Usually, the people who like RoseXScorpius are fans of Dramione. I never really was, because I hate bashing Ron, but now... I dunno. I guess I am. As you can see. :)

Oh, and please review. You'll make me happy, and happiness leads to more writing.
...I think.

"But sometimes
I still think of you
And I just wanted to, just wanted you to know
My old friend...
I swear I never meant for this
I never meant...

Don't look at me that way
It was an honest mistake
Don't look at me that way
It was an honest mistake...
An honest mistake."

- "An Honest Mistake," The Bravery

It's been a while since they last saw each other. A long while, actually. Much too long.

Okay. So it's been eight years. And twenty years since they really got to talk, face to face. That's nothing to wizards and witches, with their extended lifespan, but a lot to someone like Hermione.

For the six years of his son's education, ever since the day they met again on Platform 9 ¾, Astoria had stood alone in Draco's place to wave off Scorpius and pick him back up in the summer. Draco never came around again, not even once, and a couple of times Hermione found herself feeling the same bitter disappointment that she saw reflected on Scorpius's sharp, pale face.

Even though what they once had is now nothing, she wants to see him again. She's been waiting for so long—Hugo's just finished his last year at Hogwarts, Ron's left his job with George to become an Auror, and Rose…

Rose is getting married.

Yes, so many things have changed. Hermione's one and only daughter, Rose, is going to be a bride!

The bride of Scorpius Malfoy.

She wonders if this is a taunting sign from Fate, looking down at her from Merlin-knows-where, laughing at her and pointing with a jeering finger.

"You missed your chance, little witch, so I gave it to your daughter."

Hermione sighs. Yeah. She's aware of the fact that she 'missed her chance', missed the chance to become Draco's wife and not Ron's.

Alright, maybe not wife, but… but…

Would she be happy with him? Happier than she is now?

She squeezes her eyes shut and wishes that everything will just go away, every memory and regret and guilty thought. Every recollection of Draco's soft lips brushing slightly against hers, the feeling of running her fingers through his silky hair—the same hair that her own blood and flesh gets to touch now… only on a completely different boy.

"Mum! Get down here! We've got an hour—oh, bloody hell, an hour! Only an hour!" A hysterical voice tears a hole in the metal of her train of thought and pulls her back to earth.

"Coming, Rose."

Her daughter is a bride-to-be. A bride-to-be in only sixty minutes, to the son of a certain blond-haired man, and she just wants to laugh of the irony of it all.

Even though it's not funny. No, not funny at all.

***

Draco can complain about the tacky old building, which looks precariously unstable, that stands leaning and rickety in front of him. He can complain about the fact that his son is getting married in a grassy backyard and not on the beautiful Malfoy-owned island that he himself was wedded on. He can even complain about how odd he'll look, a pale and clear-skinned freak among a huge group of happy, freckled relatives and famous previous Gryffindors.

But no. He doesn't complain about those things, although he would cheerfully argue that he has the total right to.

"Why does he have to marry her?" Draco whines instead. Astoria, her day-long dreamy my-son-is-getting-married expression twisting out of shape, glares at him.

"Because he loves her, and she loves him. Isn't that simple enough, Draco?"

He blinks. "But… but she's… she's their offspring!"

She raises a perfectly plucked brow indignantly. "Their? You should call them by their names, at the least. Just think—they will soon be the in-laws of our Scorpius!"

Draco mumbles a sarcastic comment under his breath.

"What was that?" Astoria asks, sounding suspiciously like his mother.

"Nothing."

She frowns. "Draco, is it…?" She stops suddenly, seeing his expression, and changes her mind. "Nevermind. Come on, we're late. Only fifty minutes left—fifty minutes! Oh, I need to see my son!"

"I really don't see why we can't Apparate." He scowls at the inconvenience of it all.

She scowls back. In Wizarding college, they were well-known as 'The Scowling Couple'. It wasn't a hard name to live up to. "Security reasons. The Burrow is a famous place, you know."

"Ah. Yes. I heard the stupid building has got its own Chocolate Frog card."

She glances at him, before looking away.

Draco watches her face for a moment, pondering something.

"Astoria," he begins after a long silence, "Have I ever told you about…?"

"About…" She says slowly.

"This, uh, this girl that I once…" His voice trails off nervously.

"About how much you love Hermione Weasley? Yes. I'm afraid you have." Her voice is emotionless, although he can sense it crack a little underneath its impassive cover, shatter under the mask she borrowed from him.

Everyone in his family knows how to hide emotion—everyone except Scorpius. Scorpius can try, he can pretend, but he always lets his feelings shine through.

Mmph. Must be the reason why he's marrying a Weasley, Draco thinks. He showed that Weaslette his weakness. And she probably gloated about it. And then fell in 'love' with him.

Or something like that.

"Astoria…" Draco starts again. But she cuts him off with a wave of her wand, muttering a Silencio as she does so.

"Don't talk," she warns him, "until the time comes."

He shoots his wife a quizzical look, but she merely smiles—a bit sadly, he must say—in response.

She takes his hand and pulls him up to the entrance of the Burrow, knocking three times on the door. Her knuckles make a hollow noise as they rap against the wood.

"Yes, this—oh! Astoria! You've grown so much…" Mrs. Weasley, now more fondly known as Gram or Nana Weasley, fully opens the door and smiles in a way that accentuates the crinkles and wrinkles on her face. Strands of her reddish hair, mixed with thick locks of white, fall into her eyes as they escape from the messy bun at the back of her head.

Astoria can't help but grin back. She's known Mrs. Weasley since she was age six—her father, dead and gone, used to be a close friend of the proud mom of seven. She distinctively remembers being put into the Weasleys' care once, when her mother was out getting drunk and her father was busy at the Ministry.

Her father had been in Gryffindor—a little too arrogant to be in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, but not quite big-headed enough to belong in Slytherin. He was a pureblood, handsome and charming. He even managed to capture the heart of a rich, snooty Slytherin girl—Astoria's mother.

That caring mother had ignored her since the day she stopped breastfeeding.

Okay. To say the least, Daphne was ignored the same. But she had inherited so much of their mother's personality that she didn't notice and, if she had, mind or care, much less ask to be sent to Molly Weasley, a stranger at that time, for babysitting.

Well, their father had given them a choice. And Astoria, bright and destined-to-be-sorted-into-Gryffindor-or-Ravenclaw-Astoria, had picked the one that featured an unbalanced and shaky house called 'The Burrow'.

Astoria liked the Burrow. She loved it. She loved its oddities and its coziness, she loved the way it felt more of a home to her than the huge, lonely Victorian mansion she lived in.

And now she's back. It feels strange to be in this house again, with Mrs. Weasley smiling warmly down at her, but it feels like home. Even after so long.

"How are you, Mrs. Weasley?" She asks.

The woman smiles again, wrinkles prominent, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm well. It's been so long since I've seen you." She beams at Astoria before switching her gaze to the stunned man standing next to her.

"Oh. Draco. Hello." Her cheery grin fades.

He nods curtly in response. Even if he hadn't been placed under a Silencing Charm, he wouldn't have done—or said—anything more.

"Scorpius is outside already." Mrs. Weasley chuckles, leading them back out the door. She beckons them to follow her into the yard. "He's very… nervous."

Draco has an image of his son, standing in his dress robes with a sweaty forehead and hands. But when he sees the newlywed-to-be, there is not one drop of visible perspiration. He's looking directly ahead, wearing his 'calm' face, his posture straight and perfect.

A little too perfect. Scorpius, who is notorious for his 'Muggle skater-boy' slouch (a posture that defies his arrogance), stands like a rigid wooden board. His arms are stiff by his side, hands clenched into fists. He reminds Draco of a pole wearing robes.

"Scorpius!" Astoria greets her son. She hugs him tight.

"Mom." He keeps staring ahead.

"Did you enjoy your bachelor's party last night?" She asks. Silent at her side, Draco thinks back to his own party. He and a couple of old followers had gone to a strip joint. It was fun.

"Hated it," Scorpius replies cheerfully.

Relieved to finally see a change in emotion, Draco smiles.

"Good," Astoria says. "That means you're going to be a very loyal husband."

At the mention of husband, Scorpius seems to stop breathing. "Hus… hus…" He chokes. "Mum, did you… did you have to bring it up?"

"Husband! Husband!" Astoria snaps. "Merlin, Scorpius, don't make such a big deal out of one word! You're going to get married in less than"—she looks at Mrs. Weasley, who holds up three fingers—"thirty minutes!"

"Marri… mar…" He gasps, trembling.

His mother sighs. "This is hopeless." She looks at her partner. "Draco, go sit in the crowd. Somewhere."

Draco blinks, realizing that—while Astoria tried spoke to their son—the guests had started to file in. Surprisingly, there aren't as many redheads as he'd expected. In fact, there were actually quite a lot of brunettes, like—

Oh.

He wants to fly away. Soar. Leap, jump. It doesn't matter, as long as he gets the hell away.

Draco prays softly inside, Please don't see me, please don't see me…

Too late. She meets his eyes, brown to grey, and her jaw drops.

They stare at each other for a while. She looks good, he realizes. She's wearing a long, swishy dress and her hair is smooth—straightened for the occasion, he supposes. She doesn't look any older since they last met.

She beckons him with her fingers. Numbly, he moves forward, oblivious to the stares shooting at him from every direction.

As Draco nears Hermione, his mind whirs crazily. What should I say? What should I do?

Two decades ago, they were in love. They loved each other so much—too much, almost. Hermione had just broken up with Ron, and Draco was staying as far as he could from stalker-like Pansy when the two of them met coincidentally in the Three Broomsticks. They regarded one other very coldly at first—but after giving up butterbeers for more… more alcoholic drinks, they ended up kissing and Apparating to Hermione's apartment in Liverpool. From that night on, they became a… a couple. Hermione was more than just one of Draco's one-night stands. He actually loved her, although he never got around to admitting it. And she loved him.

Then Draco ruined everything by sleeping with Pansy.

It was an accident. He told himself that, over and over, until the words became nothing but a false and never-ending mantra rolling through his mind. He told himself that because Hermione had already left him by then, and the only person to convince was himself.

Even now, Draco still claims that the incident had been nothing but an accident. The words are still hanging there in his brain, dangling by a thread, as he walks up to the woman he used to love.

"Draco," says Hermione softly. She looks even more beautiful up close.

I can't speak, he contemplates about mouthing to her silently.

But suddenly, the spell is broken.

"Hermione," Draco says, and his voice cracks a bit at the end. He clears his throat. "Uh, hello."

"Hi." She points to a row of empty seats, where no one will be able to eavesdrop on their conversation. She sits, and he does the same.

"It's… it's been a long time."

"It has."

Hermione's gaze drifts toward Scorpius, who is now fidgeting nervously instead of standing frozen.

"Our children are getting married." She smiles briefly. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"I suppose."

A long silence ensures. Draco turns to his former lover and says gently, "I'm sorry."

The smile is back on her face. Cool, calm. She wasn't like this before. She used to lose her temper so easily.

"Alright," she replies simply after a long pause, not even looking at him.

"I'm sorry," he says again, his voice rising into a plead. "It was a mistake. An honest mistake."

Hermione says nothing.

"We could've had a future together."

She finally turns to face him, and he sees that her eyes are a bit wet. She isn't angry at all, he realizes. Her heartbreak was a thing of the past. Now all that's left is the infinite, regretful aftershock.

"A future? What about them?"

"Who?"

"Scorpius and Rose. And my Hugh. Don't you… don't you love your own son?" She swiftly wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, blinking up at him with those big orbs, framed by thick lashes.

"Of course I do," Draco mutters. "But…" He meets her intense stare, grey eyes probing her brown ones.

"I loved you," He confesses. Heat immediately rushes to his pale cheeks.

"I loved you too," Hermione whispers.

The yard is suddenly silent as Rose appears on Ron's arm. Hermione and Draco drop their emotional, distressing conversation and twist in their seats, craning their necks as father and daughter walk slowly down the aisle. Rose looks amazing in a long, floaty white dress. Her face is slightly flushed with happiness, freckles popping against her fair skin. Old Auntie Muriel's goblin-made tiara is perched on her tamed red curls, which are usually wild and messy. As she and her father move proudly down the aisle, Ron scans the crowds of people, obviously trying to spot his wife. Hermione slinks down slightly in her seat, praying to Merlin that she remains unseen.

The two of them walk past, and Hermione straightens back up. Her eyes are only on her daughter.

The tiny white-haired wizard, the one who spoke at every Wizarding wedding and funeral Hermione has ever gone to, opens his mouth just as Ron hands Rose to Scorpius.

Draco laces his fingers through Hermione's. She's a bit surprised by it, but quickly presses her palm to his. He makes her feel so nostalgic, so heartbroken. As they grip each other's hands, Rose and Scorpius lean in. They kiss, bodies melding together, and the audience erupts into applause and cheers

Hermione cries. Of course she does. Draco feels his own eyes tearing up as well. The two of them cry because they're happy for their children, but they also cry because Rose and Scorpius are what they could've been.

And as everyone else is distracted by the commotion of joy and love of a newly wedded couple, Hermione and Draco tilt their heads slightly and press their lips together. Softly, slightly bittersweet, without a trace of the hard passion they used to share.

They're both married. They both have happy lives that don't involve each other. But they kiss anyway, because they both know that this kiss is their last.

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