Draco was deliriously, unequivocally, blissfully happy. Yes, his father was in prison and yes, the Dark Lord was back, but right now, none of that mattered. Hermione was in his arms, swaying softly with him in the rose-covered arbor next to the small lake near his home. Humming softly, Draco rested his cheek against the top of her head, eyes closed, soaking in the moment, knowing it would have to end soon. Hermione had come to the Manor to visit for a week, under the semi-watchful eye of Narcissa, and he only had two more days before they would have to part ways. With Lucius firmly trapped in Azkaban, it was safe for her to visit him here, if only for a short amount of time. It was effortless, having her here. It was damn near a religious experience watching her walk around his home, picturing her here, forever. It made him say shit he very well shouldn't have. Shit like "I want to marry you."