"Draco, it really isn't that big of a deal."

Shockingly grey eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Please tell me that sentence did not just come out of your mouth."

Hermione huffed, her hands resting on her hips. Her unruly mane of chestnut hair was even more frazzled today as if it were feeding off her irritation. If he hadn't been so upset himself, Draco would have laughed at the sight. There was nothing quite as cute as an angry Hermione.

"You're unbelievable, you know that? How many times have we gone to the Burrow together? The Weasleys have always been accommodating and accepting of you."

He snorted, pale, slender arms crossing over his chest. "Define accepting."

Brown eyes sparked with frustration. "Have they kicked you out? Forbidden you from coming back? No, they haven't. They understand how I feel for you, and they can see you've changed."

"Oh? Is that why dear, sweet Ronald glares daggers at me from across the table every time we've had dinner there?"

Hermione threw her hands up into the air in frustration. "Oh, for Godric's sake, Draco! Ron is the exception, obviously."

She turned away from him, but his hand snaked out quick as a whip, fingers wrapping around her upper arm as he pulled her against his chest. "Because he still has a thing for you?" The words were a low murmur, the distaste nearly dripping from them as he buried his lips into the hair at the top of her head. He knew without even having to look that she was blushing. She always did.

"Don't be ridiculous. He's just…over-protective."

"Yes, and I discovered five of the known uses for dragon's blood."

Her head was pressed against his chest, and he just barely heard the soft squeak of restrained laughter. "Don't be rude, Draco."

"I'll behave if he does."

"You are such a child!"

She pulled back enough to look up into his face. He reached a hand towards her, brushing his fingers through the wild strands. "Funny. I don't believe that's what you were calling me last night." A truly devilish smirk lit up his face as Hermione's cheeks flamed red all over again. She playfully swatted at his chest.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!"

His voice was a velvety-smooth contrast to her faux-offended squeal.

"Mm, Hermione Jean Granger."

She tried to pull away again, but his arms were wrapped tightly around her slender frame, and he wouldn't let her go. Tilting her head up with a finger beneath her chin, he lowered his head, cutting off her weak attempts at protesting with his lips on hers. The softest of sighs exhaled against his mouth as she parted her lips, surrendering to his touch. It was one of his favorite things about her – she was stubborn as a mule, far more intelligent than anyone else he'd ever met, and she could more than hold her own in a duel – whether with wands or words, but that moment when she gave in to him was the sweetest submission he'd ever tasted.

He intensified the kiss, sweeping his tongue along the swell of her lower lip as he walked her backwards to the nearest wall, swallowing down the breathy moan she emitted when her back met stone.

"Draco…"

That was always a thrill. She only ever called him Malfoy now when she was thoroughly irritated with him.

"Hm?" His nose nudged her chin as he blazed a path along her skin, pressing kisses down the perfect column of her throat.

"Draco…we have to go…"

"Hm." Another noncommittal sound murmured against her skin as teeth replaced lips, gentle nips leading the way towards her collarbone.

He could feel her heartbeat in his own chest, the pace increasing more and more by the second.

"Draco…we really need to go…they're expecting us…"

"I have a counter-proposal." Long fingers danced up her sides. "How about we take this discussion to the bedroom. I'm certain I can convince you to stay home."

He felt her skin heat up, heard her breath hitch in her throat. The corners of his lips turned up against her skin. Got her.

But instead of her body becoming pliant in his hands, allowing him to carry her to their bedroom, he felt an extremely unwanted jerking sensation and was abruptly sucked along on an apparation. His feet hit solid ground, and he nearly toppled over. If he hadn't already been clutching tightly to Hermione's sides, he would have gone sprawling face-first onto the front lawn of the Burrow. His upper lip curled in disgust as he turned to view the misshapen, mess of a house – if you could even call it a house. 'Shack' would be far more appropriate.

Dropping his hands from Hermione, he held them angrily at his sides instead. "You could have warned me."

"You weren't listening to me. I decided to take matters into my own hands."

"Of course, you did. What's to stop me from just disapparating again?"

This time it was Hermione's hand that whipped out and latched onto Draco's arm. "Don't you dare, Draco." Stormy, grey eyes looked down into blazing brown. "You know how much this means to me. They're my family."

Dammit, how was he supposed to say no to that face? He had plans for tonight.

"Fine, but I don't want to stay for very long."

Her smile lit up the very world it was so bright – as if she hadn't known he was going to give in to her the entire time. He always did, especially when she dropped the 'f' word.

Family.

Heart a bit heavier in his chest, Draco followed Hermione to the front door, putting on his best effort at a pleasant smile as Arthur opened it. As always happened, his face tightened the slightest bit to see the blond man standing behind Hermione, but – as he always did – he clapped Draco on the shoulder as he swept into the warm, crowded room. Family; that was what exuded from every wall of this home, from every warm face that smiled at the two of them. It was etched into the wood, ingrained onto the furniture. The Manor may be bigger and nicer, but it had always been so cold.

"Hermione! Draco! Come in, come in!"

And there was Molly, jolly and rotund as ever, bustling about the kitchen, hair in a crimson frizz about her face from the steam from various pots and pans, the sultry scent of a feast-in-progress following her around the house like a cloak. She wrapped her arms tightly around Draco in a fierce hug. Of all the Weasleys, Molly had been the first to accept him at these functions, to acknowledge that he and Hermione truly did care for another, and – to this day – she was still the only one that was genuinely kind to him. Arthur was nice enough, and the elder siblings weren't horrible, but George, Ron, and Ginny would sooner hex him than be nice.

Still, it was still a vast improvement over what his own family's holidays had entailed.

He shook his head, brought back into the moment as Hermione slipped her hand into his, fingers lightly squeezing his own. She always knew when he had slipped off into the past, and was the only person who could bring him so swiftly back. She was his anchor.

"Thank you, Molly. It smells so good in here!"

Draco released her hand as she went with Molly to set the table, and then he turned, regarding the others in the room with a wary expression. Ah, there was Ron. He knew he had felt that icy glare between his shoulder blades. If he expected Draco to be uncomfortable or cowed by that look alone, he would be sorely disappointed. Strolling casually into the room as if he owned the space, he threw himself into the nearest chair, crossing one leg over the other and relaxing into the cushion.

"Evening, Weasleys," he greeted with false brightness, inclining his head towards the only dark-haired man in the room and adding, "Potter."

"Malfoy."

Green eyes met grey, calculating, contemplating. Considering the way the other members of the household had treated him, Draco had expected Harry Potter to outright hate him, but that hadn't been the case at all. He didn't know why, but Harry was more often than not the one to restrain Ron from being as cruel as he surely wanted to be. Sometimes, Draco thought he saw something when their eyes met, a mutual understanding. Of course, there were an infinite amount of similarities between the two that Draco had refused to recognize for the longest time. It wasn't until he had lost his own parents that he had seen Harry as more than just a schoolyard rival who had been popular without trying, loved without effort…and years after that, plus several intense conversations with Hermione, to fully face the truth: that he had been jealous of Harry for years.

"Are you all ready to open presents now?"

A general affirmation went about the room as Molly came bustling back in, wiping floured hands on her apron. "Well, go on, then, Ginny – divvy them up."

There wasn't much to hand out, really, but that was something Draco had grown used to the past few years he had been here.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Hermione stepped into the room, hands and most of her arms disappearing into her spelled handbag. One by one, she drew out a present for each person in the room, and much to Draco's surprise, she handed him one, as well. The silver wrapping paper shone brilliantly even in the dim lighting of the Burrow's sitting room, a bow tied perfectly atop it with a tiny tag attached to it. There was no name addressed on it, just a heart. Lifting an eyebrow, Draco looked over at Hermione as she took a seat on the armrest of the chair he was occupying. With one hand, he pulled her down into his lap, ignoring the disgusted snort from a certain red-head on the couch.

"I thought we weren't exchanging gifts? 'There's no need to spend money on each other when I'd rather have your company.' Weren't those your exact words?"

Smirking softly, she leaned back against him so her lips brushed against his ear. "Do you really mean to tell me you didn't get me anything?"

He made a rather rude sound in the back of his throat. "Nothing that I'll give you in front of the Weasleys."

"Oh, Draco. You are so vulgar."

"Mhm, and you love it."

The sounds of ripping paper soon filled the room as the fully-grown adults were come over with the holiday spirit as if they were children. Draco stared down at the present in his lap, hesitantly pulling at one side of the ribbon, the bow slipping undone.

"It's not going to bite, Draco."

"I have yet to be convinced of that."

Pale digits slid beneath the taped side, pulling the wrapping off to reveal a plain, black box. He looked up to ensure that everyone was engrossed in their own gifts before he pulled the lid off and placed it beside him on the floor. There was a handsome, darkly-colored leather book among a sea of deep-green tissue paper. Amusement pulled at his eyebrows.

"Really, Hermione? Green and silver?"

She shrugged a shoulder, laughing lightly. "Seemed fitting."

"I'm sure it did."

Chuckling softly, he lifted the book from its box; it was heavier than he had expected. On the front cover were his initials, and they looked to be burned into the leather with precision, the script elegant but simple. Had she gotten him a journal? Frowning, he opened it to the first page.

"The Life of Draco Lucius Malfoy," he read out quietly, furrowed brows drawn low over his eyes. "Hermione, did you write a book about me?"

She laughed a bit louder this time, head tilting back and brown curls spilling over Draco's shoulder. "Heavens, no, Draco. Just keep going."

He scowled, but did as she said, flipping to the next page.

"What the…"

He was now staring at a photo of himself as an infant. It was clearly him, a much younger – and happier-looking – Narcissa cradling him in her arms, his father standing behind her with pride in his eyes. Even at the distance from which the photo had been taken, the blond tufts of hair were visible amongst the blankets in which he was swaddled. Beneath it was scrawled a date – 9 June, 1980. He was barely a few days old. More eagerly now, he turned to the next page. A photo dominated this one, as well, only now Draco was three and toddling around with a play wand in his hand. His parents, once again, looked on fondly.

His heart constricted in his chest as he continued to look through the pages, image after image of his childhood and young life, interrupted here and there with newspaper articles about his parents, bits about the Manor, tiny little things he had forgotten about – Hermione had even managed to find a corner of his baby blanket somehow, the emerald material instantly recognizable even after so many years.

"Hermione…how…?"

Her hand was warm as she placed it over his knee, squeezing gently. "It took a bit of digging. Your family didn't throw anything away, it seems."

There was a lump in his throat, or he would have laughed. "Always have been packrats," he agreed, his voice a whisper. A weight dropped into his gut as he reached Hogwarts years, a smug-faced, pre-teen Draco standing on the platform with his parents. As he looked over more pages, he began to see the subtle differences in their appearances. At first, it was just his father who began to look more haggard, then his mother's eyes were a bit darker, hair a bit limper. Sixth year…and it was Draco who looked differently.

And though he looked carefully over every picture, he did not see a single one where his Dark Mark was visible. In a rare moment of public affection, he tilted his head to the side, resting his forehead against Hermione's shoulder, his hand snaking around her waist to hold her to him just a bit tighter, the book laid open in her lap now.

The contrast between the older and newer pictures was startling.

But then, almost as if someone had taken a paintbrush of vibrant colors to the subjects of the photos, things began to change again. Here Draco was standing in the Atrium with a group of other Ministry workers beside the newly-renovated fountain, the stone no longer depicting the oppression of muggles and lesser creatures. There was a candid of him, smiling and looking away from the camera while his hands were wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. Life slowly bled back into his face, softening the features that had been sharpened by war and more guilt than a teenager should ever have to bear.

The cause behind such a shift was clear in the next photograph:

He stood hand-in-hand with Hermione outside of the Manor. The house was looming oppressively behind them, but it was as if Hermione was her own source of light; she shone so brilliantly that none of the shadows from the past could put her out, and that light filtered through to Draco, too, brightening the blond shades of his hair, lightening his eyes.

There was the ticket stub from their first date – a muggle movie theatre, of all things. More pictures from various outings, some with others, but most just the two of them. Draco couldn't stop from laughing aloud at an image of Hermione dotting his nose with her ice cream. He looked so irritated, but the corners of his lips were turned up just enough to see that he was enjoying himself.

"Hermione…this is…"

He couldn't even find the words to finish it.

"I know."

Her lips pressed against his temple, and he breathed her in, flipping to the next page. It was empty of pictures and mementos; the only thing decorating it were three words:

To be continued.

"Alright, everyone. Gather round for a picture! Draco, what have you got there? Put it down, and get over here. Ginny, no, you go stand next to Percy. Arthur, would you please stop fiddling with the camera. I've already asked Harry to do it. Yes, thank you."

Heart swelling in his chest and amusement dancing across his features, Draco stood to the side of the Weasley family, one hand laced with Hermione's behind her back, the other resting a bit possessively on her shoulder. She leaned back against his chest, smiling up at him while Harry set the timer on the muggle camera across the room and rushed to take up his spot beside Ron.

The lights flashed once…twice…three times, and then a loud click echoed through the room followed by a bright flash of light.

"No, Arthur, the pictures don't come out instantly. It's digital – I've got to send them off somewhere to develop."

Draco tuned out Potter's conversation with Weasley Sr. as Hermione turned towards him.

"That'll be another one for the book, hm?"

"You expect me to put a picture of this lot in a book about my life?"

She looked mildly offended before realizing he was joking.

"You're a prat, anyone ever tell you?"

"Loads of times."

Grinning, she stretched up on her tip-toes to press a soft peck to his lips. Slim arms slipped around her waist, pulling her up closer.

"Thank you, Hermione. Truly."

"You're welcome, Draco." A hand reached up, resting softly against his cheek. "I just want you to have something so you can remember the good times in your life. It wasn't all darkness, and it certainly won't ever be that way again."

"I know."

She tilted her head, looking up at him curiously. Releasing her waist from one arm, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box, holding it up in front of her eyes. There was no bow, no wrapping paper; just a simple, velvet box.

Her eyes widened, face paling.

"Draco…"

"Just open it, Hermione."

Her hands were shaking noticeably as she took the box from him, a soft pop sounding as the lid opened. Nestled in white satin was a ring – not an ostentatious thing; it was mostly silver, but across the top were three jewels: a diamond, a ruby, and an emerald.

"Draco…"

His fingers hovered over the ring for a second before he pulled it out of the casing. "I was going to do this somewhere else. Maybe after dinner in a fancy restaurant, or somewhere romantic, but I figure…this is where you love to be, so this is where it should happen." Hermione gasped audibly as he lowered down to one knee before her, the ring sparkling as he held it aloft between two fingers.

"Hermione Jean Granger, we have been together for years now. You brought so much light and happiness into my life when I didn't think it was possible to smile again. You eased the ache when I lost my parents at a time I was certain I would not recover. You have helped me trudge through the accusatory glares and judgments from most of the people I see on a daily basis, reminding me every single day that I am worthy of love, because you love me. You – whom I tormented more than most all those years ago. You forgave me for that, for the mistakes that I made, and helped me see that I could make them right – that I have the ability to make the world better. You have given me a reason to not just stay locked up in the Manor all day. You have introduced me to friends – real friends – and a family that, well mostly, welcomes me." He paused, looking up with eyes open and honest into her own eyes that were now sparkling with unshed tears. "Most of all, Hermione, I love you. I want to spend every single day of the rest of my life with you. I want to have little blond-headed children with you that bury their noses into books and drive me crazy with their constant questions. I want to wake up to you every morning, and I want to fall asleep with you in my arms every night."

It was just like in one of those romantic comedies – Hermione's guilty pleasure that he had sworn to never talk about. Her hands were pressed over her mouth, her breaths slightly shuddering from the force with which she held the tears back.

"Hermione Granger," his tongue darted out to wet his lips, nerves making his mouth dry, "will you marry me?"

For what felt like an eternity, she just stood there and stared at him, but finally she nodded, her hands dropping from her mouth.

"Yes," she whispered before clearing her throat and speaking a bit louder, "Yes, Draco. Yes, of course, I will."

A brilliant grin lit up his face as he reached for her hand, sliding the ring onto her finger where it sparkled beautifully. Rising to his feet, he took her face between his palms and kissed her full on the mouth. He didn't know if anyone in the house had been watching, and he didn't particularly care.

Let the whole world see, if it wanted.

She had said yes.

Smiling brightly up at him, she wiped her fingers beneath her eyes with a shaky laugh. "Oh, Draco."

"Oh, Hermione," he gently mocked her breathy tone, though it was not a total fabrication.

They both laughed then, and he pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead, unwilling to let her go just yet. His gaze fell on the book she had given him where it still rested in the chair.

To be continued.

At least he knew now that his life would have its happy ending after all.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

Tilting her head back, she smiled beatifically up at him.

"Merry Christmas, Draco."