"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, jabbing her elbow in her partner's ribs. "You're meant to be my date. How do you think it looks when you're staring at every tart in a scantily clad dress?"

Draco scoffed, following her closely through the crowd. "How incredibly presumptuous of you, Granger. I'm doing my job. I'm on the lookout for Zabini. He could be... anywhere." His gaze glided over the curvaceous frame of the blonde in the sequined dress making eyes at him. After he threw the girl a playful wink, Hermione dug her elbow into side again. "Hey!" Draco laughed, rubbing at his injury with dramatic flare.

Hermione stopped abruptly, turning on her heel. Malfoy nearly plowed through her and righted himself by bracing his hands on her hips. "I think we can safely rule out that bimbo's cleavage as potential hiding places for Blaise Zabini. Don't you?"

Malfoy's grey eyes darkened as he playfully tugged Hermione closer to him and let his eyes travel down the low cut of her dress. "I don't know about that, Granger. I myself could get positively lost in a good set of tits. Wouldn't be too hard at all." His pink tongue darted out, wetting his lips and drawing a heated blush to her cheeks.

Her jaw fell open slightly as the warmth of his fingertips burned through the thin satin of her dress. All at once, her senses returned, and she pushed Draco firmly backwards, causing him to bark out a laugh. "Hands off, Malfoy!"

She turned the way they had been heading and took off, allowing him to chase after her. "So I'm not allowed to look at other girls, and I can't look at you. I'll tell you, Granger, being your date is completely buggered.

Hermione almost stopped to scold him again. Almost.

But after six years of being his partner at the DMLE, she knew better. This was how Draco Malfoy found amusement. He was, as her father always used to say, a button pusher.

He was incredible at learning a suspect's weaknesses; he was cunning and cutthroat, not to mention relentless in his need to succeed. Thus, when they had begun their—forced—partnership all those years ago, he had learned everything he could about Hermione.

Oh yes, he knew how she liked her tea and the dirty romance novels she pretended she didn't read. And for all these reasons, and so many more, he was perfectly capable of pushing each and every one of her proverbial buttons.

She couldn't allow him to rile her up tonight. This case had been something they had been working towards for the better part of six months, and she swore to every god in the heavens if he fucked this up, she would flay him.

They had been tracking Blaise Zabini, Draco's childhood cohort and well-known smuggler, through the seedy underbelly of London for months. He was the prized pig of their wanted list, and they had received, on very good authority, that he would be here tonight.

Although finding him was proving to be quite the challenge. The party was beyond over the top; the tented crimson ceiling glittered with hundreds, maybe thousands, of twinkling fairy lights. Women dressed in dazzling singlets flew through the air on thick ribbons of gem-toned silks, rising and falling fluidly in gravity-defying acts.

Fire-breathers performed on a grand stage, and lining the room were smaller cabanas encircled in rich fabrics with different sideshows for people to engage in. Tarot readers, fortune tellers, and jugglers. Flyers displayed bold messages outside of shrouded tents: "Get your photo taken with the bearded lady or the seven-hundred pound man!"

All these distractions were red flags to Hermione. While the party was quite the spectacle, it seemed to lack a real purpose. It was hosted by a faceless aristocrat with no other purpose but to flaunt his wealth. Usually gatherings of this size and grandeur were to benefit a favourite charity or celebrate a birthday, but this? These attendees were in no way related. They had nothing in common other than receiving an invitation and a promise for a night of splendor.

"Granger—" Malfoy's reached for her hand, catching her by the fingertips and tugging her back to his side. "I think we ought to dance."

With a groan, she protested, attempting to wrench her arm free. "I don't want to dance. We have to find—"

Malfoy's features darkened, and he tugged her firmly into his arms. "Dance with me," he said firmly, his eyes tightening, conveying something that only she could understand after six years of being partners.

With a gulp, she nodded, letting him lead to her the centre of the dance floor. His hand found purchase on the lower curve of her back, and his eyes darted over her shoulder. They kept a safe space between their bodies as they rocked side to side, and the song changed to something slower. Draco's hand curved around her hip bone, and he pressed himself into her, his lips brushing against her ear.

"My two o'clock," he whispered and turned her so she could peek over his shoulder. She lifted on her toes, tangling her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and peeking behind him.

He'd be impossible to miss. Hermione barely recognized him from their time at Hogwarts, but she certainly knew his face from the countless photos plastered on her office walls. Blaise Zabini.

She'd long wondered if he knew that they were looking for him, but when his amber eyes met hers and he tipped a champagne flute in their direction, all doubt was gone.

Hermione pulled back, staring up at Draco with wild, frenzied eyes. "Draco, I think he knows…." Behind him, Zabini turned behind one of the many curtains and disappeared with two lackeys in tow.

"Let's go," Hermione commanded, ripping herself from his arms.

"Granger!" Draco shushed, snagging her hand and gritting his teeth. "You're driving me fucking crazy. There are better ways to capture him than barreling through this party, wands blazing."

"We are going to lose him. We can't lose him, Draco." Hermione waited for nothing more from him before she slipped through the throngs of people, carrying the hem of her black satin gown in her hands.

Once on the far side of the ballroom, Hermione paused, whipping around to search for Zabini. A few party goers seemed to notice not only that she was near frantic as she turned in her place but also that her wand was holstered on her calf, and with a scarlet blush, she dropped her hem.

"Darling," Draco called, his glare severe. "Let's take a walk—"

"Draco—" Hermione's voice cracked. "He's gone. He knows, and he's fucking gone." She stomped her foot and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Ahem?" A fragile voice called from the tent. "I think I can help you."

The two of them turned, both scowling, and stared at the feeble woman dressed in gaudy printed fabrics with a chain of gold coins around her waist. Behind her were a few velvet chairs surrounding a covered table with a clear crystal ball in the centre. They scoffed in unison and turned their backs on the little witch.

"You're looking for Mister Zabini?" Her voice lifted at the end, almost knowingly, and when they slowly faced her once more, she was giving them a gummy smile. "Please, just this way." She opened the curtain, gesturing for them.

The two of them shared a look, and with audible groans they took their seats, the curtain falling behind them.

"Miss Granger… Mister Malfoy." she grinned. "You make quite the couple."

Hermione snorted, resting back in her chair and pouting. "What an incredible gift you have in divination if you can so plainly see the affection my partner and I share for each other."

The witch's eyes sparkled as she maintained an almost uncomfortable eye contact with Hermione. "My mistake, I suppose." Her eyes twitched. "It's just that there seems to be an almost undeniable chemistry between you two. This one—" Her knotted finger pointed at Draco's face, "Has been hiding his feelings for longer and he barked out a laugh.

"You're barmy. Tell us where Zabini went." Draco's elbow hitched on the back of his chair, and he slung his ankle over his knee. His smugness in any given situation was unparalleled.

The witch's eyes glazed over briefly with an almost milky, iridescent quality. "Something about a purp— no, it was more periwinkle… yes, a periwinkle dress."

Draco's visibly stiffened, and his mouth pulled back in a low snarl. "Where's Zabini?" he repeated.

"But you, Hermione… your attraction started young, almost immediately. But it wasn't until a few years ago, in Italy, when you realised how you really felt."

Hermione's lips pursed into a tight pout, and her cheeks flamed.

Now that the heat was off of Malfoy, he brightened, grinning widely as Granger twitched under scrutiny. "Italy, Granger? Well, I do remember that little overnight. The sexual tension in that shared bed was palpable. And that those knickers—"

"Draco fucking Malfoy," Hermione hissed, "finish that sentence and I will impale you with my wand."

"Possibly worth it to tell you how much I can't forget those little black lacy underthings you looked so good in."

Hermione's lips curled back, and she landed a flat palm on his chest with a growl. "You are awful!"

"The two of you, despite your… obvious issues, have a way of finding each other in this world."

"Listen, lady—" Draco leaned forward, offering her a withering stare. "As much as we showed up here to have you mind fuck us with your bullshit, we'd much rather you just tell us which way you saw Zabini go. Can you tell us that?"

The grey-haired witch thought on that for a moment, bobbing her head back and forth before deciding. "I can. But only if you first… indulge me."

Her wrinkled hands waved over the crystal ball, and a swirl of mist appeared.

"What do you want us to do?" Hermione eyed the ball skeptically.

"Touch it. See what awaits if you choose the right path."

Draco's gaze tightened, and he looked briefly to his partner at his side. "I'm sorry, but why in the fuck do you care?"

"Call me a romantic." Her dull eyes had a renewed sparkle, and her lips curled up in a happy smile.

Hermione's head rolled to gaze at her partner, who shrugged without meeting her eyeline. "Fine. We touch the stupid ball, and you tell us where he went?"

Her wrinkled cheeks pulled into an uncomfortably large smile. "Agreed."

Hermione's back straightened, and with a tightly arched brow, she hovered her fingers over the glass. Draco, however, slouched in his chair with his head tilted in a bored manner, but his hand met Hermione's with a roll of his eyes.

For all of Hermione's lack of faith in Divination, psychics, and visions of the future, she couldn't explain why she still felt uncomfortable with it. Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed the cool glass, and she was sucked into a misty vision that blossomed behind her lids.

Hermione recognized the dress she was wearing tonight as she tossed her charmed clutch on the counter and trudged through her apartment, disappointment heavy on her shoulders. Her back was turned, and she poured herself a glass of wine from the dry bar next to her kitchen and pulled a pin from her hair so that her curls cascaded over her bare shoulders.

Behind her, the Floo roared to life and she jumped, neatly spilling her wine all over the cart and cursing under her breath. When she turned, Draco was stalking towards her with a determined look on his face.

"Listen, don't start. Okay? I know I should've—" Hermione's words were halted by Draco as one arm wound around her waist and the other tangled in the curls at the back of her neck. His lips collided with hers roughly, and he directed her towards the flat expanse of the wall. Hermione gasped against him, between the firm planes of his chest and the wall behind her. "Draco?" she breathed, blinking rapidly as she tried to make sense of the moment.

"I'm sick of not kissing you, Granger. Are you sick of not kissing me?" His dark grey eyes traveled over her features, his thumb tracing her freckled cheek bone.

Hermione paused for a long moment, staring back up at him with a heaving chest. "Yes," she finally whispered, and in no time at all, his lips were moving against hers again. Her back arched as the hand that was tangled in her hair slid down her body and clutched at the satin fabric over her bum.

Draco seemed to be restraining his movements, his hands avoiding very specific areas of her body, but Hermione didn't hold such reservations. Her hands were frenzied as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders and loosened his tie while pressing her body firmly against him.

"Room," she mumbled against his lips as her fingers slipped the buttons of his shirt free, and she steered him backwards.

Malfoy seemed to stiffen as he pulled away from her kiss. "Are you sure?"

Hermione replied with a growl as she pushed him firmly back a step and then slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. Draco's tongue flitted out to wet his lips as he stared at her bare chest and black knickers, and before she could blush or have a moment of insecurity, he gathered her in his arms. Her legs wrapped easily around his waist as he fumbled through her flat and collapsed onto her bed, settling between her legs.

The mist settled, swirled, and faded again; the scene shifted.

Hermione was pacing back and forth along the flooring of a new, posher, flat. She had her ratty old sweats on, and her hair was tied up in a messy knot. Back and forth. Back and forth. She paused only to stare at the clock, snarled at it, and then resumed her pacing.

The Floo finally came to life, and Draco stumbled in, nearly toppling to the floor and hiccuping as he tried to regain his balance.

"Oh, glad to see you've decided to come home," Hermione barked, stomping across the floor and poking him once in the chest.

Hiccup. "Sorry, love. Boys night ran a little over; you know how Harry gets when Ginny lets him loose." Draco took a few clumsy steps towards her, his lips puckered as he tried to plant a loving kiss on her lips. Her palm met his mouth first, covering his would-be kiss and redirecting his face away from her.

"It's after one o'clock in the morning, Draco! You said you'd be home after a pint." Hermione's foot tapped incessantly as she scolded him, and Draco's head rolled backwards in his drunken exhaustion.

"Not tonight, Granger. Alright? Harry and Gin had a row. What was I supposed to do?"

Hermione's hands gestured wildly, some of her hair coming loose from the knot on the crown of her head. "Oh, I don't know. Come home? If you say you'll be here, be here. It's not that bloody difficult."

She turned on her heel and stomped towards the kitchen, opening various cabinets just for the pleasure of slamming them shut after pretending to look for something.

Draco's hands lifted in surrender, and he approached her slowly, like he would a skittish animal. "Love, I think you're overreacting just a touch. I mean, this is not the first time I've gone out with my mates and been home late; you normally don't even wait up."

Hermione's shoulders stiffened, and she glared over her shoulder at him. His soft tone seemed to spark her anger from an ember to a wildfire, and she searched the counters frantically for something to launch at him.

Thankfully for Draco, it was a wet tea towel. She threw it with as much force as one could possibly throw a tea towel, and even in his drunkenness, he plucked it easily from the air and redirected it back to the counter with a chuckle.

"Are you gonna tell me what the big fucking deal is, Granger? Cause, if I have to spell it out for you, I'm pissed drunk. Any subtely is surely lost on me at this point."

Hermione's jaw quivered, and fat tears welled in the corner of her eyes. She plucked her wand from where she had rested it on the counter hours ago and murmured a spell, waving it over her belly.

Draco watched with slow realisation as a soft golden glow pulsed over her womb, and Hermione let out a sob. "I'm pregnant, you prat. And I've only just found out, and I know it's rotten timing with the case and with the promotion opening up in the department, but yeah. So that is why I've waited up for you. And I know you're going to be pissed, but I swear I was taking my potions. And honestly, I told you I didn't have my potion that night when we stayed at your parents, and you were the one who insisted it all would be just fine—"

Hermione's words died on her tongue as Draco took a few tentative steps towards her, and fell to his knees in a huff, staring at the soft glow with a reverence that stole Hermione's breath.

"Pregnant?" he breathed, his warm breath fanning over her thin tank top.

With a gulp, she nodded, unable to speak any more as his hands rested on her hips, and he pressed his forehead into her stomach.

He didn't move.

He didn't move for so long that Hermione feared he may have passed out leaning against her. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet while waiting for a response, but it wasn't until she pushed his hair back with her hand that he lifted his eyes to hers, his lashes wet.

"I might not be very good at being a dad," he warned, pressing his lips just below her belly button before rising to his feet. "I didn't have a very good example."

Hermione blinked, her jaw falling just barely open. "You—" She gulped once. "You're not mad?"

Barking out a laugh, Draco buried his face in the crook of her neck and tightened his hold around her. "No, Granger. I can safely say that 'mad' is the last thing I am." Her arms wrapped around his neck, and a few tears slid down her cheeks. "Why are you crying?" His words were muffled by her curls and skin.

"I haven't the slightest idea!" she wailed. "I'm just crying all the time now it seems, and it's so bloody annoying."

Draco's chuckle was infectious, and through her tears, she laughed too.

Hermione was discombobulated as she felt herself ripped from the scene in the kitchen and settled into another vision of on a bed.

"Stop looking at me like that! You're driving me crazy," Hermione snarled.

"Like what, darling?" Draco asked cheerfully, perched on his side and staring at her with a soft smile.

"Like I'm some poor, pathetic, beached whale who needs a solid shove back into the ocean. I'm aware of how humongous I am, and I don't need you gaping at my fat stomach to remind me."

Draco snorted and rolled off the bed."To be fair, that wasn't how I was looking at you."

Hermione was sprawled on their giant bed, all of her limbs splayed out and a frown permanently on her face as the small demon inside her stretched her to utmost capacity. She turned her head only to bare her teeth at her young husband as he buttoned his shirt.

Jealousy flared inside her as she watched him move easily about the room. "You need to get fat," Hermione said swiftly.

"Excuse me?" he scoffed, running his palm down his flat stomach. "Malfoys don't get fat."

"This Malfoy is fat," she cried, pointing two fingers at her swollen belly.

"Well…" He cocked a head at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're a Granger-Malfoy."

She ripped the pillow from behind her own head and threw it with as much force as her tired arms could manage. He ducked it with a loud laugh and crawled back into bed next to her.

"Oh, I'm just teasing you. You're not fat! You are perfectly, abundantly, fertile."

Hermione's eyes narrowed into thin slits as her lips pulled back in a growl. "Fertile?"

"You know what I mean. You are like... Mother Earth."

She sucked in a harsh breath and closed her eyes, attempting to calm herself lest she send herself into a full blown tantrum. "A hint, love. Do not refer to you pregnant wife as Mother Earth or any other planet in our solar system. She will murder you in your sleep."

Hermione felt her heart quicken and maybe felt the warmth of Draco's hand as it bumped against hers on the glass. The vision faded and then shifted.

"Are you still cross with me?" Hermione piped up, crossing the study slowly as Draco made himself a drink.

He didn't speak; the only clue that he'd heard her at all was the slight stiffening of his shoulders.

She tucked herself against him, pressing her chest against his back and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"You said—" Draco's voice was tight as he poured the whiskey in his glass and brought it to his lips.

"I know."

"You promised, actually."

"Draco, there wasn't time. I couldn't lose that lead. We got him, after years of searching, Draco. He's finally in Azkaban. I had to go—"

He finished his drink in a single gulp and slammed the glass down, moving from her embrace and standing near the lit fireplace.

The room sat in still silence for a long while as Hermione tugged on her fingers, taking a few steps towards him.

"And what if things hadn't turned out well?" Finally, he turned on her, his eyes dancing with his rage. "Did you think about that as you cuffed Zabini? What Lyra and I would do without you? I know you still want to be out there catching dark wizards and amassing glory—but what about us? What if you hadn't walked back in here tonight? What if I had to tell Lyra her mum wasn't coming home?" Draco's voice cracked, and Hermione shook her head as she crashed into his arms.

"Love, that didn't happen though. You can't just expect the worst—"

"Yes I can! I can!" He once again disentangled himself from her arms, and her shoulders slumped. "Because in my life, the worst usually happens. So I get to expect that, and I get to ask that you not rush into it with all that Gryffindor bravado that you wear with pride. Stop and think about your family for once! And if you can't do that, send a fucking otter to tell me your alive at least."

Draco stormed from the room, the door crashing behind him.

The emotions in the vision seeped into her reality. She felt a pinch and a twist deep in her chest as the scene once again changed.

"Mummy! Daddy! Hurry, hurry puhleaseeee." Lyra was stomping her foot, blonde curls shaking excitedly near the Floo.

"Lyra Jean, it doesn't matter what time we arrive. The movie won't start until it starts." Hermione swept into the room, shrugging on her jacket on and zipping the front of Lyra's, who was vibrating with excitement.

"Where's Dad?" she whined, stamping her foot.

"I'm here, I'm here! There are my girls." Rushing to their side, he placed kisses on the top of their curls and fussed with his denims. "These pants are ridiculous… and uncomfortable. If Muggles put on a nice pair of tailored Italian trousers, I swear they wouldn't' be so proud to wear these."

Hermione laughed, swatting at her husband's legs.

"So, we're getting brussel sprouts and black licorice at the theatre right?" Draco clapped his hands together with a grin, staring at his daughter's melting features as tears welled in her eyes.

"Daddy!" Lyra cried, and her parents couldn't help but chuckle. She had all the tenacity of her mother and the overzealous drama of her father.

"Alright, alright." Draco laughed, pulling his daughter into his arms. "How about popcorn and gummy bears?"

Her resoundingly happy squeal made her parents wince.

The memories—no. Visions… the visions were becoming almost painful, seeing a happy life that she couldn't make sense of. One that didn't belong to her.

Draco pulled his jumper from his shoulder and hopped out of his trousers as he slid into bed next to his wife, sidling up behind her and tugging her close.

"I missed you," she mumbled sleepily, shimmying her bum against him and placing her hand over his.

He tucked his face into the crook of her neck as his hand slid down her silk nightie before coming back up to fill his palm with the weight of her breast. "Missed you, Granger."

"Are you ever going to stop calling me that? We've been married for seven years." She chuckled sleepily, pressing her bum firmly into his growing erection.

His roaming fingers slid under her nightie and beneath the hem of her knickers, tracing the letters of his name across her clit and earning a quiet moan as she parted her thighs.

He slipped inside her wet folds, and she gasped into her feather pillow, rotating her hips to ease his access. Draco peppered open-mouthed kisses along her bare shoulder and neck as his hand left her sex and tugged his pants down.

Draco slid into her swiftly as she let out a strangled gasp. He was relentless as he drove into her, her arse cheeks slapping against his thighs, and her hand twisted behind her and cradled the back of his head.

Their quiet grunts in the night escalated as Draco's hand slipped between them and rubbed mercilessly against her clit. Her thighs clamped together as her mouth fell open in a silent cry, and Draco growled as he followed her in her release.

Everything stilled as they came down, their breaths the only sound in the room as she turned in his arms to place a kiss against his lips.

"Did I tell you I missed you yet?" she said in a low, breathy voice.

"In so many words," he smirked, returning her kiss eagerly.

Hermione felt something in her stomach curl and clench as she watched these versions of them. This was a life that she could never have imagined, and the realisation that—despite how very real it felt—it wasn't hers hurt. A final scene sprang to life as Hermione's jaw quivered with overwhelming emotion.

Hermione's silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she walked from room to room, stuffing toys under arms and tidying the counters.

As she approached the sitting room and found Lyra curled in an oversized armchair, her snowy cat dozing in her lap, Hermione lost it. She dropped the toys onto the sofa and imploded in quiet sobs. Her husband's strong arms wrapped around her, holding her together. At his touch she turned, burying her face in her chest.

"It's too soon," she cried into his shirt.

His hands traveled down her curls, soothing her with every touch. "She's the same age we were."

"Well maybe we were too young! Look at all the messes we got into…" Hermione let out another sob, her shoulders shaking as she tried to wrangle her thoughts. "We just what? Wave to her on the platform and let her leave for four months? I've seen her everyday since she came out of me, Draco. I can't just…"

"Shhh, shhh…" Draco tugged Hermione out to the balcony so she wouldn't wake their daughter and cradled her face in his palms. "Do you remember how you felt on that boat?" His cloudy eyes darkened as he stared down at his weeping wife. "I do. I'd heard about Hogwarts since the day I was born; I knew every hidden nook and cranny of the Slytherin common room before I stepped foot in it. I knew the kinds of food we would have and the ghosts that roamed the halls. I knew Quidditch and how to fly. But nothing lived up to the moment of seeing Hogwarts in person for the first time, of gliding over the Black Lake towards it. Lyra gets to experience that tomorrow. Tomorrow night, she'll be sorted for the only time in her life and she'll probably cry—like I did—when she lays down on her bed for the first night missing us."

That sent a whole new round of wails from Hermione as her fingers gripped her husband's shirt.

"We've got to let her go…"

"Let her go?" Hermione exclaimed, a fresh round of tears sliding down her cheeks.

"I'm not pretending it won't be hard, love. Just one step at a time, yeah? Let's just get her on the train. We'll take the rest as it comes." His hands never stopped their slow trailing over her skin, calming her with each touch.

"What in the world am I going to do with her gone, Draco?"

Draco's lips tugged up in a smug smirk as he reached down to squeeze her bum. "Think of all the sex we're gonna have? The couch… the counter… every surface imaginable."

Finally, Hermione laughed as she pressed her forehead into her husbands sternum. "I'm going to be very drunk tomorrow. You know that, right?"

Strong arms squeezed around her, and he pressed his cheek against her curls. "Right."

With a gasp, Hermione tore her fingers away from the glass dome, and she blinked back into reality, the small tent she sat in with Draco and a grinning, toothless witch.

"What the fuck was that?" Draco asked, wrenching his hand back as if the glass ball had been scalding.

"That was a possibility," the little woman cooed, her eyes sparkling and far from the dull, milky hue from earlier. "There are no such things as inevitabilities. In life and love, you must choose. You must choose which way you turn and the places you go. You must choose each other."

"This is…" Hermione's eyes darted around the small space before shoving her chair back and standing with a heaving chest. "This is ridiculous. I'm here to do my job, not see the future—if that's even what you're trying to peddle here. I have to go."

Her heart clattered in her chest as she wrenched back the silky fabric and took a few clumsy steps into the ballroom. She blinked through the tears threatening to spill over and spun in a circle trying to spot her next lead.

"Granger," Malfoy said softly, following closely behind her. "Granger, you don't have to listen to that silly witch. She's just a sideshow trying to make people feel—"

"Feel what? Feel like this?" She gestured to her ribs, where everything felt tight and painful. "Did she even tell you where he went?" With the back of her hand, Hermione wiped at her cheekbones and sucked in a broken breath.

"He's gone. The transaction is over, Granger… she was just a distraction."

Hermione's vision doubled as she realised that after all these months, they'd had him in their grasp and just let him go.

"I have to go." Hermione stormed towards the balcony, trying to calm the emotions raging inside her.

"Granger!" Draco took a few nervous glances over his shoulders as he jogged to match her step. "I think we should talk about this. Nothing has to change… we don't have to let this affect anything."

The fresh air slammed into Hermione and she let out a low sob she had meant to hold onto as something deep in her chest cracked.

The witch had been right about one thing; that night in Italy had been the one that changed everything for her. They'd been forced into a bed together, lest one of them sleep in the bathtub, and she'd spent all night wishing she could cross the inches to where he was and feel her body pressed against her. She'd barely slept, choosing instead to study the soft rise and fall of his bare chest and the way his lips parted when lost in sleep.

Nothing had ever really been the same again. Every time he'd taken out another daft bint from the office or stared too long at a girl in a pretty dress, Hermione's heart panged. He only ever gave her that attention as a farce, to rile her up and push her buttons in the distinct way that Draco Malfoy could. That part hurt worse than the rest.

Staring at the concerned pull of his features, Hermione's lips folded in to keep from trembling, and she nodded. "Nothing has to change," she agreed. "I'll see you Monday."

Lifting the hem of her dress, Hermione jogged down the stairs as fast as her heels would allow, hurtling towards the designated Apparition point and ignoring the sound of Draco calling after her. She disappeared in a cloud of her own magic before he could reach her.

Once on the sidewalk in front of her flat, Hermione allowed herself a few self-pitying tears before she sobered, filling her lungs with a calming breath and tilting her chin skyward.

She began the slow ascent to her flat and reminded herself with each step that love and other such nonsensical things would have to wait. Draco Malfoy could continue his never-ending quest to flirt and shag every witch with a pulse, but she— well, she would be climbing the proverbial ladder. She'd be chief of their squadron by the end of her twenties.

She didn't have time for such silliness.

Pressing the door open, she took in the dim light of her quiet apartment. There wasn't a sound now that Crooks was gone. No one to greet her, no one to worry if she'd made it home okay. Nothing.

With a defeated sigh, she tossed her charmed clutch onto the counter and moved towards her tiny drink cart, pouring herself a healthy glass of wine.

In the vision, this was when Draco was meant to enter. To press her against the wall and snog her breathless… but the Floo didn't wake. She didn't spill her wine. There was no snogging.

After a gulp of her wine, she set it on the counter and moved to her bedroom. Peeling her dress from her shoulders, she threw on an oversized t-shirt that hit nearly mid-thigh and tied her hair up in a bun.

Somewhere, Draco Malfoy was probably chasing that tart blonde from earlier in the night and she… well, she still hadn't finished the book she'd picked up, Magical Theory through Muggle Application.

She returned towards the main room, book tucked under her arm and wine in her hand, and curled up in her reading chair by the fire. As she cracked the spine of the book, she tried with all her might to keep the visions from earlier from her mind.

Suddenly, the fire in her hearth transformed to a vibrant emerald, and she jumped, the wine in her goblet sloshing over the side and staining her pages. Her jaw unhinged as she stared at the destroyed pages, and she looked up at her intruder with rage filled eyes.

"Draco Malfoy, look what you've made me do! This book is brand new! You owe me— What are you doing?" Her brows fell as he pulled the ruined book from her hands and tossed it on the table.

He knelt in front of her, meeting her eyes with a strange intensity. "Is it true what she said?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she shifted in her seat, tugging the hem of her shirt down. "I don't know what you're talking about. She's a batty old coot."

"Because it's true what she said about me. I saw you—really saw you— for the first time at the Yule Ball. Every time you wear something in that shade, I fall for you a little more. I hate the way you put too much sugar in your tea and the way you make notes in our case files, because really you don't need to write down every errant thought—"

"That's the point of note taking, Malfoy: so you don't forget errant thoughts. And if you picked up on the practice, you wouldn't constantly be asking me what the thing you were just thinking was," she interrupted with a roll of her eyes.

"I remember that night in Italy," he gulped, his cheeks staining a light pink. "I remember lying there just begging for sleep so I wouldn't have to fight the urge to take you in my arms. I remember the little knickers you wore and the way you smelled like fresh rain after you'd showered. And I want to know if what she said was true for you, too."

Hermione studied him for a long moment, waiting for the crack in his mask. He was clearly ribbing her, waiting for her to admit she found him attractive so that he could humiliate her… but she couldn't find it.

His hand brushed a stray curl from her face and then wrapped around the back of her neck, his thumb tracing a slow trail over her freckled cheek as he brought his face impossibly close to hers.

"Was it true, Granger? Because if it was, then I'd have to say I'm really sick of not kissing you. Are you sick of not kissing me?"

A shiver crawled up her spine at his words, and she nodded. This wasn't the vision. This wasn't fate. This was a choice. He'd chosen to be here, even after seeing where their life would take them if he did.

He pressed his forehead against hers, letting their breaths mingle in the space between them. She was the one to choose next, closing the space between them, and pillowing his bottom lip between hers. Moving perfectly together, their mouths opened, their tongues brushing against each other. The kiss was soft and tentative, still asking permission as they learned each other in this new and very intimate way.

But when Hermione shifted in the chair, opening her legs so he could settle between her thighs, the kiss transformed. It turned heated and hungry as his hands roamed the curves of her body through her thin shirt. Pushing up the hem of her shirt until it pooled at the junction of her hips, she slid her rear towards the edge of the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"You're beautiful," he managed between kisses. "So fucking beautiful. No… idea… how… long…"

Draco gathered her in his arms, and she effortlessly wrapped her legs around his waist, moving her kisses from his mouth to his jaw, and down his neck as he steered them towards her bedroom. Once next to her bed, her toes touched down so they were chest to chest, and Hermione stared up at him with a heated expression, her heart hammering in her chest as she slid his jacket from his shoulders and freed the buttons of his shirt.

His hands moved easily along her bum, filling his hands with her and slipping underneath her knickers as she removed his belt.

Draco assisted her in divulging himself of the rest of his clothing, and when he stood in front of her in just his pants, his gaze darkened when she tugged her shirt from her body, exposing her bare chest beneath.

Her heart slammed around her ribs like a trapped snitch, and a hot blush covered every inch of her skin as his eyes raked over her, cataloguing every dip, every freckle on her body. He brought a finger up to her collarbone, dragging it down her chest, avoiding her nipple to trail along the outer curve of her breast. Gooseflesh followed in his wake, and she was left panting, arching into his touch and silently begging for more.

He obliged, his eyes darkening as he groped her breast, filling his palm with the weight of her before sliding the pad of his thumb over her pert nipple.

Her hands curled on the cut of his hips for a moment, she tugged his erection free and gulped as she stared at the length of him. Shaking fingers pulled her own knickers down, but his eyes never left hers. She stepped into him, rising on her tiptoes to capture his lips again as she fell back on the bed and pulled him on top of her.

For all the experiences she'd had, life threatening and otherwise, this was new. Gone was the smug smirk usually gracing his lips. For the first time, he looked rather shy as he caged her with his arms, his prick pressing against her thigh. He was painfully close to pressing inside her and with every breath he took, he bumped closer and closer to her heat.

Draco looked at her once more, the slight tightening of his eyes probing a silent question. Her lips quirked as her hands carded through his soft hair and pulled him closer, shifting her hips so that he was skimming her entrance.

He pressed in, just barely, and even at the slightest of touch, her lower back lifted off the mattress, and her legs hitched onto his hips.

"Draco," she begged. "Please."

He responded with a growl, sliding into her with a rough thrust that forced a desperate gasp from her lungs. Angry, red trails marked his shoulders as she clawed at him, rocking into her until she was nearly purring.

"You're so fucking wet, Hermione…" His words were muffled by her shoulder, but the praise made her keen as she whimpered and begged for more.

Draco pulled up, resting on his haunches, and lifted her bum to rest on the top of his thigh as he drove wildly into her. Her breathy moans turned to frenzied cries when the pad of his thumb swiped at her throbbing clit, and her hands found her breasts, tugging on her nipples as he fucked her. His jaw gritted as he stared down at her.

"I need you to come for me, Hermione," he growled, a thin sheen of sweat gracing his brow as he struggled to keep from climaxing. "Come for me," he repeated, and Hermione felt her climax crash on her in wave after wave as she tensed under his ministrations.

His relieved sigh was quickly followed by a choked gasp as he collapsed on top of her and changed the angle, emptying into her with her chest flush against his. His hand squeezed the thick of her thigh as he finished plunging into her.

"Fuck," he breathed into her curls, and Hermione chuckled as she tickled his spine with her nails, earning a shiver as he pulled from inside of her and fell in a heap next to her.

The following moment was silent and blissfully happy as Hermione bit down on her lip to keep from grinning.

"This changes everything, you know," Draco finally said, his voice husky.

Her head tilted to the side several times as she considered it—considered the life that she'd seen in the vision just hours ago. She still wasn't sure she believed in such nonsense as visions and divination, but seeing that life made her want to believe.

"It does… but that's okay, right?" She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her palm as she looked down at him.

"You'll have to stop pretending you always know better than I do," he teased, tucking a curl behind her ear and trailing a finger down her jaw.

She audibly scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Fat chance, Malfoy."

His gaze tightened, and he cupped her face in his palm, his voice dropping in the darkness of her bedroom. "I want what we saw tonight. I want that with you… and I know not all those moments were happy ones—"

"Okay," she rushed, her cheeks flaming. "Okay, we'll try. I mean… I wish you would have just had the nerve to try something back in Italy, but better late than never, I suppose."

Draco barked out a laugh as he leaned up to kiss her again. "Yeah, me too, Granger."

A/N: I adopted the plunny from Strictly Dramione's S.P.E.W. feature and the prompt was to have Dramione see visions of their life together and how compatible they are. Mariedonna, this is for you!

So yeah! Hope you enjoyed this little one shot. Thanks to my lovely Alpha & Beta without whom all words would be deleted. MCal and Ravenslight, you two are my queens.