters from each period. The present day is Post-Hogwarts and set in 2003, when Hermione is 24 years old.

It is a Dramione story (obviously) and it is rated M for several reasons (language, explicit content).

Here is the first chapter and I'll upload the second one right after, since this chapter works like a kind of prologue.

I hope you enjoy and reviews are very much appreciated :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Year 2003, June
The Burrow

Falter.

This was the one verb from the English language that Hermione truly disliked. It was an ugly word; a verb with many things adjacent to it, things that normally spelled other bad, ugly things. Things that Hermione didn't want to consider or think about. Things that made her lose her great Gryffindor courage that her house was well known for – that she, as the Golden Trio's brightest witch was well known for. It was such a despicable, devious word that she tried to avoid it all together. She would never admit to a faltering moment, because such moments should never be in the her life, for she was Hermione Granger – she has seen too much, felt too much and knew things others knew nothing about. She had been to hell and back and she made it through it all, because of her heated hate towards that very same verb, that very same notion of faltering.

Hermione considered herself to be brave, with little to no regrets. She took pride in herself for all the things she had accomplished, from her Outstanding N.E.W.T.s to her fierce participation in defeating the Wizard's World most dangerous and vile wizard of all time, Voldemort. She took pride in her job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and she took pride in her friends, family, former teachers and soon-to-be-husband. Hermione was righteous, courageous and a force to reckoned with. She was a Gryffindor. She was Hermione Granger, soon to be Hermione Weasley. And as she stared at herself in the mirror, in her beautiful white dress, minutes away of making her way down the aisle, she repeated all of these things in her head, trying to get rid of that obnoxious word that insisted on floating around her perfectly, arranged curls.

Faltering.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and gathering up all the courage and pride she had in her. She blamed the present moment of her current faltering situation, on that well known sensation called nerves. She had been told about this. Alas, it was normal, right? You are supposed to feel nervous before making a life changing decision. You are supposed to feel nervous on your wedding day. You are nervous about the stupid walk towards the altar – you can trip on the end of your dress, you can break the heels of your shoes. You are nervous about facing all your friends and family, nervous about making a fool out of yourself if you show up not smiling enough or with some smeared lipstick on your face. You are nervous about your soon-to-be-husband's reaction to your dress pick; nervous about him hating it or looking at you awkwardly. Hell, you are nervous about the whole bloody ceremony and first dance and what not. What if you miss your steps? What if you spill pumpkin juice all over your dress?

Hermione grimaced at that last thought, unwanted memories making their way into her brain. Memories that spelled other bad, ugly things. Things that had to do with that damned verb:

faltering.

There it was again. Shit.

She stared harder at the woman in the mirror. She took notion of her eyes, nose, mouth, eyebrows. She watched as her chest rose and fell in the strapless top half of her dress. She concentrated on the shape of her bare arms, her gaze descending lower and lower until it came across the ruffled piece of paper she held in her right hand. She stopped and took in the details of how her fingers curled around it; of how the thin looking parchment crumbled in her hold. She was suffocating it with her hand, tearing down its once perfect edges. She hoped the words it carried would die, smothered between her trembling fingers. She hope those words would dissipate in time, like they never existed in the first place. Those words… That abhorrent, beautiful, elegant writing. Those words were being the death of all her resolve, of all her bravery, of all the things that made her Hermione Granger. Three stupid, simple words…

Hermione shook her head as if to clear her thoughts.

Get it together. Focus. Don't falter. You never falter. You hate that verb. Focus, Hermione.

She repeated the manta in her overworked brain, over and over again, until she could take a step back from the mirror. And she took it, as the suffocated parchment fell to the floor in front of her. She took another step and another and another. And without hesitating again, she turned around, grabbing the skirt of her dress to prevent any embarrassing moments and walked, heads on, out of the room and into her new, awaited future.

Hermione never looked back at the fallen piece of parchment, as it unfolded on the floor, almost magically. She never looked back to see those three atrocious, enigmatic words being reflected on the full body mirror.

'Don't do it'

Thank-you for reading! A short prologue, but the next chapter will be longer :) I also apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes, since my English is rather rusty.