Anyone But You

Hermione Malfoy walked leisurely down the winding corridor, her curve-friendly silk nightgown clinging to her exquisite form. She pulled a soft-bristled brush through her mostly-tamed chestnut curls, humming an old family tune as she went. The light of dawn had only just graced the painted hills that hugged the land around her home, a soft, if not eerie, glow seeping through the drawn shades and curtains over every window. Not that she didn't enjoy the fresh morning sun—it was her irritable other half that shut up the windows each day. And, for him, she would unquestioningly agree to anything.

Her friends—even her always supportive parents—had been against their union. They said he was too cold, too abrasive, "too much of a git" her life-long best friend Ron Weasley had hissed under his breath when she announced one cool autumn evening that she and her boyfriend of six weeks were to be married within the month. They had, of course, been against her dating him as well, throwing angry fits—and something close-by objects—in an attempt to reason her into changing her mind. But, as they soon found out, there was nothing they could say or do or threaten to make her back away from what she wanted.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. And only one other soul knew of her apprehension towards her husband of scarcely a year: Ginny Weasley. Though the girls had spent much of their years at Hogwarts as mostly acquaintances, over the time of war they grew inseparable, now unable to go more than a few days without at least speaking, though they preferred to talk in person.

"Sometimes I just want to get up and run barefoot out of the house, Gin," Hermione sighed, her arm cradled under her head as she lay on the opposite side of Ginny and Harry's bed—he and Ron and Neville were off at a Quidditch match in Prague. Hermione was spending the weekend with Ginny, a much-needed break from her home-life.

"Barefoot?" her friend inquired, pulling her licorice whip from between her teeth.

"Yeah, just leave everything, even my shoes, behind."

"If you're unhappy, then why did you get married?" This was by no means the first time such a concern had been voiced.

"I don't think it's physically possible for me to leave him."

"What's that supposed to mean? If you don't want to stay, then don't. Simple as that. Even if you love him, that's no reason to be unhappy."

"That's where I disagree with you," Hermione sighed more heavily, burying her face against her elbow. "I'm more than in love with him, Ginny," she said, lifting her head again. "I'm obsessed. I'm addicted. Cursed. Mystified. Terrified," she added with a bitter sort of laughter/snort. "No matter how I fall asleep at night, I wake up every morning and fall in love with him all over again."

Ginny didn't say a word. Honestly, she thought Hermione was insane to think she loved someone that much who got under her skin within seconds of entering a room. But, if she loved him as much as she said she did, then what was the problem?

"Sometimes you really scare me, Hermione," Ginny laughed, and tossed her a licorice whip. Hermione devoured it in one bite.

I'd like to run away from you
But if I were to leave you I would die
I'd like to break the chains you put around me
And yet I'll never try

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, his voice a low grunt, his eyes pasted to the pages of the book he read. Something about international dragon trade. Hermione never inquired about his hobbies.

"I told you I was coming home tonight," she said, dropping her bag on the carpeted floor of his study. It made a dull thud sound; he ignored it. "Did you owl Tonks that letter I left on the burrow?"

"What letter?" He was barely paying attention. Apparently dragon trade was the most bloody fascinating thing on the damned planet.

The book was on the floor before Draco realized she'd yanked it away. When he looked up, her eyes were smoldering. And not in the good way.

"That letter absolutely had to go out yesterday, Draco! Do you have any idea how important—"

"No, I don't," he countered, rising slowly to his feet. He towered over her a good six or seven inches. She didn't blink. "But please," he continued, his voice smothered in indifferent, "enlighten me."

"That letter contained the finalized date of the next Auror meeting. It had to be out yesterday so everyone could plan around—Oh hell!" she cried, throwing up her hands. "Why do I bother?"

She made it into the hall when Draco caught up with her, yanking her around to face him. Her face blazed with anger. She shoved him back when she realized he was smiling.

"What?" she hissed.

Without preamble, he dipped down and kissed her with more passion than any amount of anger could hold. When he stepped back, her lips were bruised, her breathing slightly faster. He was still smiling.

"Here," he said, handing her an envelope with her name on it.

"What's this?"

"Maybe if you open it, you'll find out."

Against her will she felt her eyebrows narrow. He was so condescending she wondered how he'd lowered himself to marry her in the first place.

Tearing at the envelope as if it were the cause of her distress, Hermione didn't shift her gaze from her husband's. After several long minutes, she looked down, confusion—and pink embarrassment—not written, but carved, on her face.

"You sent the letter?"

"Did I say I didn't?"

No matter what you do you drive me crazy
I'd rather be alone
But then I know my life would be so empty
As soon as you were gone

Two days later Draco was scheduled to leave the country for a few days on business. He awoke early that morning, showered, dressed, ate a minimal breakfast of toast and tea, then slipped out of the manor's front doors without so much as saying good-bye to his wife. Hermione climbed out of bed, taking note of the long-cold space her husband's body had occupied the night before, and trudged down to the kitchen. It was nine o'clock by the time she forced herself to take a shower and begin her day—it was Saturday and she didn't have to go to work.

Sometime around one in the after noon Harry showed up, a vase of lilies in his hand.

"What's the occasion?" Hermione asked, placing the sensually fragrant bouquet on a stand by the door in the foyer.

"You told me Malfoy was going out of town for a few days," he said, shrugging off his cloak. "I came by to keep you company for a while."

"Where's Ginny?"

"She and Ron were called to a family meeting at The Burrow."

"Why aren't you there?" Of course it was common knowledge that Harry was a son to the Weasley's, and not only because Ginny was his wife. Therefore it was a strange thing indeed when Harry wasn't involved in a family affair.

"Percy called the meeting," he answered, trying—though not very hard—to keep from frowning. He and the others still hadn't fully forgiven him for the way he'd treated everyone for so long back before the war. "So, how are you holding up?" he asked once they were settled on the back patio with glasses of iced tea.

"He only left just this morning," Hermione laughed. "I'm not going to die from not seeing him for six hours, Harry."

"Very well." And he dropped it. He knew his best friend, after all. She was obviously upset to be without her husband, no matter how much of a pain in the neck he was. He was also smart enough, however, to know when to shut up and drink his tea.

Impossible to live with you
But I could never live without you
For whatever you do / For whatever you do
I never, never, never
Want to be in love with anyone but you

At times when Hermione was alone and felt to her thoughts, she often pondered what it would be like had she married someone else instead. Ron, perhaps, who she had once loved. Anyone other than her husband. Would like be easier? More fun? Less stressful?

But the moment these thoughts crawled their way into her brain, she pushed them away. After all, she'd married him for a reason. She loved him, more than he could possibly imagine—so much, in fact, sometimes she found herself crying in one of the many unused rooms of their massive home, the pain of loving him cutting deep and stinging worse than the serrated edge of a hot blade.

He came home well past midnight on Tuesday, slipping into bed without saying a word. Hermione feigned sleep, already turned away from him. She was stewing and she planned on giving him a good lecture when they woke up the next day. But when, after having laid in silence for close to ten minutes, he reached over and hugged her from behind, all thoughts of an impending fight fled a cat from water.

"I missed you," she whispered as he made love to her. She had to give him that, at least—when they slept together, Draco always—always—made love to her.

Running his calloused hands over her smooth face, he dropped his head, his lips burning her flesh.

"Me too," he said, smirking into her neck.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, his mind clouded with the sensations her body was pumping through him.

"I want to have a baby."

You make me sad
You make me strong
You make me mad
You make me long for you / You make me long for you

Hermione cried for the better part of an hour, her back pressed against the cold wood of the bathroom door. Not that she needed to guard it—she'd spell-locked it and Draco wasn't naïve enough to think he could outmatch his wife. He made a fair attempt at trying to reason with her through the door, giving up after twenty minutes of listening to her insult everything from his attitude to his performance in bed. And he hated to admit it, but the latter stung. Not that he believed she was telling the truth, but for anyone to resort to such bass verbal abuse was a flaming red flag—he was in trouble.

Inside the bathroom, her knees curled against her chest, Hermione let out a shaky sigh. She was tired. Tired of crying. Tired of fighting. Tired of being angry and sad and depressed. Tired of loving a man who did his best to make her life hell.

It wasn't as if she wanted a baby right away. She'd planned on talking to him about kids for a long time now. She figured they'd discuss it and maybe sometime in a few years they'd start a family. What she hadn't counted on, however, was for Draco to blow up in her face, leaving her naked and horrified on their bed. She'd scrambled to the bathroom the instant he looked away.

Ginny had a mug of tea ready within five minutes of Hermione's arrival. She didn't even ask her friend what she was there for, ignoring the fact that it was two in the morning. Harry, who awoke at the sound of knocking, had been banned by his wife from coming into the kitchen. "Girl talk", she'd said. Begrudgingly he retreated back into their bedroom.

"Did he just expect me to never want children?" Hermione blurted out.

"Did he say why?" Ginny asked cautiously. She and Harry had been weighing the pros and cons of having kids for months now. They both agreed that bringing another "Potter" into the world was dangerous, seeing as some of Voldemort's old supporters were still out there somewhere. And while they both wanted to be parents, they were having a difficult time deciding if it was a safe idea.

"He jabbered on about his parents and dark magic and some nonsense about having bad genes that he didn't want to pass on. I locked him out of the bathroom before he could say anymore."

Ginny only nodded. It was a common fact to her that when Hermione and Draco fought, Hermione sought refuge in the bathroom—it just so happened that most of their fights occurred within the vicinity it.

"Can I stay here for a few days?"

Not wanting to appear overly concerned and be told she was exaggerating, Ginny kept her thoughts to herself. Truth be told, she was starting to grow worried about Hermione and her marriage—she had fled to their flat numerous times before, but never more than a night. She wondered, pulling her friend into a comforting embrace, how much longer they could endure under this kind of strain. Sooner or later one of them was going to break.

You make me live
You make me die
You make me laugh
You make me cry for you / You make me cry for you

Draco was nowhere in the manor when Hermione came home Friday afternoon, determined to set things right. She'd given it a lot of thought and, if Draco truly did not wish to have children, then—considering he had a very good reason—she was willing to accept defeat and work on mending their problems. She knew it was weak and extremely unGryffindor of her to roll over and let him win, but the truth was she was helpless when it came to him. Yes she fought him tooth and nail, but, in the end, it was all about making him happy. Besides, she never could complain that her life with him was boring.

"Look who finally decided to come home," Draco said to no one inparticular as he entered the library that night at quarter past nine.

"Where were you?" she asked in a tone that suggested she didn't care if she received an answer or not.

"That's my business. I was beginning to think you'd moved into Potter's flat. Why did you come back?"

"Why wouldn't I?" She hadn't looked at him yet, her eyes trained on her book. Nevermind the fact that she couldn't see the words, her head swimming with possible places her husband could have been till this hour. "I live here."

"You're incorrigible," he scoffed, then was gone.

I hate you
Then I love you
Then I love you
Then I hate you
Then I love you more
For whatever you do
I never, never, never
Want to be in love with anyone but you

Several weeks later dawned Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy's one year wedding anniversary. As a gift to the couple, Harry and Ginny sent them on a five days trip to Greece, a little wizard-run resort on the island of Crete. Hermione nearly cried she was so happy, crushing her two best friends in a hug; Draco was, as always, passive, giving a tight-lipped and very forced smile.

They arrived at their hotel later that evening. Draco wasted no time, his suitcase barely out of his hands, he backed Hermione onto the bed. She attempted to pull herself to the head of the bed, but he had other things in store. Anchoring her feet to the floor with his hands, he proceeded to inch off her simple black skirt—to his great pleasure she was wearing the same color panties, dripping with lace and silk. Holding her legs under the knee, he kissed his way up the inside of her right thigh, devouring the hot creamy skin as if she were part of a buffet.

His scorching lips barely touched the thin fabric of her panties and she let out a low growl of a moan, digging her fingers into the soft comforter of the bed. He peeled off the tiny garment so slowly that Hermione nearly gave in to ripping them off herself. If he hadn't already been dangerously aroused, the sight of her more-than-ready entrance would have made his trousers so tight they'd cut off circulation to his legs.

He slid one long finger into her, relishing in the small uncontrollable noises she emitted, her back arching and her toes curling. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he plunged his head between her legs, his tongue running along her velvety wet folds before it drove hard inside her, lapping at the intoxicating juices she was offering him.

Hours later, as they lay in each others' arms, absolutely spent, Hermione found herself once again pondering the stability of their relationship.

"I love you," she said, curling even closer to him.

He remained silent. She wasn't surprised.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said instead, not bothering to ask her to join him.

"Ok."

You treat me wrong
You treat me right
You let me be
You make me fight with you / I could never live without you

You make me high
You bring me down
You set me free
You hold me bound to you

And so one year of marriage was complete for the unsteady couple. One year of fights, curses, insults, love-making, dinners, conversations, more fights, angry, heartache—the list of endless and, at the moment, Hermione hadn't the strength to give it much thought. She should have been happy—both from the steamy events that had just transpired and the fact that they'd lasted this long when everyone else thought they'd have been divorced long ago—but she couldn't shake the fact that she and her husband clearly wanted different things.

She loved him so terribly that sometimes she found herself hating him because he made her feel that way. She wondered if she really could die from being separated from him. It sort of made her laugh at the thought—but then she realized just how depressing that was and immediately began to cry. If things didn't start to turn around soon, then she might have to make the biggest decision in her life.

I hate you
Then I love you
Then I love you
Then I hate you
Then I love you more / I love you more
For whatever you do / For whatever you do
I never, never, never
Want to be in love with anyone but you

After days on end of deliberating with herself whether or not she could handle being estranged from Draco, he surprised her with the announcement that once they returned home he had a gift for her.

"I didn't get you anything," she said, ashamed that it was their anniversary and she hadn't bothered to buy him so much as a new watch. Not that he needed one, but that's what couples did for anniversaries. Though, to be fair, they weren't the typical couple.

"I didn't ask for anything," he pointed out.

"Are you happy with me, Draco?" She couldn't have stopped herself if she'd cut out her larynx.

"More often than not," was his reply. She smiled. Just what she'd expected. Brutal honesty.

It turned out that his surprise present involved a bit of travel. Once they arrived home, he told her they were going to apparate to the location of his gift. Side-Along-Apparition was the only way to do it.

"I'm a little scared," she admitted when he grabbed her arm tightly.

"Good," he laughed. "A little fear never killed anyone."

Moments later they were transported in front of a quant little country cottage located in the womb of a fairly secluded forest area. The closest house was barely visible in the distance. It was a closet compared to the manor, yet Hermione found herself falling in love with it instantly. She wondered who lived there.

"Like it?"

She spun on her heels and looked at him.

"It's beautiful. Who—"

"As of now," he said, handing her a small skeleton key, "we live here."

Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

"But the manor—"

"That place is big enough for ten families," he said matter-of-factly. "What do we need all that space for? Now come on." He took her by the wrist, leading her across the threshold. Her heart raced. Was this really happening? Was this the beginning of a new and better and less painful way of life for them?

She just couldn't believe it. She'd always told Draco she wanted a small house all their own, some place that didn't take them an hour and a half to find each other. Not that she didn't like the manor but, as he'd said, it was too big. And it held too many sour memories from their childhood.

Once inside, Draco, stilling holding her, made a beeline for the back of the house. She was about to ask what the rush was about, when her eyes fell upon something most unexpected. Bringing her unrestrained hand up to her lips, she let out an inevitable gasp.

"But this is—"

"A nursery, I know," he laughed. "Who do you think decorated the damn room?" A smirk crept onto his features. "Well, who do you think paid someone to decorate?"

"I-I…I just can't believe—Draco, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he said, pulling her to him, "that this house is just the right size for a family. Unless, of course, you've changed your mind about that."

"Oh Draco," she whispered, clinging to him as if she would faint. She certainly felt as though she could. "I don't know…I…Oh God, Draco, I love you." She pressed her face into his chest and cried.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I love you too."

I never, never, never
I never, never, never
I never, never, never
Want to be in love with anyone but you
But you

---

Short and sappy little oneshot, modeled after the song "I Hate You Then I Love You" By: Celine Dion & Luciano Pavarotti. Hope everyone enjoyed it :)

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