May, 2004

He runs into her at Honeyduke's, his hands clenched tightly around a small bag of sweets that he is buying for Astoria. He pulls up short when he looks up and sees her standing there, both of them in front of a giant display of chocolate frogs.

She blinks at him, her mouth open softly in surprise, before a wide smile rolls across her face, and she leans forward, hugging him warmly. He breathes in her scent deeply, his hands automatically settling on the small of her back.

"Hello, Malfoy," she says shyly. Her eyes are shining and her hair is up and messy, tendrils loose and framing her face.

She looks down to her right, and he follows her gaze, landing on a toddler grasping her hand tightly, the other small knuckle fisted in Hermione's trousers as he eyes Draco bashfully.

"Say hello to Mr. Malfoy," Hermione says to her son. The image makes Draco's head and heart hurt. He hadn't seen her since the New Year's Eve party, but he saw her often enough in his dreams that she still looks exactly like he remembered.

The little boy waved at him and then smiled, revealing a smattering of shiny little teeth in his mouth. He looks more like Weasley than her, except his hair is the same shade of tawny that hers is, and his cheeks are rosy and soft with youth. Draco nods at him, not trusting himself to speak in this moment.

Hermione beams at him, and the plastic in his hand crinkles as he grasps it even tighter. "How are you?" She says.

He clears his throat. "I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, but this one," she inclines her head down towards her son, "keeps me busy." Her tone is honeyed, something that he will eventually come to recognize as the soothing cadence of a mother's love. Motherhood had been kind to her. She's still lovely, but there's something softer about her, in the curves and lines of her body and the way she carries herself.

He smiles, despite the pounding in his chest, and she eyes the bag of candy in his hand.

"Getting something for someone special? Or do you still have an incorrigible sweet tooth?" Her eyes twinkle with knowing, and he fights the urge to look away.

He hums, and her smile deepens. "I've seen pictures of you together. She's beautiful." Her tone is kind, but it hurts his ears either way. Witch's Weekly had captured photos of him and Astoria leaving a restaurant together, his hand on her back. The headline had said Eligible Malfoy Bachelor Claims One of the Remaining Sacred 28—Some Things Never Change. Though he isn't embarrassed to be seen with Astoria-she is beautiful, and kind, and exactly the kind of girl Draco needs now-there is a part of him that balks over Hermione finding out in that way.

Hermione's look is soft and affectionate, and the silence between them is comfortable in a way reminiscent of that last year at Hogwarts. It makes Draco wish he could sink into it, hold her hand and drag her down into the memory with him.

"Your mother must be very happy." Her tone is more teasing than vindictive or sharp, but it still pains him to hear her reference to Astoria's pureblood status. Then she says, "I'm happy for you, Draco." And he is in pain for another reason entirely. He makes a small, strange sound, and a corner of her mouth lifts up. "I am, really." She looks down shyly, and then meets his eyes again, "You deserve to be happy."

Ask me to stay. Say it and I'm yours he thinks, as he watches her chew on the inside of her lip thoughtfully. It's one of the nervous ticks he still recognizes from her youth. Say the words and I'll be there. I could make you happy this time.

But then the little boy fusses and tugs on his mother's hand, and Hermione looks at him apologetically and says, "I should go. Hugo here still hasn't mastered the art of patience," and Draco nods, because what else is there to say, and he watches mother and son walk out of the store hand-in-hand.

He stares at the spot that they were standing in long after they're gone, and then he puts the bag of sweets down and walks out of the door, apparating back to his flat numbly.

July, 2005

Astoria smiles at him, walking towards him, wearing only an emerald silk nightgown. He has on matching pajama bottoms, and he smirks, knowing that Granger would have a heart attack if he had suggested they wear something similar.

They've been dating for over a year now. She is beautiful in the ways that Granger isn't—deep black hair that hangs in a straight, silky curtain down her back. Tall and willowy, with legs so long that sometimes his mouth runs dry when the duvet falls down low in the morning, revealing one slender, pale thigh. Her eyes remind him of the green on their mutual Hogwarts house, and her laugh is so elegant that she looks like a portrait when she smiles.

His mother loves her, and Pansy hates her. Theo and Blaise always call him a "lucky sod," whenever he comes around with her, and sometimes, when the sunlight slants across her a certain way, the dark chocolate undertones of her hair coming out, he thinks maybe in a year or two he'll make her a Malfoy.

She crawls up the bed, her arms planted on either side of his hip, and leans forward to kiss him. Her arms are covered in a thin sheen of lotion, and she smells like fresh apples and something citrusy.

He groans lowly and reaches forward, attempting to pull her closer, but she leans back, sitting down on her calves.

He makes a disgruntled noise and arches a brow at her, leaning forward and attempting to reach for her again, but her palm comes up to his cheek and she gives him a searching look.

"I always know when you're thinking about her, you know?" She smiles softly, and he furrows his brows.

"Astoria—"

Her hand leaves his face, and she holds a palm up, though not unkindly. "Draco, don't."

So he doesn't, and her eyes drift over his, something unreadable crossing over her delicate features.

"I know because I used to have my own Hermione Granger in my life."

He raises an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth rising up as he leers at her. "Oh, did you? I never knew you had an experimental—"

She scoffs and swats his shoulder, rolling her eyes up. "Merlin, you pervert—"

He grins at her.

"—No, what I mean is," she exhales, her eyes softening, "there used to be someone that I loved very much. Too much, maybe."

He's silent, a dozen responses flit across his tongue, but he doesn't know which one would be truthful.

"You don't have to say anything, Draco. I'm not accusing you. I know…" she swallows, "well I guess what I'm trying to say is that I know what it feels like."

He touches her arm, ghosting a finger down to her wrist. "Who was he?"

She laughs, the sound light and airy. "Someone from a long, long time ago," and then she leans forward, pressing her forehead against his. "I'll never be her for you, maybe—"

He opens his mouth to interject, but she presses a finger against his parted lips. "—but Draco, if you let me…I could be your family now."

Something tender and slick rises in his throat, and he searches her eyes, finding his answer in the subtle ring of gold around her pupil.

Sliding his hand across the back of her neck, he draws her forward and kisses her.

June, 2005

The wedding is an ornate, extravagant affair. Witches' Weekly calls it "the event of the seasons," with "everyone who is anyone in attendance."

His mother spends months planning everything. She even acquires more house-elves, much to his chagrin, to ensure that Malfoy Manor is adequately prepared for the occasion.

The ceremony takes place in the sprawling backyard, with every tree and bush charmed to emit small glimmers of fairy light. In homage of their mutual Hogwarts house, silver and emerald are sprawled across every available surface, and the walkway to the wedding arch is lined with levitating candles that came to life as the bride walked down the aisle.

Astoria is radiant in the white v-cut gown with lace overlay and tiny emeralds glittering across her veil. Although neither he nor she are a fan of many pureblood traditions, they acquiesce with their parent's demands for a traditional wedding, and when he reaches forward to unveil her, his breath catches at the sight of her rosy cheeks and forest-green eyes. And he thinks, when he says, "I do," that he does, he does love her, very much, and that is enough, isn't it? Because he does.

He does.

After, holding her in his arms as they spin around the dance floor, her gown twirling around them in an arc, he starts to think about the future with her, of their new home, their new lives, of her new name and, eventually, of a new heir. His eyes blur with the possibilities, and then she is touching his cheek softly and whispering into his ear, "She's staring at you, you know?"

He looks around, following her gaze to see Hermione seated at a table with Weasley and Potter. She's wearing a long dark blue silk dress with a halter neckline, and she's staring at them thoughtfully, her lips pursed in concentration. When she sees him staring, she smiles at him beatifically, and he hums and looks away, making noncommittal sound to Astoria's statement.

"You should dance with her," Astoria says, her breath warm against his ear.

He pulls back, giving her a suspicious look, but her eyes are soft and kind, and she nudges him, nodding Hermione's way before she steps back and disappears into the throng of their friends on the dance floor.

He swallows, at a loss. He can feel her gaze burning holes into his back with curiosity, and he makes his way over, slowly, careful not to meet her gaze directly until he's standing right in front of her.

He nods to both Potter and Weasley, and both men raise their champagne flutes slightly in his direction. Weasley's stare is trained on him, though not viciously or maliciously, as Draco extends a hand towards the other man's wife. Hermione smiles and stands, accepting his offer, and he leads her onto the dance floor.

A slow song starts, the soft strands of guitar floating past them. He holds out his arms, and she slides into them. Their posture is nothing inappropriate-he keeps his hands respectfully on her waist, and she keeps one hand on his bicep and the other one enclosed in his own larger hand-but this is the most physical contact he's had with her in years and he suddenly feels disoriented and heavy, his feet dragging slightly across the floor as he leads them around.

She has her hair in a loose braid that hangs off one shoulder, and he focuses on the thick strands of hair to avoid looking at her for too long, but then she clears her throat and he looks up at the noise to find her warm, brown irises trained on him.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," she says, her fingers shifting over his slightly.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course," she says, her voice warm, "I wouldn't have missed it."

He swallows, feeling guilty. He hadn't gone to her wedding, not her anniversary party, though he kept the initiations for both. Through the grapevine, he heard that it was a simple affair, a few friends and family gathered at the burrow. A small part of him was glad it had been small-insignificant, if he wanted to be bitter-because it had made ignoring the union that much easier.

He opens his mouth, an apology on his tongue, but seeing the look in his eyes, she shakes her head slightly, the message clear it's fine. don't bring it up right now.

He raises his arm, and she twirls under him gracefully, his hand skimming lightly over the exposed skin of her back. When she's back in his arms, he leads them over to the far corner of the dance floor, where the bodies of the other couples shield them.

The music is softer here, lost in the ebb of the party, and she touches his cheek lightly, her fingers ghosting over his cheekbone as she stares at him. Something flashes across her eyes, too quick for most people to recognize, but he's so familiar with the feeling that he catches that tiny spark of it longing.

"Congratulations, Draco," she says softly.

He nods, at a loss of what to say. A new song starts, and he adjusts their pace to the song, swinging her further into the center of the dance floor. Her fingers tighten on his shoulder and she nods to his right, and says, "I think your mother would like a dance."

He looks over his shoulder to see Narcissa standing there, smiling at him elegantly. Her hair is coiffed perfectly against her neck, and she's wearing a conservative emerald gown that manages to avoid looking too matronly.

"May I?" She says to Hermione.

Hermione nods, squeezing his shoulders once more before she steps back, his hands falling from her frame, and walks back to her table. His mother glides into her place, and he moves them across the dance floor.

Her smile is warm, but there is an undertone of knowing in it that makes him uneasy.

"It was a lovely ceremony, Draco."

"Mostly due to your efforts, mother." He smiles at her, and she reaches up to push his hair back from his eyes.

"I'm proud of you, Draco," she says, and he swallows thickly. She continues, "And your father—"

"Mother, please," his says, voice tight.

Her eyes soften, and for the next few beats of the song they are silent, their movements graceful and synchronized.

"You know, Draco," she says, suddenly, "sometimes we don't get the golden snitch." He furrows his brows, unsure whether she's referring to her own widowhood or his new marriage. "But we get pretty close. And that's good enough, isn't it?" He twirls her around, her surprised laughter lighter than he's heard it be in ages, and when she spins back to face him, he nods, throat tight with something soft and heavy all at once.

September, 2018

He hugs Scorpius to him, allowing his hold to linger longer than normally, and then watches as his son clings to his mother briefly. Astoria's eyes are glossy in the sunlight flooding that platform. He is surrounded by memories at King's Cross station. There, in that corner, him at twelve, filled with anticipation as he got ready to board the train, his head swimming with ideas about what magic he would find at Hogwarts. Fifth year, his arm slung around Pansy's shoulders as he carelessly shot her a smirk and let the sound of her giggling guide them into a compartment. And then, there, sixth year when he boarded only to feel the sick pit of fear in his stomach as he rode onto his mission, the serpentine path of the journey intensifying the despair flooding into his chest.

Scorpius gives his parents once last lingering glance, and Draco smiles at him encouragingly, nodding towards the train. As he, flagged by Albus Potter, ascends the steps onto the train, Draco feels Astoria's hand slip into his, and he squeezes lightly in response.

"Reminds you of our own time, doesn't it? Merlin, I still can't get over how fast it's come." She is there, and his heart thuds in his chest painfully for the minute it takes to his eyes to flash over her features, the sunlight creating a muted halo behind her. She smiles at him kindly, and he clears his throat, his fingers dropping from Astoria's.

"Granger," he grins at her, "how are you?"

"Malfoy," a corner of her mouth turns up, and he can sense a hint of playfulness in her tone. All these years later and they still refer to each other by their surnames, even though she has been Granger-Weasley for seventeen years now.

She reaches towards Astoria first; hugging her warmly and dropping a polite greeting kiss on her cheek. When she reaches Draco, he is prepared, his heart rate significantly slower that it is a few moments ago. But then she presses against him, her smooth cheek sliding over his, lips just lightly brushing across the skin adjacent to his ear. That unforgettable scent of sandalwood blankets him in, and he feels his chest constrict painfully, his brain short-circuiting with the assault on his senses.

It is over too soon, and then she and Astoria are exchanging pleasantries about the children, about work, and suddenly Draco finds himself trailing behind his wife and the woman he will always love, all three of them on their way to a late lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.

Seated across from her at the pub, he can't stop himself from asking, "Where's Weasley?" Throughout the years, the vitriol in his pronunciation of that name has faded, and now when he says it, it sounds like genuine curiosity instead of thinly veiled animosity.

"Oh," she glances at him, and then looks away, laughing lightly as she makes a nonchalant gesture with her hand, "he got caught up in the ministry. Harry and him are on a new case." She clears her throat, her smile strained, "I'm sure he wishes he could have been here to see Rose off." There is a flicker of something in her eyes that he can't name, but Astoria cut off his train of thought before he could delve deeper into it.

"So are you hoping that Rose gets sorted into Gryffndor, just like Hugo?" Her tone is warm and light, and Hermione laughs at the question.

"I suppose I'm just hoping she ends up where she feels she belongs."

"Even if that meant Slytherin?" Draco can't help himself, the questioning blooming forth into the air between them before he can strangle it and push it back down.

She is quiet for a moment, before she meets his eyes. "Some of the bravest people I know were from Slytherin."

He swallows, hard, and Astoria smiles at Hermione kindly. "Yes, I know what you mean. I think Draco here," she nudges him softly, her hand slipping into his again, "wants Scorpius to be in Slytherin—"

False he thinks. But not Hufflepuff he adds quickly.

"—but I just want him to be happy as well. Times have changed, haven't they?"

The women share a look that only mothers could understand, and he suddenly feels all wrong, as if he is intruding on a personal moment between them. Astoria's arm buzzes from where it lies on top of his, and he looks down to see letters flashing across the enchanted green gem of her bracelet.

"Oh," she breaths out, her tone apologetic, "I think the office needs me again." She shoots them both a contrite look. "I normally wouldn't go, but they only use this bracelet for emergencies."

He nodded at her, "Go, darling, Granger and I will play nice." His wife laughs and swats his arm, and he pressed a brief kiss against her temple. When he looks back at Granger, she is looking away, the tips of her ears pink, and her fingers rigid with tension where they are clasped against her glass.

He furrows his brow. When he meets her eyes she has an unreadable expression in her eyes I used to be able to read all her expressions and he clears his throat and takes a sip of the brandy in his glass.

He suddenly feels anxious about the potential awkwardness between them. This is hardly the first time they had seen each other since then, but it felt profound somehow, poignant due to the occasion.

He drinks her in, following a tendril of hair that has fallen from her bun, the frizzy curl framing her face. She is older, as they all are, and there are small lines branching out from the corners of her eyes. He notices them when she smiles especially, but there is still that unmistakable warmth about her, that feeling of good he always gets from her. His fingers itch to reach across and touch her skin, just once, to cup her warm cheek in his own and be the man he had once thought would end up with her.

She tilts her head, studying him. "You've grown your hair out."

He breathes out a laugh. "Yes, I supposed I got tired of using all that hair potion to slick it back."

She smiles widely. "I like it," then her gaze turns thoughtful, "though I liked it the way it was back then too." Her chin drops and her tone is lighthearted when she admits, "but I would have rather hexed myself than admit that to you."

"Ah, the infamous Granger pride."

She sniffs, her chin jutting out in a way that reminds him exactly of the girl she had been. "I had to keep your head from getting any bigger than it already was, didn't I?"

His laugh comes bubbling out of him, and he feels lighter than he has in a very long time.

She takes another sip of her wine. "How is Scorpius?"

"He's good. He's very excited about Hogwarts, as I'm sure Rose is."

"Yes. She was practically dragging us to the platform today." She places a hand across her chest and sighs dramatically, "Really, I wish she would have given her poor mother a break. Now that both her and Hugo are gone the house is going to feel strange."

He chuckles. "Let's not even pretend she won't be just as much of a bookworm as her mother. She'll probably end up head girl." He tilts his head, his gaze softening, "She's the spitting image of you, you know?"

Her cheeks flare a lovely pink color. "People do say that." her hands are on the table, her left index finger drawing a small circle into her thumb, "Hugo looks much more like Ron."

She fidgets under his gaze, thumbing her wedding band. The gold glint momentarily blinding him as it ricochets off the glass and into his eye. He blinks, dazed, and she laughs nervously. "Sorry."

There is a moment of silence, and she continues, "Who knows. Maybe Scorpius and Rose will be friends."

He smiles at the possibility. "In the same way you and I were friends back then?"

She blushes and huffs out what sounds like a laugh, but the ending of it is a little strangled. "Well, I don't know if we should hope our children get up to half as much as we did." She gives him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling.

He chuckles in agreement. "True. I certainly wouldn't want to subject my son to the wrath of Hermione Granger if he ever dare touch her daughter."

The laughter between them is one of old friends, but the undercurrent that ran through them is still there, no matter how dormant it has been.

She grazes the condensation on her glass of water, and says, not meeting his eyes. "I think of you often, you know?"

He swallows, the action painful in the sudden tight air. "Granger," his voice is low, though not unkind, in warning.

She continues, ignoring him, "I just—I hope you're happy."

He eyes her wine glass. It is almost all gone, and it is her second glass, so he knows not to completely trust her train of thought. The back of his neck is prickling with the danger sirens going off in his head.

"I am, Hermione." He stares at her, "are you?"

"Yes," she says, automatically, sitting up straighter with her shoulders pushed back, as if on cue, "I am." She pauses, and then adds unnecessarily, "How could I not be?"

He eyes her over his own glass, but says nothing.

Then her postured relaxes, like she's slowly deflating, "But I do wonder sometimes," she meets his questioning look, her eyes bright, the amber flecks of them so familiar to him that he feels his stomach twist painfully, "I wonder whether or not you and I were written in the stars somewhere as well…in another life."

A hush falls over them. He searches her eyes, and then he reaches across the table to hold her hand, her fingers curling around his automatically, even after all these years.

Author's Note: It's finished. I felt hollow after I typed out the last period, but truly, I don't know that I could have given this fic a happy ending. The foundation of the plot rested on examining longing and desire, and I felt this ending really was the best way to do that justice. Please leave a review letting me know how you felt!