A/N: Story written without a beta. So, excuse my probable misuse of the English language. :P


A brown, aged parchment was held rigid in her hands as she gradually scanned through the words of the torn journal entry. The atmosphere that surrounded the room was overwrought yet quiet; the only sounds coming from a grumbling and pacing Ronald Weasley.

Over at a corner, a blond man stood with his head bowed so low as to hide his brimming anguish.

Hermione took a deep breath as she finished with the last word of the entry. After all these years, after all that year they shared as Head Boy and Head Girl, she only found out about it now.

Why? Why now?

"You bastard!" barked Ron. All except Draco Malfoy looked up at the redhead's sudden outburst.

"She's my wife! And I demand you to kill that sick and twisted desire you have for Hermione right now!"

"Ron," warned Harry.

"The fuck, Harry? He's -"

But whatever the frantic husband had to say was cut off by his wife who held her hand to his cheek; communicating with him through eyes that only took them years to understand its language.

Her eyes then shifted at the lone Draco Malfoy who still kept his head down, his eyes covered by his long bangs. Slowly, she walked towards her once roommate in Hogwarts those many years ago.

Draco fidgeted as the woman approached him.

Hermione finally stood facing him, conflicted. Why can't he look at her? Can he explain himself? And why? Why does he love her that much?

"Why me?"

At that question, the silent man finally let out a strangled sob. He didn't want her to know. Never wanted her to know ever since he found out she was with Weasley. He didn't know how they managed to find that parchment he had discarded from his journal some months ago. Why couldn't he just set the bloody thing ablaze?

"Draco?" her lovely voice that had always put him to sleep at night ultimately made him looked up.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.

Draco sniggered dolefully. "Would it have made any difference?"

His counter-question stumped her. Would it have made any difference?

Flashes of memories during their year as Heads rushed to her as she stood in the company of her two best friends and the blond man.

Narcissa Malfoy inviting her to tea with her son at 'The Three Broomsticks' during a Hogsmeade weekend. Little details that she never put much thought on finally made sense to her. Like why she kept giving her son furtive smirks during their conversations.

Or the times when Draco started to join her during her study sessions in the library or Heads' Common Room.

And finally the letter that he sent after receiving her wedding invitation. Without rhyme or reason, he had informed her that he had to rush to Japan to settle an important deal with Malfoy Incorporated.

"I knew you were never mine to begin with, Hermione."

"Good that you have your facts right, ferret!" quipped a scowling Ron as he watched the two with folded arms.

Draco ignored the bloke and continued, "I can't explain to you why… why you. I was broken after the war as you know, Hermione. Us Malfoys, we were -" he choked on the sentence. "But you… you showed me a reason to live life. You made me, you made me want to be a better man, Hermione."

"Oh! For crying out loud!" shouted Ron.

But Hermione kept her silence throughout his speech. Why couldn't she see him before? Really see him. Was she really that blind? Deep inside her heart, she knew the answer to his previous question.

No. It would not have made much difference. Her heart would always be set on Ronald Weasley.

But seeing this man who had laid his heart out for her and yet unknowingly being trampled by she who had held it; she couldn't help feeling disgusted with herself.

Draco Malfoy had indeed become a good friend of hers ever since they began that truce when they started being partners as Heads. They took each other as a sort of common relief that they were both returning to properly finish their NEWTS at Hogwarts. He was also definitely a friend she would turn to when talking to either Ginny Weasley or Luna Lovegood was not a choice. He was a changed person after the war. A man who had finally learnt to befriend a Mudblood.

But never did she had a fleeting thought that the boy who had quickly became her friend would eventually fell in love with her. Never. Not at all.

She gazed up at him, finally realising tears had streamed down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry."

Draco stared at her with his own pair of red eyes. Even through those overwhelming eyes, she could see the despair, an already destroyed soul overturned and incinerated by her eventual and vocal rejection.

He bowed his head again to hide his face. He knew she would not accept him. He had always known. She was always and had always been Weasley's. But he could not help the ephemeral hope that the girl; now woman who had been a torchbearer for him would embrace him with a positive response.

He could not stop the fat tear that dripped down his grey eyes. No matter, she will always be the only woman that had captured his heart.