"Goodnight," he says to the wrong girl, because when they make love they seem like bad poetry, with silences that stretch far too long and words that don't quite fit. Draco/Astoria, as he thinks of Hermione.

There is a story, an epic, the kind that spans lifetimes, and it starts with a letter and not a cupboard. There is a war, a war, a chaos which he tumbles through and does not ask to survive. There is a choice, and she chooses him. Draco/Hermione.

All too soon I am gone once more and the chill doesn't matter, because his body is flush against mine and I can't help my hands pushing past his robes and losing themselves in the black and green. Dramione, after-war, PWmuchP.