I never thought I’d find myself here. Not in Muggle London, not under the flickering glow of streetlights, not in the middle of a city that had once felt as foreign to me as another planet. And certainly not with Hermione Granger’s hand in mine.
But here I was.
The night air was cool, but not uncomfortably so, carrying the scent of rain-soaked pavement and something sweet—maybe the warm pastries from the bakery we’d just passed. The city was alive with chatter, laughter, and the occasional honk of those ridiculous Muggle contraptions. I should have felt out of place. But I didn’t. Not with her beside me.
Hermione tugged on my hand, her curls bouncing as she turned to look at me with those big, brown eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve barely complained in the last hour. It’s almost suspicious.”
I smirked, squeezing her hand. “Granger, I hate to break it to you, but I’m very good at suffering in silence.”
She laughed—a soft, melodic sound that made something in my chest tighten. I still wasn’t used to this, the way she made me feel so… light. Like all the weight I’d carried for years had somehow been lifted just by being around her.
We walked past a row of glowing shop windows, the golden light spilling onto the streets, illuminating her face in a way that made my breath catch. The curve of her cheek, the way her lips parted slightly in wonder as she looked around—it was unfair, really, how effortlessly beautiful she was.
“Come on,” she said suddenly, tugging me forward.
I barely had time to protest before we were stepping into a small flower shop nestled between two cafés. It smelled divine—earthy and fresh, with hints of lavender and roses. Hermione let go of my hand and wandered ahead, trailing her fingers over petals like they were something precious.
I watched her, arms crossed, a smirk playing at my lips. “Are we adding ‘florist’ to your absurdly long list of talents?”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Flowers are important. They have meanings, you know.”
“Of course, you’d care about the meaning of flowers,” I teased, stepping closer. “Let me guess—you’ve memorized an entire book on the subject?”
She didn’t even look embarrassed. “Obviously.”
I shook my head, amused, and glanced around the shop. My eyes landed on a single deep red rose in a glass vase near the counter. It wasn’t part of a bouquet—just one, standing alone. For some reason, it reminded me of her.
I plucked it from the vase and turned to her. She was still admiring the flowers, utterly lost in her own world, and it made something warm spread through me.
“Hermione,” I said softly.
She looked up, her brows lifting in question, and I held the rose out to her.
“For you.”
For a moment, she just stared at it, as if she wasn’t quite sure it was real. Then, slowly, she reached out and took it, her fingers brushing against mine.
“Draco,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Not as beautiful as you, but it’ll do.”
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks had gone pink, and I knew I’d won.
We left the shop, her fingers still wrapped around the rose, and resumed our walk down the dimly lit street. She kept stealing glances at me, as if she was trying to figure something out.
Finally, I sighed. “What?”
“You just… surprise me, sometimes.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You still find me surprising? I thought you knew everything, Granger.”
She huffed but laughed, shaking her head. “I guess you’re right. I do know you.” Then, quieter, “And I love you.”
My steps faltered for half a second, my heart slamming against my ribs.
She’d said it before, of course. But it still hit me every time. Like a spell I never wanted to break.
I exhaled, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, and pulled her closer, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I love you too,” I said, and for once, it felt so easy to say.
She smiled, soft and radiant, and before I could overthink it, I leaned in, pressing my lips against hers.
It was slow, sweet—nothing rushed or frantic. Just the two of us standing in the middle of a city that once would’ve felt like enemy territory. But tonight, it felt like ours.
When we pulled apart, she sighed contentedly, resting her forehead against mine. “You didn’t hate Muggle London, did you?”
I smirked. “Well, if I did, I suppose I’d just have to keep coming back until I changed my mind.”
She laughed, and I knew, without a doubt, that I’d go anywhere—as long as it was with her.
And as we walked hand in hand beneath the glowing streetlights, Hermione holding a single red rose, I realized something.
Muggle London wasn’t so bad after all.