Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: A new story from me! This is in two parts. Here is part one for you.

Enjoy!

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Three Words: Part One of Two

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"Malfoy. Draco. You're—you're the only other person that I've slept with."

Draco's glass of champagne hit the tile floor and crashed into a million sparkling—dangerous, yet beautiful—pieces.

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He couldn't believe that it had already been five years. It seemed just yesterday that they had graduated. He remembered standing there in the Great Hall, receiving his diploma from McGonagall. Now he was at their five-year reunion.

The school had been closed for what was supposed to be their seventh year but opened again following Voldemort's defeat.

At the end of sixth year, when he realized what exactly he was doing with his life and why he was doing what he was, Draco apparated back to Hogwarts to seek out the infamous trio.

He begged their forgiveness to which they threw him into a dungeon to stay—so that they could keep an eye on him—until the war was over. If the dark side won, Draco would die; he would rot in the dungeon because no one would find him.

It was better in a way, at least he hadn't been found by the Death Eaters who no doubt wanted to kill him after him betraying them.

The only good thing that came from him being in that dungeon—besides not being killed by either side—was her. She was the one who fed him and took him to bathe and gave him new clothes and the sort. She was a goddess and he had wanted her far longer than before the war. He had wanted her so long that—even now—he couldn't remember a time when he had not wanted her.

The day before Voldemort's defeat, Hermione was taking him to the bathroom to shower. It was his routine—Tuesdays and Fridays he got to shower.

All of his sexual tension had been bottled up for nearly a year. He had been forced to watch her everyday. Smell her, see her, fall in love with her but never touch her.

On this last day that they had together—even though neither knew it was their last; no one could know when Voldemort would be defeated—Draco decided that he would finally make a move.

Unfortunately when he finally blurted out that he liked her and wanted her she laughed in his face and told him to take a shower, which he regretfully turned to cold.

It wasn't until over a year later—after they had already graduated—that he had her. He knew to her it was a one-night-stand even though he didn't want it to be. She simply said that she'd been thinking about what he had said and wanted to have someone else before her wedding—a week and a half later.

Nine months after her marriage to the pauper, she had her first kid. They must have had a fun honeymoon, Draco thought cynically. Draco had to admit—to his chagrin—that the girl that had Hermione's dark auburn tresses, though smooth compared to her mother's more unruly ones, was a beautiful child. Her eyes were golden brown. Faith—Hermione's daughter—was beautiful.

About two years after Hermione's marriage she had come to Draco's house yelling and raving on about how Weasley was being such an inconsiderate ass.

Draco really wasn't listening. First of all, he was wondering why she came to him to complain about her husband and second, he couldn't take his eyes off of her lips.

He kissed her then and she returned it and once again they were in his bed.

She left before he woke up in the morning and when he felt the cold spot on the bed next to him—indicating that she had left a long time ago—his heart squeezed painfully.

That night had been the last time that Draco had really talked to Hermione.

Six months ago, when a rouge Death Eater was on the loose and the Aurors were sent to capture him, one Auror did not make it back alive.

Hermione's husband.

She was here. She was at their school reunion, leaving her two children at home. Her younger daughter—Grace—had just turned two.

Five years! Everything had changed in that amount of time. There were so many people married, pregnant, children with them or engaged.

Pansy was there with her fiancée, Terry Boot. Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass—who had discovered they were attracted to the same sex seventh year—were still together and here as well.

Potter was here, Weaselette in absence because she didn't want to travel due to her being eight and a half months pregnant.

Potter was with Hermione. He was consoling her—at least that's what it looked like at first glance, but really Potter was receiving more comfort than he was giving—and she was crying on his shoulder.

Draco wanted to be in Potter's place right now, he wanted to help this witch get over the loss of her husband. He would gladly take over that position. He thought Hermione's kids were beautiful—even if they were half-weasel—and he wouldn't mind taking over the role of father as well. He knew, though, that to her, he was just a good fuck for hard times.

He wanted to be more.

Finally, Susan Bones pulled Potter away from Hermione and Hermione sat on the chair next to the dance floor. Before Draco could even take one step towards her, Blaise Zabini walked over to her and presumably asked her to dance—to which she shook her head and continued to stare at her feet.

Finally Draco made his way over to the heart-broken witch. He sat down next to her and cleared his throat. She looked up at him and he thought he caught a fleeting smile before her face grew impassive. "Hello, Malfoy," she said and looked back to her feet.

"It's Draco, please call me Draco," he said.

"Draco," she said so softly he could barely hear her. "What do you want?" she asked.

"You," he said, not wanting the conversation to turn that way that fast but having no way of stopping it.

"I thought by now you would give up your silly infatuation of me," Hermione said and her voice sounded lighter, more carefree.

"It's not silly and I will never be over it," Draco said.

Hermione suddenly sat up and looked him in the eye. "If you don't want to hear this, then tell me so now. What I say will change your life," she said in all seriousness.

Draco thought that after the "message" she would self-destruct in 30 seconds.

"Change my life in a good way or a bad way?" Draco asked, curious despite himself.

"That all depends on you and I don't want you to think that I'm telling you this to get anything out of you, I just thought you should know."

"Fine, let's hear it, it can't be that bad," Draco said.

Hermione cringed slightly and started. "I'm the only one who knows about this, not even Ron knew, but—but…Ron couldn't have children," she said softly.

Draco was confused. "How will that change my life?" he asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Ron couldn't father any children. He couldn't get me pregnant…"

"So?" Draco said, still oblivious to what she was trying to say, obviously someone else had gotten her pregnant.

"Malfoy. Draco. You're—you're the only other person that I've slept with."

Draco's glass of champagne hit the tile floor and crashed into a million sparkling—dangerous, yet beautiful—pieces.

A/N: As you can see, the first part is really the end of it. This is not the end! Part two will be up soon.

Lemons and Love

Brittany