Hermione woke up at 2:36 in the morning and rolled over to her bedpartner. "Draco," she shook him. "Wake up."

He rolled away from her and made a series of gurgling sounds that didn't sound like any language at all.

She shook his shoulder again. "No," he groaned, finally creating coherent words. "No more sex for you. I need at least four hours of beauty sleep."

She rolled her eyes and shook his shoulder again. "Draco."

"Hermione," he groaned.

He was awake enough. She'd settle for that. "I want to marry you," she told him.

He pulled the pillow over his head. "You will. In the morning."

She pulled his pillow away. "No, you daft prat. I want to marry you."

He sat up suddenly. "What did you say?" He asked, his eyes wide.

"I want to marry you," she repeated.

He brought his hands up to cup her face, his thumbs tracing her jaw.

"Say it again," he asked, all traces of sleep gone from his voice.

"I want to marry you," she said. "I want to marry you. I want to marry you." She rolled the words in her mouth. She loved them. Loved him. She had waited and wondered why she didn't, alternated between telling herself that was normal and thinking she was broken and here it was. It had clicked in her heart. She was ready.

He kissed her soundly. "Say it again," he said and she laughed.

"I want to marry you," she repeated over and over again between kisses.

He rolled over her and kissed her squarely and she repeated it over, and over, and over again.