This is so fluffy it leaks from the orifices. Like, seriously. If you don't like the sort of predictable fluff, then don't even bother reading this. The song is The Mess You Made, by Parachute. Oh, and uh, this is what I do when I'm supposed to be writing Burn and studying for exams. Oh, one more thing: This is pretty OOC. Not horribly, but a little. Once again, if that sort of thing sends you running for the hills, I wouldn't recommend continuing.

I don't own. If I did, things would have gone very differently, and I wouldn't be sitting here in the corner weeping over fanfic.
I mean, what?


I should've kissed you there
I should've called you out
I should've said your name
I should've turned around
I should've looked again


November 13

"I can't fucking believe this."

Hermione rolled her eyes, opening the fridge and retrieving a beer from the shelf. Cracking it open, she shoved it in front of her companion, sat down on the chair they'd dubbed 'The Seat of Death' due to its reluctance to remain upright, and said, "Okay. Now. Tell me what's wrong."

Draco took a swig from his beer gratefully, eliciting a moan of relief. He was a mess, a hot mess, but a mess nonetheless. His hair was worse than Hermione's in first year, he had shadows under his eyes, and his suit had somehow been twisted so his tie was flung over his shoulder and his shirt was opened halfway. Covering his eyes with one hand, he muttered, "She tried to have sex with me."

Hermione had to bite her lip, hard, to stop the laugh that was bubbling up inside of her. Trying to look solemn and ignoring the twitch of her lip, she rested her head on her hands. "And?"

He groaned dramatically, flinging his hands up in frustrating. "And!" he exclaimed, as though this was the most ridiculous thing she had ever said. He took another swig from his beer and ground out, "And I didn't want to."

Christ. This was worse than she'd thought. "You didn't want to?"

He looked so pitiful it was comical. Undoing his tie in one rough gesture, he said, "I know. I didn't fucking want to," he cried. "Like, Oh, hey, Draco, let's fuck, Oh, no, sorry, I can't, I'm a complete and utter twat." He shook his head mournfully. "Who denies sex like that, Hermione? Who? Tell me, who?"

She forced her mirth down and said seriously, "Not you."

This was seemingly satisfying enough to provoke a whole new rant. "Seriously, Hermione. What if I have a problem?" He emphasized 'problem' with raised, questioning eyebrows. "Or- what if- what if I'm gay? I mean, what if I suddenly have a change of attitude and try to get in Potter's pants or-"

Hermione raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Draco. It's normal not to want to have sex once in a while, you know." She climbed up, opened the cupboard where they kept their alcohol, and poured herself a shot of Firewhiskey. Sure, she wasn't really a drinker, but Gods, she couldn't survive this conversation without it.

Draco shook his head at her. "Of course you'd say that, you frigid old nun."

She shook her head at him. "Only you could make 'frigid old nun' sound endearing, Malfoy," she called over her shoulder, tipping back her drink. She added, for no apparent reason, "And I am not a frigid old nun."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, fiddling with the sticker of his beer bottle. "Really, Miss Granger? Pray tell, when was the last time you got laid?"

She had to fight back the urge to smirk cockily at him. "Two nights ago," she said as she sat herself back down again. "Lovely lad, had a bit of a thing for feet though. He had the longest-"

Draco shuddered. "Where did innocent Hermione Granger go?" he asked the roof.

"-fingers. You know how I like the hands to be just the right proportion-"

"-and I need a new roommate," he confided in the window.

She grinned. "Look, you just didn't find her attractive, that's all," she reassured him. Antsy, she fidgeted, trying to get comfortable on The Seat of Death. As Draco said, it was impossible to get comfortable on The Seat of Death unless you fancied having a nice little rest on the floor.

"I even let you have Betsy," she told him, waving a hand towards his chair.

He looked as though he may very well be questioning her sanity. "You named the chair Betsy?"

"I think it's a nice nickname," she said defensively.

He clambered up off Betsy, turning on the kettle. "It's just shit, is all," he complained, looking out the window as a handful of girls passed their apartment. One of them saw him looking and winked, signaling to her friends. They all stopped dead in their tracks and began to make, um, colourful gestures at him.

Draco, bless his soul, didn't even appear to notice.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't see how it's so bad. I mean, you're probably just tired. It's not like you like somebody or anything, is it?" She knew it was stupid when she said it, but for some reason, she needed to know if there was somebody else.

Not that it was any of her business. It wasn't. He was her roommate, not her best friend. They didn't stay up late at night sharing secrets about past snogs. Though, at times, they did get completely pissed, or at least, Draco did, and then have a deep and meaningful conversation about who was hotter, David Beckham or Beyonce. (Draco always said David Beckham)

He stared at her in horror. "Me? Actually like somebody?"

She punched him in shoulder. Scowling, he rubbed it. "No, I don't like anybody. At all. I'm the cold-hearted Malfoy bastard, remember?" He winked at her, standing up and brushing invisible dust from his suit. "Liking somebody would be ruining my reputation completely, wouldn't it?"

She followed suit, walking into the TV room and switching on the TV. He plonked himself down next to her. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "And what am I, eh? Chopped liver?"

He smirked at her. "No, you're Hermione Granger," he said, stretching. "You're the exception." He reached for the remote control and switched from the current sappy comedy to the football.

November 22

"Can you believe him?"

Ginny murmured soothingly, rubbing the girl's back. Hermione fought the urge to hex her. She didn't want comfort, she wanted violence! She wanted to go hex that good-for-nothing man's balls off and feed them to him!

She said so.

Ginny looked slightly concerned. "Oh, Hermione, love," she crooned. "Let's not do that, love. We don't want you getting arrested, you being a capable Auror and the saviour of the wizarding world and all." She handed the family sized bar of chocolate they'd purchased earlier over. It was nothing but a wrapper.

Hermione stared down at the pathetic peace offering in contempt. Then, she promptly burst into tears. "Oh, Gin, you're the pregnant one! You're the one who's supposed to be emotional!" She flopped back onto the bed, admiring the intricate detailing on the ceiling and wondering what the fuck that burnt area was from.

"Oh, that," Ginny said casually. "Harry, you know, his powers get a bit away from him when we're having sex." She sighed dreamily.

Hermione decided she wasn't going to ask any more questions.

Ever.

"Look, Hermione, Malfoy brings a girl back to your apartment, so what?" Ginny shrugged, patting her large belly. "It's his apartment, too. You're roomies, not soul mates."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure what she could say to that. Instead, she groaned, and hexed a vase.

Ginny cried out in horror. "Hermione! Those flowers were lovely! I can't believe you just...just ruined them." She stumbled forward, fiddling with the shards in grief. Her eyes were looking suspiciously shiny. "This is all Malfoy's fault! Fuck him! Fuck him, fuck him! I hope he drowns in a well!"

Ah, Hermione thought. Here comes the hormones.

She spent the rest of the night cradling Ginny and assuring her that the vase would be fine.

November 24

Life, Hermione decided, never turned out the way you wanted it. It was either too happy, or too sad. Too excitable, or too dull. You loved someone, or you fell out of love with them. Life was a whole contradiction in itself, just one, big contradiction.

Just when you think things are going the way you planned, something happens that confuses the absolutely hell out of you.

"He visited me today," Hermione confided one day as they watched a particularly riveting episode of America's Next Top Model. Draco had his arm slung around her shoulders, and she was leaning into him. Today had been exhausting, and she was so fucking tired it was unbelievable.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Who?" His eyes were fixed on the TV screen.

"Ron. Said things didn't work out with Valerie - Velma -"

"Vicky," Draco supplied helpfully.

Hermione nodded, sending the couch shaking. "Said things didn't work out with Vicky. Apparently, he wants to get back with me again. Says he made a huge mistake with leaving." She humphed. "And I split up with him! Can you believe the nerve of that boy?" She rolled her eyes. Ron would always be Ron, she supposed.

There was a shuffle, and Hermione fell from her perch against Draco's chest. She sat back in shock. Draco was refusing to look at her, his eyes fixed on the TV, but it was obvious that his mind was elsewhere.

"So, when are you moving out?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, bemused. "Are you serious? You think I'd go back to that good-for-nothing, foul-mouthed, cheating weasel?" Oh, shit, she was picking up on Draco's bad habits.

i.e. verbally abusing people.

Draco still refused to look at her. "I don't know. I thought you still loved him." He shrugged. "You girls and all this love stuff. It's enough to make a guy nauseous."

She rolled her eyes at his immaturity. "No, I moved on a long time ago. Even if he didn't." She lay back against the sofa, undoing her ponytail and letting it fall across her neck. Merlin, her neck ached.

Draco smirked. "Let me guess. You fancy the guy down at the local kiosk?" His voice flew up a few octaves, his apparent imitation of a 'girly chit chat' voice. It was rather scarring.

Hermione grinned at him, rubbing her neck. "No, but he is pretty cute. Nice hands, too." She sighed. "I need to go out on some dates."

Draco leaned over and pulled her to him. She tensed. "What are you doing?" she demanded as his hands made their way down her back and back up again, rubbing the muscles. She moaned before she could stop herself. "Fuck. That feels good."

She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Just wait until I-"

"Nothing more from you, Malfoy," she said amusedly, leaning into his touch.

December 2

"He what?"

"He asked me if I wanted to see his race car collection," Hermione said flatly. She was sitting in front of her mirror, removing her make-up grumpily. Her hair was an absolute mess from the five blocks she'd run. Catching a taxi, apparently, didn't cross your mind when you were about to have your mouth harassed by a man with a resemblance to a German Sheppard.

"And you..." he trailed off.

"I told him where he could shove his race car collection," she muttered almost inaudibly. "He then tried to kiss me, so I kneed him in the crotch and told him that I'd hex him to oblivion if he came one step closer." She fought back a sob. "He called me frigid!"

Draco hummed in thought. She defended, "He looked like a German Sheppard!" Scowling, she walked into the living room, snapping, "Would you snog somebody resembling a German Sheppard? No? I thought not."

He looked as though he was generally considering the question. "I don't know, I've seen some pretty cute German Shep-"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Why don't things ever go the way you want? You go on a date with a cute guy, he cares about child's toys more than he does about his date. Seriously, what ever happened to walking off into the sunset? You know, with the carriage and all that shit?" She flopped back onto the sofa and sighed.

"You'd hate that," he said frankly. "You'd say that you'd curse anybody who tried to put you in a carriage and that sunsets were overrated."

She sighed. "True. I just wish things could be easier, you know?"

"I know."

Draco went out with a girl named Dallas that night. He was "seeing" her, apparently. It would have made Hermione uncomfortable if not for the fact that it was more of a one-sided relationship, and let's just say, Draco wasn't exactly the one sending love letters and coming to their apartment at 3 o clock in the morning to serenade his 'other half'.

He returned home at 1AM, looking ready to hex something. "You have," he begged her as she came out of her bedroom, bleary-eyed, "to help me get rid of her."

Hermione had scoffed. "You sort out your own little problems, Draco Malfoy. I am not your - your whore." Yeah, okay, so maybe she was still a little tired and maybe she'd had a little too much Firewhiskey last night after another impromptu meeting with Ron and wasn't making much sense - but that was beside the point.

Draco said airily, "Oh believe me, there's nothing little about my problem."

She hid a smile behind her hand, putting down her book and turning to face him, a hand on her hip. "You'll have to work it out yourself, Malfoy," she told him flatly, "because there is absolutely no way I will help you get rid of your little girlfriend."

December 4

"How the hell did you convince me to do this?" Draco grinned, holding out an arm. She placed her hand on it. "Your girlfriend is going to have an aneurysm."

Draco huffed. "She is not my-"

Hermione smirked. "Just get on with it, ferret boy," she ordered, checking herself one last time in the mirror. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she was wearing a simple summer dress. She had drawn the line at actually making an effort for this little experiment of her flat mate's, but from the way his face changed when she came out, Hermione decided that she hadn't done too bad.

Hermione drove, because Draco was too reliant on Apparation and could drive a car about as well as he could cook toast.

In other words, they'd be lucky if the whole thing didn't get blown up.

"I can't believe I'm stuck on pretending to be your fucking girlfriend instead of going out to be somebody's actual girlfriend," she grumbled, realising that she wasn't really making much sense at all, and not really caring.

Draco was grinning, she could hear it in his voice. "Oh yeah, you could be having a lovely little chat with Weasley."

Hermione made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. "I hate you."

"Love you, too, honey, dear."

The theater was packed, sweaty bodies and faces smothered with make-up everywhere. Draco grimaced. "This Muggle obsession with looking like an orange is rather unbecoming."

About to agree, Hermione was cut off by a high-pitched wail, followed by the clacking of heels. "Draco! What - what is this abonmiation?"

Hermione supposed she was trying to say 'abomination', but due to lack of intellect and just being generally stupid overall, the girl had gotten mixed up.

She was, in fact, very much in resemblance to what Draco had just been complaining about. Her face was caked with a foundation that didn't match her skin tone and flaked off in various areas. Her eyelashes, heavily coated in mascara, blinked up at Draco in confusion, probably trying for the puppy dog look.

It was, as Draco would say, rather unbecoming.

Hermione smirked, wearing what Ginny would call the 'really fucking bitchy look that girls only wear when they know they're about to do some serious ass-fucking'. She would have questioned just how much thought Ginny had put into that little speech, but didn't really fancy being at the receiving end of those raging pregnancy hormones.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" she asked nicely.

Dallas looked ready to kill. "I am Draky's girlfriend," she proclaimed, looking rather proud of herself. Her date for the night trailed behind her like a lost puppy.

Draco's raised an eyebrow at her. "If that's so, then why are you out on dates with other men?" He cocked his head as if he was genuinely interested in the answer.

Which, by his tone, he really wasn't.

"Because - because I wanted to make you jealous!" Dallas cried in agony, clutching her sides as though this was physically hurting her. "Oh, I thought you were going to be my soul mate, Draky! Oooooooh, my heart, it-"

Hermione tugged at her companion's sleeve. "Let's go, love," she murmured, pasting on a sickeningly sweet smile.

Draco was biting down hard on his lip to stop himself from laughing, presumably. "Yeah, let's go, sweetheart." He followed her into the theater as Romeo and Juliet were just making their way on stage. "Shakespeare? Really, Granger?" he questioned as they sat in their respective seats.

"I think it's romantic," she said, ignoring the faint sound of wails from outside the theater room.

Draco smirked, and her heart did a somersault. Hermione was hit with the odd feeling that things, though she denied it like hell, were not as simple as they first came across. It was easy to believe that they could be friends forever, ignore their past, and that they'd never get into a serious fight or fall out over some romance or another, but it wasn't realistic.

They said that it was impossible for a guy and a girl to be friends. There were exceptions to the rule, sure, but other than that, Hermione wholeheartedly agreed.

Draco may be as blind as bat, but Hermione certainly wasn't, much to her chagrin. And this was one crush that would most definitely not turn in her favour.

December 10

"I think we should play a game."

Hermione rolled her eyes, sitting down on the floor next to Draco. On the TV, Whitney Houston was currently belting out "I Have Nothing". Merlin, her life really was like some sick romantic comedy. "What sort of game?"

Draco grinned maliciously. "Spin the bottle," he suggested.

"Draco, there are only two of us."

He scowled at her. "Buzz kill," he retorted. "Okay. Truth or dare."

She thought about this for a minute, turning the idea over in her mind. Okay, so what was the worst that could happen? Wait, no. The victims always said that before they got brutally murdered. Bad idea bad idea bad idea. This is a bad idea, Hermione. Don't do it don't do it don't-

"Okay, whatever," she mumbled, switching through the channels in a poor attempt to find something better than 80's pop music.

Draco sat cross-legged next to her, peering thoughtfully at the coffee table. It vaguely occurred to Hermione that they were quite the messed up pair, watching Whitney Houston shows whilst sitting on the floor while there was a perfectly good sofa behind them, and playing Truth or fucking Dare.

"Truth or dare?" Draco asked finally.

"Truth," she mumbled flatly.

He grinned. "First kiss?"

Hermione smirked. "That was awfully predictable of you, Draky," she crooned, fighting the urge to snigger. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

He flinched at 'Draky', and donned a particularly scandalized look. "Please don't say that nickname. Ever. Again. And I'm just warming you up," he added. "Now, answer."

She sighed, leaning back against the sofa. Trying to get comfortable, she plucked a cushion from the sofa and propped herself up with it. "Victor Krum. Fourth year," she said.

"Tasteful," he mumbled in a tone that suggested he was on the verge of vomiting.

She shot him a look. "Oh, shush, you. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Relatively comfortable at last, she asked, "First time?"

"Pansy Parkinson, fifth year," he murmured, bored. He grabbed the remote from her and switched the television back to Whitney, humming along with the words. Outside, it was beginning to rain, great blobs of water hitting the window pane, sending echoes throughout the house. These apartment were many things, but storm-proof was not one of them. "Truth or dare?"

She sighed. "Dare."

It may have been stupid, but at least nobody would ever mistake her for a Hufflepuff.

She had expected a smirk to spread across her flat mate's face like it always did when he was about to do something devious, but instead, he just looked thoughtful again. His lips formed words, and the clocks seemed to slow down their ticking and the rain quietened down and his voice rang out through the apartment, loud and sharp.

"I dare you to kiss me."

So she did.

Okay, so Hermione was a Gryffindor, but she wasn't a complete idiot. She could have just pecked him on the cheek; she didn't have to go through with all that courageous bullshit. But he was smirking at her, and all she could think was that she'd just love to wipe that smirk of that face.

So she kissed him.

"What - hmf," he murmured in surprise as she pushed him against the sofa, her lips coming into contact with his. He melted into her, kissing her back, his hands drifting up her back and resting there. She intertwined her hands in his hair, feeling his heart thrum against hers and fighting the growing instinct to get the fuck out of there because this was wrong, oh so wrong-

Pulling back, she attempted - and failed horribly - to look blasé. "There."

He looked shell-shocked, his eyes wide. And not much, she thought, shocked Draco Malfoy. Not much at all. "Whoa, Hermione," was all he said.

She felt regret make its way into her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was so fucking stupid. "Sorry," she coughed out. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine," he assured her, climbing to his feet. "It was just a dare, anyway, right?"

"Right."

Meanwhile, Whitney had promptly broke out into a soulful rendition of "I Will Always Love You".

She watched him leave, feeling her chest constrict. It got lonely, having everybody leave. It was like winning an award only to be told that, Hah, it was just a joke, you gullible bitch, get lost. How come she was always the one left staring in shock after somebody decided they suddenly didn't want her, that she was too much work?

She was so tired of being left behind.

And so maybe, that was why the next morning, she left. She wasn't being irrational, she told herself. She was just walking away, before he did.

December 15

"When are you coming home?"

"I don't know," she told Ginny honestly. "I mean, Kingsley gave me this assignment in Paris. It's pretty big. I'll be back before the baby's born, I promise."

"'Mione, the baby's not due for another four months."

"I know."

"Malfoy's going absolutely out of his head," Ginny said flatly. "You just vanished without another word. Did something happen between you two? He hasn't been sleeping, eating. Harry's tried to get him to, but he just tells Harry to fuck off. And those two were on such great terms before, you know? It's weird. Seems like two might be connected, hey?" Her face was questioning, probing, through the floo.

"I'll see you later, Gin."

"Hermione-"

"Say hi to everybody for me."

December 23

In reality, Prince Charming didn't come chasing after you like a lost puppy. No, Prince Charming just sat on his throne, because there were always more fish in the sea for ridiculously good-looking princes. In reality, you didn't get the bubble-wrapped fairytale, handed to you on a platter; you just got reality.

And reality, Hermione decided, was a complete and utter bitch.

She wasn't going to lie - she was a romantic. Not in the way of getting flowers on cold mornings, or finding love letters in predictably random places. No, the quieter kind of romance, the kind that worked its way into your life without you even noticing it. Waking up to a warm body pressed against yours, and being chased across a bloody country and a half to have somebody confess their love to you.

In real life, you just got cold coffee and chocolate croissants and old men with moustaches leering at you as you investigated a particularly riveting assignment on why the floos weren't working in central Paris.

They weren't working, it turned out, because the floos apparently didn't speak French. Hermione fixed the problem in a day, but Kingsley told her to just stay for the holidays if she wanted to. A holiday paid for by work, who would ever complain?

It was lovely.

And lonely.

On Christmas Eve, it began to snow. Not great, hulking blizzards, but soft snow, the sort that always occurred in the background as people fell spontaneously in love over steaming cups of coffee. Hermione sat in her apartment that looked over the beautiful city of Paris, wrapped in a duvet. Something trickled down her cheek, and she was horrified to find her cheeks were wet.

She'd Apparated to Harry and Ginny's apartment and left the presents for everybody there. Ginny had been out with a friend, but Harry had been there. She was secretly relieved. Harry didn't quiz her, just looked at her with a sad smile and said, "Thanks," as they exchanged presents.

"I just need some time to myself," Hermione said pathetically.

Harry smiled kindly. "Of course," he said, hugging her tightly. "Malfoy's shit, you know. Can't even survive without you. He'll figure it out soon enough, though, I'm sure."

Hermione frowned. "Figure out what?"

"Why you left," Harry said simply, and then promptly changed the subject.

December 25

Harry's words had, much to her dismay, ignited a small hope inside her. She woke up on Christmas morning, opened her presents, smiled at all the right parts despite the fact that there was nobody to please, and then drank wine until her mind went fuzzy and she couldn't think of anything at all.

He didn't come. Harry had said he would, and Hermione had hoped, foolishly, but he didn't come. Hermione sat by the fire that evening, watching the clock move from 5:59 to 6:00, and realised that he wasn't coming. At all.

She shouldn't have expected any less from him. He didn't care for her, anyway. But she thought, even if just as a friend, he might come to keep her company.

Somehow, she managed to fall asleep on the window sill. She woke up feeling unusually warm, and...secure. Flailing desperately, her hand smacked into something hard.

"Your backhand doesn't get any weaker as the years go by," a voice remarked from beneath her hand.

She screamed, jumping backwards and falling off the bed, hitting the ground with a smack. Grabbing for her wand, she had it pointed at the intruder's throat before he could even register the movement. Panting, she looked up at the intruder's face and found herself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.

Her wand fell from her hand. "Merlin, Malfoy!" she screeched, pinning him to the bed. This was meant to be a show of just how furious she was, but instead it put them in a rather uncomfortable - or way too comfortable, whichever way you looked at it - position. He was grinning. "You're a dickhead," she muttered, but she laughed in spite of herself.

"I thought you wanted your fairy tale thing," he said eloquently. "So, I figured I'd come sweep you off your feet, but you sort of ruined my plans by smacking me in the face when I tried to wake you up."

She raised her eyebrows at him, ignoring the impatient quickening of her heart. "So, you fancy yourself as Prince Charming, hey?"

"No, I'd be a shit Prince Charming. I mean, I have the whole looks thing pulled off, but-" When she smacked him, he pretended to be mortally wounded. "You hurt me, Hermione. You really do."

"Out with it, ferret," she said affectionatly.

He continued, "I...I didn't know why you left. And then Potter turned up, like fucking superman or something. He's such a bloody girl, you know. Even when he's going to be a father soon, he can't help his feminine streak coming out into the open."

It occurred to her, strangely, that Draco was rambling. Draco Malfoy was rambling. He didn't ramble. He just...didn't. It didn't happen. And yet here it was, true as day. Draco Malfoy stumbling over his words.

What the fuck was going on?

Hermione cocked her head, acutely aware of how she was still hovering above him. "So you're here to tell me that you just got back from a homosexual meeting with my best friend?"

Draco let out a huff of frustration. "No - I'm here to tell you that - that -"

When he didn't finish, she poked him. He scowled at her. "I'm here to tell you that I'm fucking in love with you, okay? Happy? Enjoying a great laugh at my expense? Can I go now?"

Her arms gave out from under her, and she was leaning against him, every single part of her in line with every single part of him. And yeah, she meant every.

"You're in love with me?" she whispered, paralysed.

No. This didn't happen. This happened in fairytales, and in horror movies (when the victim was about to get horrifically murdered) but not in real life. "This isn't fucking funny, you know. If you're trying to mess with me-"

Draco glared at her. "Why the fuck would I joke about something like this? I swear to God, I think-"

But he never got to say just what he thought, because suddenly she was kissing him, and his arms were around her and it was like those movies where the girl got her happy ending and they were so ridiculously cheesy but they made you smile anyway and this was happening to her and-

"Oh, and I also wanted to tell you that The Seat of Death finally gave out today," he informed her when they broke apart, gasping for air.

She tried to look solemn. "We'll hold a funeral in its honour."

"We can even bring Betsy," Draco suggested.

"There'll have to be flowers."

"And cake."

They stared at each other for a few, heavy seconds before Hermione finally broke and laughed so hard tears sprung from her eyes. "I love you, too, by the way," she told the ceiling finally.

"I know," the ceiling replied.

She turned to Draco, leaning on her elbow. "You know?"

"Of course," he said simply. "Who doesn't love me - ow- Granger - hey - put the wand down - what the fuck - Hermione -"

fin.

Reviews are much appreciated (please don't make me grovel, Draco finds it unbecoming...*laughs at own joke*)