Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

Written for Dramione Fanfiction Writers' Troping Thursdays. Today's trope: Amnesia!
I have to admit, this originally was going to be all angst and no fluff, but my muse decided to be kind today *wipes forehead*

Enjoy!

Tears dripped steadily down his nose and on to the bound file in front him. His shoulders remained still, and he made no noise as he read the first page.

How had it all come to this?

Eighteen months ago, he had been a happily married man; though they had been together for eight years in total, he still thought of them as being in their honeymoon phase. It was perfect. They had discussed the possibility of children in the near future, and he had known it would not be long until his witch would give him an heir to the Malfoy line.

But one stupid accident had prevented all of that.

Though he had matured considerably after the war, and accepted that his views had been born from ignorance rather than fact, Draco was still wary of the Muggle world and the contraptions they used to live in it. Cars were one of the fears he had not conquered since he had married Muggle-born Hermione Granger.

She insisted that the ability to drive was an important one, as her parents couldn't connect their house to the Floo network, and it wasn't pleasant for them when Hermione and Draco would apparate directly into their living room. With her parents in London, and Hermione in Wiltshire, it was a fair drive and one that she had hoped Draco could share with her.

He had conceded, albeit reluctantly; he wasn't good at saying no to her. He had attended lessons with Muggle instructors, and was becoming more confident when Hermione suggested that he drive them to her parent's house late one Saturday afternoon. It was a wet day, and visibility had been low, but Draco had driven in similar conditions before and thought nothing of it.

They had just left Wiltshire and were on the motorway when it had happened. Another car had swerved into their lane to keep from rear-ending the vehicle in front of them. Draco had had no time to react, and his inexperience sent him straight in to panic mode. He stamped on the brake and twisted the steering wheel hard to the left. He had crossed two lanes of traffic, thankfully missing several other cars, and sent Hermione's car head first into the barrier. The force knocked both of them unconscious.

When Draco had woken, he was in a Muggle hospital and both his parents, and Hermione's mum and dad were there. He had asked to see her, but they kept distracting him until he had yelled and threaten to pull the drip out of his arm and look for her himself.

He had learned that Hermione had fared worse than him, and was currently hooked up to many machines which were monitoring her condition. When she had woken up, almost a full twenty-four hours since the accident, she had not remembered him.

She had opened her eyes, locked on to his face, and frowned. As her vision focused, the frown turned into a sneer and she spat with pure venom.

"What are you doing here, Ferret?"

She did not remember that she worked as a lawyer for his company, dealing specifically with the Muggle side of their business.

She did not remember that they had spent many long hours at the office in the early days establishing powerful connections and ensuring that all Muggle partners were treated ethically both in and out of the work environment.

She did not remember that those late nights had forced them to get to know each other; become friendly, and eventually fall head over heels in love.

She didn't remember the proposal, the wedding, or that she lived at the Manor.

In Hermione's head, he was Draco Malfoy; Slytherin Sex God, a bully, and a bigot.

He had wept the first night upon realising that the impact of the accident had caused amnesia; and he wept now, over the divorce papers she had sent him.

Nothing in the past eighteen months had been effective in bringing her memory back. They had tried everything, from Magical intervention to Muggle therapy. Draco had thought that taking her to places they had shared special memories would bring her back to him, but even Paris had been a waste of time.

He had tried to win her over, again; but this time, she was more wary and guarded, and seemed to have closed her mind to the possibility that he wasn't the prat she knew at Hogwarts, and that it was possible to love him.

He sniffed thickly, the noise reverberating around the empty office space. Wiping at his eyes, he looked down at the eagle-feather quill to his right. He picked it up and nestled it in his hand, noticing the weight of it; this wasn't just any old signature. It had been simple to sign at his wedding; the quill had felt light and happy then.

This one felt like lead.

He sighed, a shaky sound that rattled in his chest. Tears once again threatened at the corner of his eyes as he brought his trembling hand to hover over the parchment. He knew that this would make Hermione happy, and that thought only served to make him more miserable. She had been happy with him too, and he knew she could be again, if only she would give him more time.

Divorce was such a finality; like she was saying 'fuck you, Malfoy, the last decade has been a complete lie.' In a way, he guessed it had been.

Knowing he could not put it off any longer, Draco dipped the tip of his quill in his ink pot, the emerald green liquid swirling and shimmering as it was disturbed. He brought his hand back to the page and set the point on the left-most edge of the line he was supposed to sign on.

He had begun the downstroke of the 'D' in his first name when he detected the sound of hurried footsteps coming from the direction of the elevators. Who would be disturbing him at nine 'o' clock on a Friday night?

"Draco!"

She caught herself in the doorway, both hands wrapping around the wooden panelling. Her hair was wild, sticking up in all directions, puffing around her face from the way her scarf sat; it looked as though she had dressed herself in the dark, or very quickly.

His eyes widened at the recognition of his first name on her lips; dare he hope?

"Hermione." He rose from his chair, the quill still clutched in his hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I remember," she half whispered, half gasped. Draco felt his heart leap in his chest; he clutched at it with his free hand, unsure of whether he was experiencing elation or the onset of a heart attack. "I remember Paris."

"You remember Paris?"

"Yes." Tears were now forming in her brown eyes and Draco felt himself frozen in place while his mind screamed at him to go to her. "And I remember how you bought me peonies for our first date." Draco felt the ability to speak leave him. "I don't remember everything," her voice cracked as the first tear escaped, rolling quickly down her cheek and dropping from her chin on to her scarf. "But it's coming back," she shuddered. "Draco, it's coming back."

With a sound like a wounded bull, Draco found himself flying across the room, meeting Hermione half way. She had left the doorway with a strangled sob and clutched at the front of his work robes.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured as his forehead rested against hers. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Shh, love," he soothed, running a thumb down the side of her cheek. "It's okay."

His own tears mingled with hers as their lips met, an act which was long overdue.

"You haven't signed the papers yet, have you?" She blinked quickly as they pulled apart.

"No," he shook his head. "I must have known you would come back to me; I've been putting it off all day."

She chuckled lightly and pressed herself against his front, nestling her head on his chest.

"Can we go home now?" She asked.

Draco didn't think it was possible to feel happier. "Of course," he said. "Let's go."