Harry Potter Surreptitiously Smitten

**Notes**: DH didn't happen. Influenced off of my favorite play, Romeo & Juliet. The ending's a little weak, as mine always are, heh, since I wanted to get it done. Enjoy & review (:

Oh, and for all that are wondering; Surreptitiously means 'secretly'.

* * *

She had succumbed to the throng of Muggle literature since she was a child. She had proved her intelligence to those who questioned it by reading and analyzing some of the greatest fictional masterpieces of all time, at the innocent age of eleven. This was, of course, before she became aware of her true heritage and her mission alongside Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. This was, of course, before she realized that Muggle literature would do nothing for her life after she started an education as a magical being. Above all else, this was before she had ever imagined that the storylines behind her source of entertainment could become a reality to someone – moreover, to _her_. 

It had been seven years since she read the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet for the first time, and seven years since she packed her novels into a large box and shoved said box onto the top shelf of her closet. Shakespearean tour de forces, Jane Austen's romantic delights, Emily Brontë's _Wuthering Heights_ and her sister's _Jane Eyre_. Her classical, past-century novelties which she had once treasured above all else lay forgotten in her bedroom closet, left behind – along with the life she knew – when she had agreed to start life as a witch.

Now, she was eighteen years old, and would have been a graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had she attended her seventh year of schooling. War had come before education and even she wasn't studious enough to abandon her friends when they needed her most. That wasn't what a Gryffindor _did_. Instead, she had fought alongside them, taking out who she could and feeling the emotional repercussions of her deeds at a more convenient time. Performing the Killing Curse hadn't been something she wanted to ever do in her lifetime, but in such a situation as hers, it was simply kill or be killed. Act or be acted upon. Cause something or be the effect. There hadn't been a choice. She, of course, didn't surrender to the acts of battle without guilt or remorse. Tears had been shed, despair had been rung, torment had been felt. But there was nothing she could do then, and a year after the Dark Lord's downfall, there was still nothing she could do now.

She and her companions had often refrained to the end of the Second War as 'the Dark Lord's downfall', not the Final Battle nor a success of their side. The battle hadn't been final in any way; starting from before the deaths of Cedric Diggory and Barty Crouch Senior and Frank Bryce, and continuing after the deaths of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange. The scars left on the warriors and those who had lost loved ones would never go away, and therefore the battle they all had partaken in could not – and never would be – considered 'final'. It was a never-ending healing process. As for their success, or lack thereof, the Order and the Light Side could never consider any type of success from losing so many of their fellows. They had triumphed over the Dark Lord, yes, but that paled in comparison to how the Dark Lord had triumphed over the Light Side's dead.With scars on her chest to prove it, Hermione Granger was an eighteen year old warrior, and she was both proud and ashamed of the title. She, Harry, and Ron had all survived the Second War in fixable physical condition, but their emotional and mental states could hardly have gotten worse. Still, the three had each other, and that was what mattered.

Only, Harry and Ron weren't Hermione's only living companions. There was _him_, her tormented angel. Hermione wasn't intelligent, nor was she selfless. She was merely loyal. She worked so hard in her studies so she could give reason for her parents to be proud; she wanted them to be satisfied. She worked so hard to help Harry in those seemingly impossible situations because she couldn't bear for anything to happen to her closest friends. All who thought that Hermione Granger was intelligent, was a fool. Had she possessed any common sense, she would have stayed away. Had she been selfless, she wouldn't have brought this situation on _him_, or on her friends. She was undeniably and unforgivably selfish, and in being so, had hurt everyone she loved, even if they weren't yet aware of it. Even if _she_ wasn't yet aware of it.

All her life, all Hermione had wanted was approval and acceptance. She wanted to prove to others and to herself that she was not as unworthy as she had been told, and that she could accomplish anything. And yet, had anyone learned about _him_, she surely would have been regarded with contempt. She knew, as well as he did, that they could not be accepted. It wasn't the way things worked. She was a Mudblood, a Gryffindor, one of the Order. He was a pureblood, a Slytherin, a Death Eater. But he would do anything to protect her, and she would do anything to help him. They were similar in nothing except their devotion to the other.It wasn't like Hermione to fall for someone so deeply, nor was it like her to fall for someone so off-limits. She was supposed to end up with Ron, and everyone knew it. Mrs. Weasley, unable to adopt Hermione herself, had always wanted the next best thing – Hermione as a legal daughter-in-law. But she could not, and would not, be pressured into a marriage or betrothal with someone she didn't love, despite the rather unfair expectations people had for her. She herself had thought that she was one of those women who wouldn't even marry at all, who would be too full of grief and dedication to more important things to succumb to the seductive horde that was love.

It had happened on the most inconvenient place, as well. 'Love at first sight' was a fable, but what about 'love after six years of hating each other and wanting nothing but a painful death for the other' caused by one gaze – one mutual locking of the eyes. It had happened so surreally, and neither of them had seen it coming. They had been fighting, Hermione against Lucius Malfoy and he against Ginevra Weasley. A curse had been shot, and somewhere to the left, Charlie Weasley was seen crumpled on the floor under the folds of death. Hermione had turned her head back to the current situation – only to find her gaze not at the icy wizard she was dueling, but at _him_. And suddenly, six years of hating each other had disappeared, as though they were meeting for the first time. Deep sienna met chilling silver, and in that moment, there was no battle, there was no bloodshed, there was no rivalry. There was him, and there was her. She was never one to believe in the whole concept of being captivated by a single gaze, until that moment. Was it then that she had fallen in love? Looking back, she could never be sure. All she knew was that the wand pointing at Ginny Weasley had been lowered, and likewise the wand pointing at Lucius Malfoy was withdrawn.

Hours later the battle commenced, and after Hermione left the grounds for the very last time, she found herself Apparating (the non-Apparation wards had long since been removed) to the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn't the most eloquent place in the world, but it worked to get her mind off of the battle. Unfortunately, it hadn't gotten her mind off of _him_, not even three firewhiskeys later. It didn't help that he had entered the bar and made a beeline for her.

It was the first time they had been in direct contact since that entrancing moment on the bloodstained battlefield. She had set down her glass of whiskey, never breaking her gaze as she watched him sit down beside her. Her hands, vulnerably resting on the table, fell into his grasp. The contact of his skin made her shiver, and she noticed vaguely that his cool hands were soft when they were holding hers as tenderly as they were. She was lost in his eyes again, and before she knew what was going on, they were kissing. His lips were more fiery than the scorch of the firewhiskey she had been drinking, but they felt refreshing as they ghosted over hers. The embrace was short-lived, and they broke apart communally, neither sure what exactly had happened.

She said nothing, scared of uttering his name, petrified about how it would sound ricocheting off of her lips. She didn't have to fear, however, for he broke the silence, never removing his hands from hers.

"Hermione."

The single word said it all. She didn't have to delve into his eyes to know the passion that was there, she didn't have to interrogate him to feel the love that was there, she didn't have to touch him to experience the desire that was there. All she had to do was love him, because he reciprocated her sentiments.

She didn't ask how, and neither did he, for how it happened didn't matter. All that mattered was that it happened. And suddenly remembering that she should say something to him, she spoke.

"Draco."

And in that instant, the exchange of their love's faithful vows had been administered.

--

The sun was hot on her face, beaming despite the light crème curtain that hung over the window. Her eyes opened, and she found herself lying alone in an unfamiliar bed. She recognized the room, however, once she got a good look at it, as one of the rented rooms available at the Leaky Cauldron. She didn't bother wondering why on earth she was in a hotel room of sorts. In these situations, the person always awoke confused about their surroundings, but she knew what had happened. She had made love to Draco last night, and he had left to return home. She understood. He had to keep up the pretense of Death Eater's son, even if he didn't want to cause her any harm. It would not do for Lucius Malfoy to find out about their relationship.A thought burned in the back of her mind. Would she be able to see him again? She didn't know. Harry and Ron were probably worried sick, and they would want to keep a good eye on her, especially after her strange 'disappearance' the night of the battle. She rushed down the staircase and headed to the front of the bar where Tom was showing a young man how to handle the ever-demanding patrons.

"Tom!" she called, needing to ask for his assistance.

"Miss Granger, innit?" he responded, patting the young man's shoulder before moving to her side of the counter. "What might I do for you, Miss'm?"

Hermione bit her lip, nervously tossing him a generous amount more than that room could have possibly cost. He was about to protest, she was sure, until he saw her threaten wordlessly to pay him even more galleons. He wisely shut his trap, and she whispered a question she never thought she would say.

"Do you know anybody who could marry off myself and a significant other?" she asked, her own eyes widening as the words escaped the confines of her lips. "I don't mean a public wedding, either. I'm talking about elopement." Tom was flabbergasted that someone like Hermione would request an elopement, especially considering her public status as a War Heroine. She never thought that she would elope if she decided to marry. Any wedding she had imagined included Ginny Weasley as the Maid of Honor, Harry Potter as the best man, and Albus Dumbledore marrying her off to her unconscious husband. Never before had she even considered the thought of marrying without Harry and Ron included in the ceremony.

"Well, I suppose I could do it myself," Tom offered, scratching his bearded chin thoughtfully. "I don't know any other lads who would be up to the job, or who would be able to keep it a secret." As an afterthought, he added, "You _do_ want it to stay a secret, don't you, Miss'm?" Hermione nodded in the affirmative.

"Perfect," she said, tossing another three shiny gold coins in his direction. "I shall meet you here at midnight come tomorrow, with he whom I wish to marry. Now, if I may borrow an owl, Tom?"

He nodded immediately, running into a back room and returning with a large barn owl. "Name's Tobey," he said, before rushing back off to the young man who was having trouble with the customers. Hermione perched Tobey on her shoulder as she scribbled a quick, straightforward letter in succulent cursive.

_D,  
__Tomorrow, at midnight. Meet me where we exchanged our first kiss.__  
Yours,__  
H_

--

"In which case, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Master Malfoy, you may kiss your bride."

The extremely private ceremony, consisting of only Draco, Hermione, and Tom had taken place in the back storeroom of the Leaky Cauldron. While it was not the most romantic place, the couple had no time for idealism. They had no idea how long they would have to go without seeing each other again, and neither wanted to waste any time. Draco turned to Hermione and with the broadest smile that had probably ever graced his face, he cupped her face in his hands and planted a soft, husbandly kiss on her lips. Tom smiled at the couple, despite the fact that he had been infinitely surprised that Granger and Malfoy were to marry, and willingly so. He knew he would have to prevent this information from leaking.

The two retreated to the previous night's rented room, Tom blushing and saying it was on the house due to the occasion. Draco and Hermione cast a silencing charm and spent the night consummating their marriage in the most delicate form of lovemaking they could muster. The next morning, Draco was still in Hermione's arms, but he was awake by the time she opened her eyes. She was nuzzled in his neck and his arms were cradling her to him.

"Good morning, wife," he said, the grin on his face practically audible.

"And to you, husband," she returned, snuggling closer into the warmth of his bare skin. "Have you slept well?"

"I have," he answered, placing a kiss on the center of her hairline. "But, my love, I must regress. I need to leave, to prevent my father from pursuing any suspicions. I assume you need to do the same with your friends."

Hermione nodded in disappointment, detangling herself from her husband as she wiggled into her clothes and cast a Disillusionment Charm on the wedding band decorating her left ring finger. She sighed as she stared at the place it was once visible on, hating that she had to hide it.A kiss goodbye, and both were on their way.

--

"Dead…"

The word echoed like a sonnet in her mind. Ginny Weasley and Lucius Malfoy were dead. The news had come from Ron and Harry, and had pierced her heart like an iced sword.According to her friends, Ginny hadn't been satisfied with the demise of just the Dark Lord. She wanted to kill the man that made her suffer in her first year, the man whom cursed her and –

_And who gave us one of the Horcruxes to destroy, foolish girl!_ Hermione wanted to scream as she wept into her hands.

Draco had been present, and had roared in anguish as Ginny killed his father. Though Draco didn't agree with many of Lucius's ideas, they were blood. Draco was Lucius's spawn, and he would always be attached to the older man for that sole reason. In his fury, his wand had taken over his mind and repeated the sentiments on Ginny, leaving her to lay lifelessly beside the dead figure of his father.

Hermione didn't want to know the repercussions of his actions.

--

Two nights later, they met up at the Leaky Cauldron again, but no lovemaking was involved. This get-together was dramatically serious. Hermione clung to her husband, the Disillusionment Charm well worn off, letting her wedding band glint in the candlelight of the dark pub. They both knew, without expressing the words verbally, that after this night, they would probably never see each other again. They couldn't afford to lose anybody else. Ginny and Lucius had died because of their backgrounds' rivalry. What if one of _them_ got killed next? They didn't want to take the risk.

Her skin was cold, depressed at the fact that one kiss was all she would be receiving for the rest of her tormented life. They were not 'breaking up' or anything; no, their love was stronger than ever as they realized what had to be done. Together, holding onto the other very tightly, they Apparated to the grounds where the end of the Second War had taken place. Hands clasped together tightly, they gazed down at the spot where they had first realized their mutual affection for the other. Their reminiscent silence was broken by the sound of other Apparations, and Hermione's heart pounded as soon as she heard the cracks. Had they been tracked? Had they arrived simply on a bad day? Horror erupted inside of her as she turned around, her banded hand connected with Draco's empty one. They had intended to part their separate ways, ending ties with all things magical, knowing that the other would always be with them spiritually.

But as Harry Potter's wand pointed at Draco, and Narcissa Malfoy's wand pointed at Hermione, she felt her horror disintegrate into the powerful sensation of freedom. Because although she knew the end was in a matter of seconds, her hand was still clasped around Draco's, and that was all that mattered.


End file.

Harry Potter, Romance, Tragedy