Cho was working on the last sentence of her Ancient Runes essay when the door to her chamber opened with a bang. She jumped up, her arm reaching out across the center table to retrieve her wand, her ink bottle falling over her essay and splashing on to her textbook. She stood, spinning toward the door, body crouching in defense mode—

"Zabini, you foul little git," she hissed when she noticed Blaise in his satin boxers and velvet, emerald slippers. She released her battle stance, but did not lower her wand. "What in Rowena Ravenclaw's name are you doing? I could've cursed you."

"Don't 'foul git' me, Chang," he returned just as sharply, kicking the door closed before walking further into their chamber. "I have something to say and you're going to listen!"

Cho scoffed as she turned away from him. With a frown, she waved her wand over the mess her ink bottle had made. Once her belongings were pristine as usual, she started kneeling back into her original position, but Blaise had caught her elbow.

"I mean it," he told her firmly.

"I don't want to talk to you, Zabini," retorted Cho, pulling back from his touch.

Blaise defied the witch by stepping closer to her, careful not to have his slippers slide on the marbled ground. "Well, you're going to listen," he told her. "We need to establish a truce, understood? I cannot be getting kicked out of our bloody chamber every other day! Now...My mummy taught me better than this, but if it comes down to violence, don't think I'll hesitate to unleash Pansy on you."

Cho rose her wand higher, closer to his face. "A truce?" she repeated with a loud scoff, feeling a swell of pride as the Slytherin's green eyes flashed with panic. "I can't have a truce with an imbecile like you. You ruin everything. Not a day passes in which your idiotic actions don't urge me to give up my magic just so I can be freed of you!"

With a deep breath, Blaise tried to regain his determination instead of letting Cho annoy, frustrate, or scare him back to Draco and Hermione's chamber. As such, his composure steadied itself as he said, "Look, Cho, I'm aware I'm an idiot. I'm aware I'm never going to get everything right—and I promise you, that's not going to change. I'm physically perfect, of course; look at these cheekbones, these abs, and this amazing set of hair. I'm Merlin's gift to wizardkind. But even I know I'll never be perfect in other aspects. I'm not always going to know what to say, or how to act, and I'll probably do a lot of more stupid things when we are married, but I need you to understand that when I care about someone, I care about them with all of my heart. And despite how hard you try to make me change my mind, Cho, I care about you."

The wand pointed at Blaise shook in Cho's grip. Her brown eyes fought to hold on to her ire, but the light of the chamber exposed the glimmer of tears. "You do realize," she muttered, "you agreed that you're an idiot?"

"At least I'm very honest," said Blaise. "Well, no, I'm not. I lie excessively and frequently, but I'm being honest right now." The Ravenclaw started to frown, so before she changed her mind and cursed him, Blaise found his new maturity to say, "I'm basically trying to say that I'm going to do stupid things very frequently—in fact, I'm playing with new spells, so I might blow up our chambers or manor after Hogwarts out of sheer fun. But the point is that I love you, Cho. And I take the liberty to joke around with you, to be myself, is because I've gotten accustomed to you. I'm not trying to impress you by pretending to be someone I'm not. This charming, handsome, wild man you see in front of you is who you're getting. And I want you to care and accept me the way I care do you."

"How can you say you love me?" Cho asked, lowering her wand as those tears fell and splashed on her cheeks. "How can you say you care about me? You don't know me, Blaise. I've been so foul—"

"On purpose," he interrupted her, reaching out for her wrist. Cho did not try to pull away, but a sob got caught in her throat at the light squeeze his fingers gave her. "Do you honestly think I can't identify self-preservation? Self-loathing? Fear of vulnerability? I'm a Slytherin, Cho. I'm a Slytherin with Death Eater ties and pureblood mania regrets—I exhale all of that."

Cho shook her head. "You're far from that. All I see when I look at you is someone passionate about being alive and I'm...They gave you someone broken, Blaise. They gave you someone who on a good day hates herself for having made it out of the war with her life. I know I've said some horrible things about being betrothed to you, but you got the worst deal when they gave you me as your wife."

Blaise's hand slid up from her wrist, clutching on to her elbow. His emerald eyes darkened like the Forbidden Forest at midnight, narrowing as he took three steps closer to Cho. "You can't keep living in the past where your dead boyfriend is buried," he told her through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry, but that's the truth. You can't keep feeling guilty about Cedric Diggory. You didn't kill him, Cho. It was never about his life in exchange for yours, so stop punishing yourself for being here." He paused, wiping her tears from her right cheek. "Look, I know if the Tri-Wizard Tournament had never happened you and Diggory would've ended up together and I would've married some vapid pureblood witch from one of my step-fathers' side. And I'm sorry people like my family stole that from you, Cho, but that isn't your reality anymore. Please stop looking back to it—especially when I'm standing right in front of you."

The sob that had been lodged in Cho's throat burst out of her with so much force, she was propelled into Blaise's chest.

For Rowena's sake, she was not blind or stupid not to realize that Blaise Zabini was some sort of magical. Of course he was an idiot—he was too reckless, too loud, too prone to break the rules, but Cho had not laughed harder than she did when she was with Blaise. Because when she was on good terms with him, when she was not letting herself be devoured by all the thick, numbing grey shades this world had, Cho could see color fraying the edges of her life.

They were all the vibrant hue of Blaise's eyes.

It wasn't love. Cho knew that; not the type of love associated with Ginny and Harry Potter, but it was something real. Something that had the potential to be daydream worthy. Something that had the potential to good.

Healing.

"Maybe this isn't what we thought our lives would be," Blaise said softly against her neck, "but I choose to believe the sorting hat put us together for a reason. Whatever that might be, we'll figure it out as we go along."

Cho pulled back, wiping her cheeks as she offered him a smile. She wanted to find the right words to express her gratitude for him not giving up on her, but she was once again reminded of his state of undress.

"Blaise," she started, "why are you in your underwear?"

"I was with Malfoy—"

"What?" Cho's eyes widened.

"Not like that, Chang! I mean, Hermione was there—"

"Was she?" Her eyebrows furrowed.

"No, you perverted witch! I was in their room and they were in their living room when Mrs. Malfoy showed up—Don't look at me like that!" he shouted as she stared with outraged mock at him.

She laughed, closing the distance between them once more. Before Blaise could defend himself again, Cho finally learned how to render him speechless.

All she had to do was kiss him.

With one hand against his jaw, she moved her mouth tentatively against his. He did not push for passion, but allowed them to find a rhythm that in the future could become a dance they knew by heart.

When they broke away with a sweet, fleeting peck, Blaise whistled, a smirk on his face. "Definitely different from Lovegood's."

Instead of raising her hand to smack him upside the head—like he was expecting once his stupid comment tumble out, Cho used her palm to stifle a loud laugh.

Blaise grinned at her sudden joy. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off her feet, throwing her over his shoulder. "To the bed!"

"In your dreams, Zabini," squeaked Cho.

"No, Cho, in yours!" he laughed. "The Head Boy took one look at my boxers and gave Slytherin fifty points. Not to mention Lovegood definitely wants me. Stake your claim on me, woman! I'm highly sought after!"

It all started with a dress.

After hours of failed fittings and browsing at the new occasion-wear shop, Hermione had been quite shocked when Narcissa Malfoy pulled a long chain tucked into her expensive silk blouse, requesting for Hermione and Pansy to take a hold of her arms before twisting the diamond pendant between delicate fingers. Once they had spun right out of Diagon Alley, the three had arrived at a dimly lit street in muggle Paris.

Pansy had squealed, rushing into the first boutique as Hermione stared at Mrs. Malfoy like any second the zooming cars, the fearless motorcyclists, and the muggle pedestrians would disappear. When none of it dissolved to flying broomsticks and wizarding folk with long robes and pointy hats, Hermione could not find the right words to address the woman before her.

"I do not claim to understand this world," Narcissa had said, unearthing the apt words herself, "nor do I claim to wholly accept what I have spent all of my life learning to reject, but I am trying. You are a muggle-born, Hermione, and this is your wedding. Ceremonial robes or a white dress, neither choice matters. You are a powerful witch beneath either choice. And you will be my family beneath either choice, too."

Hermione had been struck silent at yet another offer of peace Narcissa Malfoy was presenting. She wanted to say something in return, but all she managed was to reach for her elbow and give it a light press. When a kind smile had been shared between them, they both followed Pansy's footsteps and began another mission in finding wedding gowns.

On the verge of being escorted out after the shop owner had let them know yet again that they were closing, Hermione had tried to offer apologies in French when Pansy and Mrs. Malfoy had gone absolutely silent. She raised a brow at their blank expressions; Hermione blinked down at the fifth dress she had tried on, wondering if she had somehow put it on wrong when emotion slowly broke across their faces.

Mrs. Malfoy's blue eyes lightened into spring skies and Pansy's smirked, arms crossing over her chest.

"Are you sure?" Hermione had asked as they left the boutique with her gown tucked into a box wrapped in silver ribbons, doubt laced in every word. "I still have time to—"

"No," Pansy interrupted, "it's the perfect dress, Granger."

"But what if—"

"For fuck sakes, stop trying to sabotage yourself," Pansy hissed, extending an arm out to stop Hermione from following behind Mrs. Malfoy.

"I'm not—"

With a raised hand, Pansy silenced Hermione's would-be defense. The moonlight falling over them darkened her glare further as she said, "Look, Granger, while it has always brought me joy to watch other people lose their shit, I'm not going to stand by and let it happen to you. Not that it wouldn't be humbling for you to not to have all the answers for once, but I owe Ron to make sure his best friend doesn't let her big, impossible brain get the best of her. And if I owe him that, then I definitely need to do it for Draco. He deserves this second chance."

Hermione clamped down on her bottom lip, crushing the box against her chest.

When Pansy was sure the latter would not sputter some protest, she continued: "You fancy him. Hell, I'd say you've even started to love the idiot, but whenever the marriage law pokes its ugly head out, you run the opposite way." She pointed a finger at the box, at the wedding dress Hermione had not wanted to purchase despite it fitting like a glove.

The wedding dress Hermione had almost singed off when all her magic rushed to her fingertips when panic flooded her chest.

"I don't blame you for it," Pansy said. "You're not the only one who thought they'd be doing this differently—this whole building a life and home with someone. I know it's difficult for you to comprehend, but not everything needs to make sense at the beginning, Granger. If all you have right now is caring about Draco, can the rest of what's to come really be that bad?"

Hermione never thought she would see the day when she reflected upon anything that left Pansy Parkinson's mouth. Yet, her voice continued to ring inside Hermione's eardrums, sounding out the wooshing air of the portkey bringing them back to Hogwarts and the goodbyes muttered by her two companions.

She knew she had been terrified about becoming a wife and a mother at a young age, but she had not considered that she was sabotaging herself in the process. Sure, by now she knew she had every right to be hesitant, angry, and nervous about an archaic law passed by the Ministry, but by now she also knew she was not confronting it on her own.

Draco was with her.

Even if he had been just as hesitant, angry, and nervous about it when they were first sorted together, Draco had been right beside her. He had tried to offer truces, but Hermione had only swallowed them down because she had to. Once she had started to develop feelings for him that were not laced in apprehension, she still second-guessed every step forward they made together when more was demanded from her.

From both of them.

Just like the previous night, when she had allowed her body to react to Draco's, her hands desperate to trail up and down his skin, when her very bones demanded she let him press his mouth to every inch of her—once Professor Sprout announced the deadline for conceiving offspring, Hermione's brain commanded all lust-filled daydreams to vanish and tackle the next issue with this marriage law.

As Pansy had said, no one ever imagined this was how they would grow alongside a partner, but that didn't mean it still wasn't happening. Hermione could pull out her brain, study every thought, every possibility, every detail, but she was still going to marry Draco Malfoy.

While she was frightened, she wanted it now.

She wanted him. In every way.

"Good. You're here." Hermione blinked several times, adjusting to the light that had now taken over the bedroom as she tried undressing as quietly as possible after sneaking in. Draco had been asleep, moonlight casting shadows over his handsome face that were now all lines of relief at seeing her. "Between Pansy and my mother, I didn't think you'd make it back until next week."

Hermione tried to grant him a smile as she neatly folded her jeans and placed them over her open trunk. "They do love their shopping, don't they?" she muttered before pulling her jumper over her head.

When she was down to her underwear, she thought she would see Draco lingering on all of her exposed skin, but instead his silver eyes had not left her face. "Did something happen?"

"Of course not."

"Are you sure?" he pressed, now pulling himself into a sitting position. "You have that look, Granger—that little wrinkle on your nose that usually indicates someone has said something you find blasphemous. I know because it's usually directed at me when I suggest alternatives for brewing certain potions. Was it my mother? Did she offend you?"

Hermione frowned. "No, Draco. Your mother..." she paused, looking for air to feed her starving lungs.

Once she managed to pull in a few breaths, she walked over to his side of the bed, sinking down by his right thigh. Draco put a hand on her knee, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle. For a brief moment, Hermione wondered if he knew he was doing it. She wondered if Draco knew it was a habit of his, finding parts of her bared flesh to trace his fingertips against, soothing her when needed, making his presence known when needed, grounding himself to her calm when he needed it.

They were already melting into each other and Hermione had been the only one not to notice.

"You said to me once that if we had to do this—this marriage law, this having a family together, you were glad you'd be doing it with me," she started, finding his silver eyes again. "I should've said it back to you, Draco. I should've told you that despite all of my initial reservations, you grew in me—twisting your way up my ribcage, up to my chest until I forgot what my days were like without you there."

"Hermione—"

"I didn't want to be the one to give you a second chance," she interrupted, taking his hand from her knee, bringing it up to lay flat over her heart. At her warm, supple skin, Draco finally blinked down, noticing her state. If Hermione thought she would only see him consumed by the hungry look he had about him the last time she was willing to let him devour her, she was surprised by the vulnerability gleaming just at the surface of his silver gaze. "I thought you deserved one, but I didn't want it to be me. I was wrong about that, Draco. I need you to know, okay? Because for all of my stupid Gryffindor bravery, caring about you absolutely terrifies me."

Draco was fighting against the vulnerability swimming in his eyes. Hermione could see him attempting to put up those walls of steel, pushing all that emotion behind them to seek control, but oceans were not meant to be contained. His hands slid up to the sides of her face, trembling, his mouth moving to find hers.

Hermione wasted no time climbing up on his lap, slipping fingers into his soft, blonde hair at the nape of his neck. She could feel his heartbeat crashing against his bones; his tongue moved like he was forming words, like there was something he needed to say, something he could not contain, but then Draco was laying her against their mattress, the fingers of his left hand gripping on to her hip like any moment now the tsunami tide he was trying to control would take her from him.

When she managed to snake a hand between their bodies, Draco stilled for a moment when she tugged her knickers past her hips. His hands started to tremble again, torn between touching the new divine flesh being presented to him or putting his palms together to thank all the forces of this universe that created Hermione Granger.

Gasping at the feel of Draco connecting with her like a missing jigsaw piece, it took Hermione a moment to navigate the incredible, filling sensation. After pushing against the galaxies that burned everywhere, she trailed fingertips against what remained of his Dark Mark. He tried wrapping the arm around her waist, pulling her closer against him as he moved, but she held on to his forearm, pressing her lips against the black, warped tattoo that marred his smooth, alabaster skin.

"I forgive you," she murmured, breath hitching as his teeth nipped at her shoulder before burying his face against the crook of her neck. "I forgive you, Draco."

He closed his eyes, the ocean tides caught in them threatening to rise, crash, and flood when Hermione's words sounded a lot like I love you. I love you, Draco.

And his heartbeat screamed out, I love you. I love you, Hermione.