Logic

Hermione Granger took a deep, steadying breath as she stood, arm in arm, with her father. This was it. Her big day. The day she married Percy Weasley.

Not, however, the day she married the love of her life.

Breathe, she instructed herself. Of all the things you pictured on this day, fainting wasn't present in a single image!

You see, Hermione Granger was nothing if not logical. That logic was what had made her an invaluable part of the Trio; had bonded her to Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, her best friends; had gotten the three of them out of innumerable scrapes in their Hogwarts days; and in the final battle of good versus evil, had helped save not only the lives of countless Wizards and Muggles, but had also helped rid the world of the once-prevalent Dark shadow that loomed over their heads. That logic had made her believe that Ron's older brother(well, one of his many older brothers), Percy-dear, sweet, honourable, intelligent, hardworking Percy-so like her in many ways, was, undoubtedly, the one she could and would contentedly live out the rest of her days with. After all, it was only logical.

I mean, it's not as if she could live happily ever after with Draco Malfoy.

No, not Draco Malfoy, who was sarcastic and witty and brilliant and infuriating and passionate and devastatingly...

Breathe, Hermione!

***flashback to 6^th year at Hogwarts***

"Out of my way, Malfoy," Hermione shoved past Draco, running so that she wouldn't be late for Potions with the unforgiving Snape.

"Oh, were you in a hurry, mudblood?" Draco drawled unconcernedly, reaching out to grab her wrist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Quick as a flash, Hermione whirled around, brought her knee up and kicked him in the groin, hard. As he writhed in pain on the ground, she flipped her hair nonchalantly and said, "Hm, now that you mention it, you inbred retard, I do believe I am in something of a hurry."

As she collected her wits and her bookbag, she thought she heard him mumble...groan... something along the lines of "Bitch...revenge..."

"Yes, yes, Malfoy, all bloody revenge and pain and mutilation, but do get off the ground, you're giving prefects a bad name!"

***flashback to the Graduation Ball at Hogwarts***

Hermione smoothed out her elegant gown and walked regally down the grand staircase to the Entrance Hall, where she knew Malfoy would be waiting for her.

Where was he? If he thought he could throw a tantrum about them being forced to go together as Head Boy and Girl...well, manners be damned, she'd castrate him publicly. Where was he? The only other sorry soul still there was that good-looking...oh. OH.

"Finally decided to show up?" he inquired, not impolitely, one eyebrow raised.

She nodded mutely, looking at him up and down. She meant to tell him he looked handsome, she wanted to say how blown away she was, but all that came out of her mouth was, "How much did surgery to look that good cost you, Malfoy?"

To her surprise, he chucked. "Did that mascara you're using cloud your vision, Granger? I'm still the ugly ferret-boy, remember?"

It was the first time she had heard him laugh...and be self-deprecating. Two miracles in one night...who knew?

So she did the only thing she could, under her current speechless state. She smiled and held out her hand to him.

To both their surprise, he took it.

***end flashback***

Although the doors leading into the main area of the church were closed at the moment, she could, in her mind's eye, picture the scene clearly...tall, good-looking Percy standing at the altar flanked by his five brothers, Charlie, Bill, Ron and the ever mischievous twins who had somehow managed to make the minister's robes disappear at the rehearsal last night. Really, who would have expected a clergyman to be partial to leather thongs? In Fred and George's view, that had just been an added bonus. In Molly Weasley's view, that had been big! Perhaps that was why Arthur had sat next to Rita Skeeter rather than his wife at the dinner? Hmm...

Oh, and of course, Harry and Ron would be bustling about like proud brothers...just imagine, their little 'Mione, getting married. Well, she had been the same at their weddings...Harry's to little Ginny Weasley, not so little anymore; and Ron's to Lavender Brown. They'd married their childhood sweethearts, had their fairytale romances --- now it was her turn. Logic demanded that as the other two members of the famous Trio were happily settled, so should she be, with none other than her childhood sweetheart.

Of course, their fairytale romance consisted of working together at the Ministry of Magic, and her pointing out the errors in his cauldron-bottom reports, but nevermind...

I mean, what else could she do? Run off and live a whirlwind, exciting life with Draco-bloody-Malfoy? Draco-damn-him-to-bloody-hell-Malfoy who declared his love to her after the final battle and then conveniently disappeared, probably to bloody hell for all she cared?

Breathe, Hermione!

***flashback to 6 months ago***

The final stronghold was the Quidditch pitch. In a world where blood and destruction and barrenness reigned supreme, the Quidditch pitch looked ridiculously lush; a solitary green gem amongst the shades of grey. Curses and hexes and reverberating shouts of "Avada Kedavra" resounded; some yelled by voices she knew, voices she had grown up hearing; others by formidable-looking Death Eaters, who knew this mission could go either way but staunchly stood by their misguided choice..

Ron was fending off Lucius Malfoy and MacNair near the goalposts, and Harry was where he was born to be...face to face with the embodiment of evil. Neither Harry nor Lord Voldemort flinched at the curses that narrowly zoomed past them. They were focused solely on each other.

Hermione knew that it would take more than Harry's strength to beat Voldemort. It wasn't enough...they needed something more...some weakness of his to exploit.

"Granger." Not a greeting, not a battle cry, not even a statement. Surely...not an endearment? Draco Malfoy stood before her, wand drawn, Dark Mark revealed in all its gruesome glory.

"Malfoy." Her nod was cool and curt. Her mind screamed at her to kill him before he killed her, but somehow, her arm seemed to ignore her brain's impulses. In a tone of some wonder and not a little irony, she said, "Well, go ahead then. This may come as a surprise to you, but after seven years of hurling death threats at you, I find myself entirely incapable of carrying any of them out."

Grey eyes flashed with amusement as he regarded her, beautiful and composed and regal even with tattered robes and bruised skin.

And he took her hand.

Her father looked at her with anxious eyes. She looked so lost. He knew his daughter well, knew what she had been through. Knew what, and who, she had lost.

As suddenly as he had appeared, Draco Malfoy did an about-turn and walked away from Hermione. Around her, the battle still raged. McGonagall cradled a bleeding, but live, Snape in her arms while Dumbledore, Sirius and Remus aimed the Cruciatus at Peter Pettigrew. The hope for peace and freedom had left no shred of humanity in them...everyone had demons they would harbour for the rest of their lives.

She looked at the bit of parchment Draco had slipped in her hand. Written on it was: 'Voldemort knows nothing of love and togetherness. Gather Weasel and Pottymouth and the three of you can beat him. It was never all about Potter, it involved all of you.'

She rolled her eyes. How on Earth did he manage to save them and be an excruciating prat at the same time?

The organ music started up, and the wide oak doors were flung open. Ginny, Lavender and Parvati Patil, the bridesmaids, walked sedately ahead as Hermione glided down the aisle.

"He's gone. We did it," Harry said, drained from the battle.

"It's over. The three of us did it!" Ron exulted, kicking Voldemort's charred robes.

"Four. We would've lost if it hadn't been for Malfoy's note," Hermione said, slinging her arms around her two best friends as they made their way back to the castle with the rest of the survivors.

Dumbledore's voice called out to them. "If I could see the three of you in my office, please? The password is 'Toblerone'...delicious muggle invention, I must say..."

Feeling ridiculously as though they were being hauled up for some misdemeanour, they trooped to Dumbledore's office.

The door was opened by Draco.

Nod to Mrs. Weasley, nod to Charlie and Bill and Fred and George's wives.

Inexplicably, Hermione threw caution, common sense and injuries to the wind and kicked him in the groin. Hard.

"Bloody hell, Granger, what was that for?" he wheezed as Dumbledore, Harry and Ron looked on in amazement and amusement.

"You could've been killed. You should have told us you were a spy, you prick!" she snapped irritably.

"Yes, well, that would rather have ruined the secrecy of it," Draco snapped back, though the snappish effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that his face was scrunched up in agony and he was clutching his groin.

"Might I suggest you two work out your differences here, while I speak to Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter in my office?" Dumbledore's blue eyes had regained the twinkle that had been absent during the long, strenuous battle. Without further ado, they were shut out in the corridor, alone.

Smile at Harry. Smile at Dumbledore and McGonagall and Snape...good Lord, was the man crying? That was a lace handkerchief...

"You insufferable bastard, what on Earth made you save our lives? Now I'll be eternally indebted to you, which is not a feeling I cherish while I'm contemplating the other feelings I have for you!" Oh, dear. She really had to learn to get a grip on her temper. And her tongue.

Draco smirked. "Listen, Ms. Know-It-All, if you didn't know that the only reason I became a spy and risked everything was because I love you, then it's beyond me how you managed to get 17 NEWTS!"

That last bit was yelled. Actually, fortunately for the three in the office, the entire conversation had been yelled, so magical means of eavesdropping had been quite unnecessary.

"Oh." For someone as eloquent as Hermione normally was, she was rather at a loss for words.

"Yes, oh," Draco mocked. "Well, I'll be off then, just thought I should get my love for you off my chest, it was driving me a bit mad."

With that, he simply walked away.

"Oh," Hermione said to the empty space in front of her. "But bloody hell, I love you too. Idiot."

And she hadn't seen him since.

***end flashback***

Smile at Remus, smile at Sirius. Sigh. Keep walking.

At the altar, Percy stood with a nervous, uneasy smile on his face. Hermione looked radiant. Ravishing. Beautiful.

He swallowed nervously as sweat beaded his brow.

Hermione put all other thoughts out of her mind and focused on Percy. Sweet, adorable Percy, who helped her with her shopping. Who cooked for her when she wasn't feeling well and kept her apartment cleaner than she could be bothered to. Kind, affectionate Percy, who understood that she wanted to wait till marriage for sex. Who was content to ask her how her day was and massage her shoulders and help her tame her hair.

Yes, well, she'd marry him and be bloody happy. So there, Malfoy.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today," the minister began the age-old words of the marriage ceremony, nervously glancing at Fred and George, whose faces bore deceptively angelic expressions. Hermione made a mental note to avoid the cake.

"If there is anyone who knows why these two cannot be joined in Holy matrimony," the minister continued, "Let them speak now or forever..."

"Alright, alright, I know of a reason." Cultured, precise tones interrupted. Hermione froze. Ginny fainted. And Percy exclaimed "Thank God!"

Everyone stared as Draco Malfoy sauntered down the aisle, looking for all the world as though he were the star attraction on a Paris runway.

"Err," the minister began timidly. "Who are you and why..."

Just then, the church doors banged open and a harried voice asked, "Oh, God, am I too late? Stop the wedding!" It was Oliver Wood.

This time, Percy froze, Lavender fainted and Hermione yelled, "IS THIS A BLOODY WEDDING OR A THREE RING CIRCUS?"

The minister gave up and cowered next to Ron, who looked torn between wanting to watch the unfolding drama and help his wife up.

Percy, meanwhile, had run to Oliver and thrown his arms around him.

:THUMP: That would be Mrs. Weasley joining her daughter and daughter-in-law in la-la-land.

Hermione, eyes flashing, turned to Draco. "Must you cause devastation wherever you go? This had started out as a perfectly wonderful wedding!"

Without missing a beat, Draco replied, "Only you would call marrying a fag a wonderful wedding, Granger." His comment was met by two indignant "Hey!"s from Percy and Oliver.

She moved forward to kick him, but he intercepted her before she could . "That's a rather nasty habit of yours. I doubt we'll ever be able to have any children," he said.

Hermione smirked. "What makes you think I'd consent to spawn any of your little devils?"

He smirked back. "Just the fact that three little birds told me you loved me."

Hermione turned to glare at Harry, Ron and Dumbledore, who all appeared to be busy whistling, looking at the ceiling and innocently twiddling their thumbs.

"Right, then, what shall we do about this mess?" she asked, ever practical, pointing to the throng of guests avidly watching Draco and Hermione fight and Percy and Oliver snog.

"What we've always done, you daft Gryffindor," he said. And grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the church, out into the bright sunshine; away from the prying eyes of the guests, the happy smiles of her parents and the proud grins of her friends and teachers. And he kissed her.

Pulling back a bit, she smiled contentedly, but said, "This defies all logic, you know."

He smiled against her mouth and whispered, "Do you care, then?"

"For once in my life," she answered, kissing him, "Logic can take a hike."