There's a brisk wind out today. Chilling, the kind that adds an extra spice to your step when you're out and about. It's not yet winter, but just past autumn, and it's my favorite time of the year.

I don't know why, really. The firm breeze, perhaps, that reminds me of my childhood fascination with Mary Poppins and flying via umbrellas. Or the coolness in the air that promises to gift me with soft, white snow in the future.

Maybe it's the season, the Christmassy spirit and the carols and fun. Even the anticipation of family gatherings and presents.

Or maybe it's because it was this exact weather that Draco and I had our quiet, unannounced wedding.

It's been years now. Years and years, and Harry still complains because he wasn't invited. Ron calls Draco the amazing bouncing ferret. Of course, Draco inevitably retorts back with either a snipe about slugs, or the largeness of the Weasley brood, which has extended now to include eight grandchildren for Molly and Arthur, with a ninth on the way courtesy of Ginny and Harry. Not that all eight are Ginny's. I'm sure Ron, Percy, and Bill would frown at that, since they have certainly contributed to the pool of grandchildren Molly contentedly oversees.

We all have our happily ever afters, even if it took a while for us to get there. And a lot of heartache as well.

I pad my way to the door, and peek out. Nope. Draco's not home yet.

I sigh. It's evening, and usually by this time we're both home from work and getting ready for dinner. It's our night out—Fridays.

I turn around, almost bump into our house-elf. "Oh, sorry Van Gogh. I didn't see you there."

The elf blushes. She's been with us since we got back from our honeymoon travel year in China and Mongolia, and she still isn't completely adjusted to my style of talking to her. "Van Gogh is sorry, Mistress Hermione, but she is also looking to see if Master Draco is coming home soon," she explains shyly.

"Ah, well, Draco will be home soon I'm sure," I smile down at Van Gogh—yes, Draco confided in me that his female elf is named for the Vincent Van Gogh, the depressed artist. As a consumer of the fine arts, he tells me, with his nose practically pointed to the ceiling, he particularly likes Van Gogh's style in his Starry Night. I smirk at that. It took me years to get over the fact that Draco Malfoy was a secret fan of the muggle artist who chopped off his own ear. Although I must admit, the way Draco fiddles around with his telescope some nights (one of his more quirky hobbies) I can't say I'm too surprised at his delight in the painting of the stars. He was equally delighted when I let him listen to the old song about the painting, Starry Starry Night.

"You see, Van Gogh has laid out Mistress Hermione's 'night out' clothes on the bed, and is wishing to know if Master Draco minds if Van Gogh picks out his clothes for tonight as well?"

"Thank you Van Gogh, you didn't have to do that," I say automatically like I do every week when Van Gogh insists on laying out my clothes for me on Fridays nights. "Since he's late, he doesn't get a say. Go ahead and pick something out that will match what I'm going to be wearing."

The elf squeals with pleasure and bounces off. I return to watching out the door, heedless of the cold draft.

Finally, just as the sun throws out it's last defiant rays over the horizon, red and gold—Gryffindor colors, I think with a slight mental giggle—I see him.

"Malfoy!"

"Mrs. Malfoy!"

I grimace, and allow him to sweep me into a dramatic and overblown kiss, the kind a blustering show off performs on stage, before swatting him. "What took you so long, idiot?"

He's aged well. I can't help but be appreciative. I'm his wife, I'm allowed!

"Um…work?"

"Nice try. You didn't call."

"I got caught up?"

"Really. And you didn't bother to remember your wife."

"I'm really sorry, and I don't deserve my beautiful darling wife!"

"I'll accept that apology—barely."

"I love you, Hermione."

"I love you too, ferret."

"Hey!"

"It's our night out. I let Van Gogh pick our your clothes."

"Oh no…"

"You were late. That's the penalty."

"The last time you let that blasted infernal house-elf pick out my clothes, I looked like old Bloody Baron on his pompous dress up days!"

"I wasn't aware the Bloody Baron had pompous days…besides, this time it's muggle clothing. We're going out to dinner at a nice restaurant my cousin recommended." I follow him upstairs and snatch up my dress, hurrying to the bathroom to change before he can protest.

But protest he does, despite the closed door. "Hey, you would think being married to you for fifteen bloody years would give me the right to see you change, aka naked!"

I stick my tongue out childishly at the very solid door between us. "If you can keep me waiting for an hour after you're supposed to be home, I can keep you in suspense about what I'm wearing—and what's underneath it—for ten bloody minutes, Draco Malfoy!"

It doesn't shut him up. The entire time I'm changing, he keeps muttering. It makes me laugh.

I finally step out. It's a new dress, bought with my husband in mind. Dark dark, almost violent blue silk, it isn't quite revealing but it certainly isn't a dress for a prude either!

And the diamond, the beautiful teardrop of a jewel sparkles like a star that fell out of the night sky, shines all the more pure on my hand as the only jewelry I will wear tonight, because I want it to be noticed—that symbol of a promised eternal love between us.

He stops muttering, abruptly. "Hermione…you look…" A long pause, and I take the time to admire the fine job Van Gogh did in picking out that well-cut grey suit on his body. Hm, blue and grey. Van Gogh is sure living up to his namesake, with those colors just like the painting and the song. "You look like the night sky, only better," he finally breathes.

"Thank you. From such an avid stargazer, that's the best compliment you could have given me."

"Merlin, it's too bad we decided not to have children. With your good looks and mine combined, they'd have dazzled the world!"

The fallback into humor, again. I shake my head. "Oh Malfoy, I'll take that as a compliment. Even with you sneaking in an egotistical boost to your own vanity."

---------

The rest of the night can only be truly divine-inspired. Some Friday nights are funny, some end in quarrels, some are unmemorable or excruciatingly painful if we choose the wrong thing to do. But this night, this night will be in my memory forever.

It is almost as if we are courting again, back when we were both uncertain and wary of other people's opinions. No, not the uncertain part. The joy. The unexpected discovery of something new about each other, the wine-drenched laughter, the glorious giddiness that is not entirely attributed to alcohol, but to each other's mere company.

And the sky! The stars, not covered by any pollution tonight, the friendly constellations, the familiar names. The sky is an explosion of soundless wonder, practically dancing with the brilliance of the stars filling it. As we walk slowly up the walkway towards our door, I can't keep my eyes off of the splendor of it all, and in the back of my head the lyrics drift hauntingly. Starry starry night, paint your palette blue and grey…with eyes that know the darkness in my soul…

"Isn't it just gorgeous?"

"Yes, it is." Draco is very soft, and I reluctantly tilt my head back down to the earth—and realize that my stargazer isn't looking at the stars, he's looking at me. "Draco?"

What he says next takes my breath quite completely away. "Who needs stars when I have this-" he catches hold of my hand, the symbol of our promise to love and be loved glittering in fierce competition with its sisters in the sky. "Hermione, I'm so glad you're mine, and that this ring proves it!"

Not particularly eloquent, not a profession of deep undying love, but it's so Draco and so full of rough emotion that I blink, and realize that he's made me cry. "I love you, Draco." Somehow, we've come to a full stop outside our door, and his arms are around me in an old familiar gesture, echoing memories of back to just after the war, before we became what we are today. They would not listen, they did not know how…perhaps they'll listen now. Starry starry night…"

I glance up one last time at the night sky-somehow less bright than my own slice of heaven on my on finger, and holding me tight at the moment—and whisper to Draco, "Look. There's your constellation! Draco, the dragon who guards the golden apples…"

Draco wraps his arms more securely around me, and looks up briefly as well. "You know, the night of the Final Battle, before you found me, I was searching for it? I found Bellatrix, I found Sirius, heck, I even found Andromeda, but for the life of me I couldn't find my own constellation."

"Well maybe you were a little distracted by the pain and uncertainty of the final outcome…"

"Maybe it was because I needed you to find me before I could find myself."

Somehow I know he's not talking about a faraway star or constellation.

I sigh contentedly, happy to remain in his embrace forever. "Let's go inside and go to bed, Draco. The stars will be there tomorrow night, and the night after…"

He nods, and unlocks the door. But in bed, with the warm dark and Draco wrapped around me, just before I slip into unconsciousness, I hear him murmur right next to my ear. "Who needs a starry night when I have my own stars right here in your eyes?"

Finite Incantatum

A.N.: All right, well I'm done! I think I've just about exhausted all I know about the topic of stars and philosophical discussions. :) I've had a great time writing this, and I thank every single person who has reviewed—you've been such an encouragement! Most specifically, thanks to Isadora120, who first encouraged me to expand my oneshot, and kept on reviewing! But to the rest of you reviewers, thanks to you as well.

Hope you all have a star-filled night! ;)

So, I'm hoping that everyone knows who Vincent Van Gogh is, the famous artist who is thought to have suffered fits of depression and cut off his own ear at one point. He painted this beautiful piece titled 'Starry Night.' And there's actually a song about it, and about Vincent Van Gogh. I think the song is called 'Vincent,' but it's more commonly known as 'Starry Starry Night.' It's a good song.