In Search of Another War

by NichePastiche, wisteria_lodge

Summary:

The war ended five years ago, and apparently if Hermione wants to get anything done she needs to marry into a Wizengamot seat. Draco Malfoy is next on her (alphabetized) list of options. No, of course her new project isn't a coping mechanism. Why do you ask?

(Updates Mondays)

Chapter 1

Heirs to/Current holders of Wizengamot seats (currently single) 

Marcus Flint: a possibility! said no

Gregory Goyle: too sad

Neville Longbottom: engaged to Luna!

Ernie Macmillian: a possibility  could not be located 

Draco Malfoy: 

Theodore Nott: hard to read, possibly in a relationship??

Harry Potter: he would be miserable; I would feel bad; Harry needs to focus on Teddy 

Kingsley Shacklebolt: too honest 

Horace Slughorn: hated his parties (and classes)

 

---

Sunday. 10.30. Hideaway Cafe. Mayfair.   -  DLM

 

---

 

Draco Malfoy arrived early.

Hermione had decided to arrive exactly on time, which was unusual for her. She had considered arriving early of course – it was a good way to show that you were organized, and that you respected the other person’s time. Her parents always rolled their eyes when people arrived exactly on the dot for their appointments –

That wasn’t important.

What was important was that Draco Malfoy did not come away from this meeting thinking she was overeager. Or worse - desperate. She was the one doing him a favor, after all. Hermione wondered if he realized that. He must. He could have ignored her letter or suggested a more public place to meet if the idea was to turn her down in some grand fashion. But instead, he had suggested a discreet muggle tearoom, which Hermione didn’t think was meant to insult her.

"You've considered my offer?" she said.

Draco flinched. “Just – Merlin, at least sit down first – ”

Hermione plonked herself down in the chair across from him.

She hadn’t seen him in person for about four years. But there he was, at a little table with a cup of tea in front of him. Looking – if she was being perfectly honest – a little bit worse than she remembered. Those shadows under his eyes hadn’t been there during the Culpability Hearings. The slight unhealthy grey tinge to his skin was new too. He did pull it off rather well, though, she thought grudgingly. It made him look like a tragic Victorian consumption victim.

"Hermione," said Draco. "I – may I call you Hermione?"

 It was strange to hear her first name coming out of his mouth. But it would hardly make sense for him to continue calling her by her last name under these circumstances, so she ignored her slight discomfort.

"Yes, you may. Can I call you Draco?"

"You did address your courting letter 'Dear Draco Malfoy.'" He put a hand to the lapel of his jacket. Maybe he had her letter tucked away in there. "Yes. You can call me Draco.”

He was fiddling with the teacup. Adding more sugar. Seemed to remember she didn’t have any, flipped the second cup over on its saucer, and poured tea in something of an automatic gesture.

"So," he said, quite casually. “Is it Potter's?"

"Is what Potter's?"

Draco closed his eyes, and made a kind of jerk that looked like the start of a wand movement, enough to make Hermione flinch. But all he said was - "Muffliato." Then continued.

"You sent me a fairly typical - I mean odd, yes, most courting letters don’t spend quite so much time talking about the importance of prison reform. Still, you did send me a courting letter, stressing the importance of a quick marriage. Which, well… you’d hardly be the first. But I assume that you’d just marry the father, if it were Weasley or someone else of no real political importance. If it were Potter, though… this news would dent his reputation at a time when it ought to be at its shiniest. The old families really don’t think much of siring bastards. Wreaks havoc with the wards.”

"The... excuse me, what?"

Draco looked at her, face full of confusion. “The wards?”

"Not the wards!” Hermione exhaled. Then spoke very clearly and slowly, to help him follow along. "I'm here because I need to marry a pureblood to gain access to certain parts of wizard society, and you were the best choice."

Draco still looked confused.

“Then what was all of that about wanting to marry before the Winter Solstice?” He now looked slightly alarmed. “What part of wizarding society do you need to gain access too, inside the next five months?”

It was possible her courting letter might have placed a little too much emphasis on her ideal timeline. But everyone knew that plans didn’t really count unless you included dates, and besides – five months was plenty of time to plan a small wedding. Luna and Neville had just announced their wedding, and well… there were enough things in Hermione's life that had lost momentum. The length of an engagement, that was something she could control. It had honestly just felt good to give herself a deadline again. One she could actually meet.

"I laid it all out in the letter.” She went back into her bag for her notes. “Dememtors are being re-introduced to Azkaban in a ‘trial’ period, and the vote for that will be early next year – ”

“You want a Wizangamot seat.”

Hermione sat back up. Instead of confused or insulted, Draco actually looked relieved. “You want a Wizgamot seat, because you don’t trust Potter or Longbottom to argue your position, and you think that my parents will be more receptive to… forced retirement. Than some of the other sitting members might be.”

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. “Yes, obviously. Your parents already don’t go to Wizagamot sessions. I mean, your father can’t, he’s under house arrest, but your mother could if she wanted. Passing on your seat is perfectly respectable. Even Neville’s grandmother has finally agreed to retire.”

“And Longbottom claims his family seat immediately after he marries Lovegood…” said Draco, slowly. “Which will happen… on the Winter Solstice.”

"Yes." Hermione didn't see why this was giving him so much trouble. “I want to be in the Wizangamot when that happens.” Because it turned out that the only way to join the most important wizard political body was to marry someone who was already in the most important wizard political body – or, she supposed, marry someone whose parents seemed on the way out.

"You're willing to marry me. For political clout. To reform prisons." Draco rubbed his left forearm with the heel of his right palm. “You do realize that even if we announced this today, it would be a scandalously short engagement. A very short amount of time in which to plan a wedding." He gave her a sharp look. "Even if you aren’t… expecting. Why not marry Potter, if you want a seat this badly? I'm sure he would do it. The gossip if you married him would be considerably less interesting. That’s always better for a career politician."

Hermione sighed.

"Harry would say yes. But he’s spent more than enough time shouting at the Wizangamot… and he’s so happy raising Teddy. I’d only make him miserable.”

"I suppose a metamorphmagus toddler probably gives you enough to be getting on with,” Draco muttered.

"Besides, I already have access to all of Harry's connections. I already decided that marrying a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw would be best. I know your family doesn’t have anywhere near the political power they did before the war, but they spent years at the head of a substantial voting block. There must be some of that left.”

“I suppose… I do have some friends,” said Draco, vaguely. “But you're a very eligible witch. You could have your pick of anyone."

Yes. As Witch Weekly kept reminding her. They’d spent the last few years gleefully pairing her up with every pureblood bachelor she stood next to for longer than twenty minutes. But her choices were more limited if she wanted a Wizangamot seat. If Draco said no, then next on her list was Theodore Nott – smarter and more crafty, so less ideal. And if Hermione was being honest, it did help that Draco Malfoy was prettier. That alone should shut down at least some of the gossip.

It was at this point that the muggle waitress brought over another pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.

"So... the actions of my family, during the war... " said Draco, after she had moved away.

"Not impossible to recover from."

"But the actions of my father ..."

“I think being a muggleborn offsets that particular problem well enough.”

"Yes, but… Hermione, leaving politics to the side. You’d be living in the same house as him. Even if you barely saw him, I don't think anyone would blame you for thinking that was too... too much."

Hermione did hesitate, for just a moment - before deciding that honesty was the best policy. "I don’t think that’s a problem. If anything, it shows that I personally believe in the Azkaban alternatives. I believe that they are effective, and I am willing to personally live with the consequences."

"So you don't wish to see my father in Azkaban?"

"I want to see Azkaban gone."

"Is there someone you do particularly want of Azkaban? If there is, I'm sure that Shacklebolt –"

Hermione shook her head. Draco was dead wrong if he thought she could get a favor like that from Kingsley, but more importantly, he still wasn’t understanding. "It's not about that. Azkaban is the biggest symbol of Ministry corruption and power, and if I let it go back to the way it was before the war…”

Then it would be like none of it had mattered.

"I suppose it says a great deal about the state of things," said Draco. "If I'm your best option."

She laughed at that, a little. If Theodore Nott said no, next up on the list was Horace Slughorn. That was one thing the war had done. Reduced the number of Wizangamot seats down from forty-five down to barely thirty. Making her list very short.

Draco ran a hand back through his hair. Adjusted himself a little more comfortably in his seat. He was quite a graceful person. It came from playing Quidditch, probably.

"Tell me," he said."How much of a marriage do you want this to be? I know you were seen around with Weasley a few years ago. Is there someone else? Who also doesn't have the good fortune of being heir to a Wizengamot seat?"

It took Hermione a minute to realize what he was asking.

"Oh, no! Nothing like that. There's no one. I've just been so busy, there hasn't even been time."

"And ah... well.” Draco was fiddling with his cuff again. “The house isn't going to accept an unconsummated marriage. Our wards are nearly a thousand years old… it's just... how it is."

Hermione steeled herself. She couldn't afford to be shy now, not when it sounded like he was so close to agreeing.

"I don’t think that will be a problem." After all, he was very pretty.

Draco’s eyes briefly caught hers. They looked grey and tired — even slightly bloodshot.

“What questions do you have for me?” he said. Like he was on a job interview.

"If we're successful with Azkaban prison reform, would you be willing to move on to house elf rights afterwards?"

Draco just kept looking at her. "So you see this as being quite long-term?"

"Ideally? Yes. I think both of us have a lot we stand to gain. Also, I'd hate to see what the papers would say about either of us if we were to break things off.”

"Merlin..." said Draco. "I'd look like a monster if you left me. Or the other way around.”

"I won't. Not unless something goes catastrophically wrong."

Draco paused. Stirred his tea. Then put down his spoon.

"All right. If you're sure." And then extended a hand across the table.

Hermione could do nothing about the enormous smile across her face. She had been prepared to argue her case all over again. But now… she was looking at Draco’s hand and realized that she didn’t know what she was supposed to do with it. Shake it? She didn’t want to be that business-like. Kiss it? Absolutely not.

Ultimately, she settled on briefly covering it with her fingers and squeezing. Which felt so awkward that she wished she’d gone with the handshake. Hermione pulled back, turned away so he wouldn’t see her blushing, and dove down to dig inside her purse. "If you wanted to look over my plan for getting enough votes to close Azkaban permanently, I brought some materials with me — "

"Maybe not here?" said Draco. “I mean. We are in public, and — being practical about marriage is all well and good, but if things seem too loveless you'll have people like Selwyn thinking you’re plotting to push me off the roof. Or confine me to a tower."

Hermione pursed her lips, even as she considered the parchment she'd pulled from her bag. Sighed. Maybe he had a point. Carefully, she put her notes back where she could find them later.

"You're right. The first priority is announcing that we're together."

"I agree," said Draco. And then he reached across the table. For her hand.

The motion made his left sleeve pull back slightly. Past the cuff, until she could see the loop of the snake that formed the very bottom of his Dark Mark. Black against a pale wrist. When Draco saw where she was looking he shook his sleeve to cover it. Like he thought she might forget it was there, if she couldn’t see it.

Then Draco's fingers did touch hers. His thumb brushed her knuckles. When Hermione didn’t pull away, he leaned over the table. Brought her hand to his lips. Pressed a dry kiss to the back.

Then let go.

Hermione took her hand back, not entirely sure what to make of any of that.

“If we're going to be married soon, you should probably meet my parents,” said Draco. "Or at least my mother… and please don't tell her this is a marriage of convenience."

"Oh. Oh, don't worry.” Hermione had been hit by a kind of fuzziness, as the reality of what she had just agreed to do started coming over her in waves. She shook her head, centering herself. “We need everyone to believe this is real." Then, because it seemed like the polite thing to do - "I can get the bill, if muggle money's too confusing."

Draco had been going into his jacket, but at her words he stopped. "You can get this. If you let me buy you dinner tonight, someplace in Diagon Alley."

Hermione nodded, and then Draco stood. He was very tall. Somehow, she didn't remember him being quite that tall.

She paid for their tea. As fun as it might have been to see Draco Malfoy struggle with muggle money… in good conscience, she didn't think she could do that to the waitress. 

 

---

 

They stepped out of the little tearoom together, onto the posh, bustling streets of Mayfair. Even wearing a muggle suit Draco managed to look just slightly out of place. Perhaps it was the way he kept glancing over at her, like he expected her to dart away. Or maybe it was the hair. Out here in the bright sunlight it did look white, not blonde.

"So," said Hermione. It was good to have a plan again. “Are we going to the Manor now?”

"Or somewhere else. Mother can join us. I can't imagine you especially want to go back?"

"Yes, but it would be very strange if I don't. And I should probably stay the night if we want it to look like we've been together a while already."

Draco closed his eyes, like he was trying to fight off a headache. "Fine. If you insist. Just, know that the Manor, it isn't – it hasn't really managed to – recover. From the war."

Had any of them? Hermione thought about explaining that muggle buildings didn't heal the way wizarding ones did, but decided not to.

"I promise I won't judge."

"The gate-wards are still up, so you're going to have to side-along with me. I think there's a space back here...."

Hermione hated side-along apparition. But sometimes it couldn't be helped, so. Following Draco into a little alley, tucked out of the sight of random passersby, she had the thought that it probably looked like she and him were stealing away for a snog. The idea would be laughable… if that weren't precisely what she wanted all of wizarding society to believe.

Draco had to stand quite close in order to side-along apparate. Once Hermione took a second to get past the strangeness of that, she placed a hand on his arm – and was hit by an awful, terrible pinching –

That wasn’t as bad as when Ron did it. She suspected it something to do with physics, and the fact that Ron was so much taller. There was a squeezing, a twisting –

Then there was grass under her feet, and Hermione was spat out in front of a wrought-iron gate.

A very familiar wrought-iron gate. She was feeling nauseous now as she looked up at it, probably from all the apparating. The last time she had been here... had been with the Snatchers. Hermione could have sworn that this gate had been decorated with the shapes of horrible, blinking eyes back then – but no. It turned out that the Malfoy front gate had been designed to look like peacock feathers. She waited for the metal to contort itself into a face, steeled herself for that horrible booming voice. Only this time the gate didn’t bother.

Maybe because Draco was there.

“Enter freely and under no obligation,” Draco said. Which must have been ward-words, since the gate turned to smoke, allowing them to pass through.

"Once you’re keyed into the wards, you'll be able to apparate in and out as you please," Draco said, once again glancing over his shoulder as they walked up the long drive to the main house. Hermione listened for the cawing squawk of the Malfoy peacocks. Nothing. Everything was quiet here, compared to the activity of London.

There was grass growing between the cracks in the flagstone beneath her feet. Butterflies and all kinds of assorted greenery had escaped their flowerbed, bees buzzed around them, and the topiary bushes had become shapeless blobs covered with ivy. Draco seemed tense, walking though his overgrown garden. Hermione didn’t mind though. It was just a reminder of how much time had passed since the war. Everything was so stubbornly alive here - brilliant and green in the July sunlight. It had been night, last time.

They didn't speak much. Draco kept glancing back at her, like he was afraid she'd vanish. 

"I'm not going to run away,” she snapped, the third or fourth time he did this. “If that's what you're worried about."

Draco didn't answer. Let his eyes drift back up to the manor. Hermione looked at it too. She hadn't really been in a position to take in the architecture on her last visit. Impressive, as well as imposing. Old - though not as old as Hogwarts - and tall. Thick stone walls, and dark narrow windows. Ivy, crawling up from the ground. Attempting to find a way in.

 

---

 

It was cold inside. The Malfoy Manor entrance hall had no windows, the massive fireplace was empty, and the light fixtures remained unlit - which left it dark as well. Still beautiful though. Even the first time she was here – when she had been so sure that she had failed and this was it – there had been enough room in her brain to think that at least she would die some place beautiful.

Now Draco walked through it, the ghostly light from his wand reflecting off his hair and off the marble floor. This room also showed signs of neglect, and damage - chipped tile, burns in the woodwork, empty niches that should have held vases or statues. They walked past portraits, all of blonde wizards, all dead asleep. The scars and pockmarks of war, so strangely absent from the rest of the wizarding world. Hermione had the slightly morbid urge to touch them.

"Mother should be up in her rooms..." said Draco, and gestured down the dark hall. "This way..."

Through a door that was slightly ajar, Hermione glimpsed a familiar drawing room. Familiar … although her most vivid memories of it were not from this angle. The wreckage of the chandelier Dobby had smashed was gone, as if that incident alone was too shameful to acknowledge. But small enough that it could vanish.

Draco noticed where she was looking and clicked the door shut completely.

"I didn't think you would be coming. If I did, I would have...." But he didn't have an end to that sentence.

"It's fine," she was quick to say. Maybe a little too quick.

Draco didn't respond. Instead, he pulled aside a tapestry with a great gash down the center, to reveal a hidden stairwell bathed in sunlight. He went through first, and then turned to reach back down for her.

"Don’t use the second step. The rest are safe."

Hermione studied it. It looked fine, so whatever was wrong with it was probably magical in nature. Warily, she took his hand and very carefully stepped up onto the third step.

Then Draco let the ripped tapestry fall closed.

The scorch marks, dents, and general destruction this house had suffered were more visible in the sunlight. Hermione ran her hand along a large gash in the bannister.

"It isn't a blood curse," said Draco.

She looked at him. Realizing that what she was doing was, perhaps, rude.

“It’s not,” he said, again. “I don’t know what it is, exactly, but this – this thing with the wards. They broke, somehow, sometime during the war, and I… the barrier wall is still intact. But nothing else." He touched the bannister, carved with the pattern of snake scales. Snapped and splintered, now. 

"I'm sorry," said Hermione. 

"You don't know how bad this is. You can't. You're muggleborn – " Draco cut himself off. For the first time he sounded bitter, and angry. About – she didn’t even know. About all of this.

He began to move up the staircase, his back turned to her. Hermione followed, wanting to push and question. Of course she wouldn’t understand if no one told her! Were these blood wards? Did that mean Draco was somehow affected? Was his magic? She had seen him do muffliato in the cafe, so apparently not? Was there a social taboo around letting guests see the house like this? Was that why he had seemed resistant about bringing her here?

The truth was that house wards just hadn't been a focus of her research. Maybe if there hadn't been a war to fight – but that was silly to think about.

Draco was taking her through the house as quickly as possible, but she still saw the bowls set out to catch dripping water, the furniture draped in sheets, the support beams that didn’t match hidden away in dark rooms. Stacks upon stacks of papers and books, shredded carpet, detritus littering the floor. They even passed one ghostly statue, wrapped head to toe in bandages.

And when Draco finally knocked at the door he said was his mother's, no one answered.

They waited for what seemed like a very long time.

"You can show me the rest of the house,” Hermione offered, when it became clear to her that no one was coming. “Even with all the spell damage, it’s still beautiful.” That felt like it might be the wrong thing to say, but it was true.

"What do you want to see?" said Draco, with so little inflection it didn’t really sound like a question.

Hermione sighed. It had been the wrong thing to say.

"It's your home . Even if the wards aren't working. Surely there's something..." She tried very hard not to think about the last time she had been home. Actually home. Took a breath. "Forget I asked."

"I'm sorry," Draco said, stepping away from his mother’s room. "I'll take you through to the Unicorn sitting room. It has a view of the orchard, I'll bring more tea, and you can show me - whatever plans you've made."

"You have an orchard?" Hermione had expected something more like a poison garden, or perhaps a hedge maze.

"The apricot trees are doing well. A few early apples. I can get some for you, if you like."

Apples. Hermione supposed that the Manor did feel a little like something out of a fairytale. 

A spooky fairytale, but still.

 

---

 

The Unicorn sitting room was lighter and airier than any room Hermione had been in so far. Tall French doors opened to the orchard outside, and it didn’t matter as much that none of the lamps in here had been lit, since there was still plenty of sun. Clearly, this room had been named for its wrap-around tapestry. It mostly depicted a forest, but when you focused on the trees and let your thoughts wander, you could see a shining unicorn horn poke out from behind the leaves. This particular tapestry was also in considerably better shape than any of the others. She wondered if it was somehow more important, and Draco had bothered to get it professionally repaired. Or if it maybe had other, undisclosed magical abilities that were not immediately obvious.

Draco cast incendio on the fireplace. Flames immediately soared up, warming the room.

"If you look carefully, there's a princess hiding in the tapestry as well," he said. "I'll get the tea." 

"I'll come with you,” said Hermione, springing back to her feet. “I want to see the kitchen." She liked the idea of Draco in a kitchen, although admittedly she had trouble actually picturing it. She hadn’t seen a single house-elf though, so she supposed that he must be doing that sort of thing for himself now.

"I wouldn't expect much from the kitchen,” said Draco.

"I spent a year camping. I appreciate a nice stove."

He didn't respond. Only tilted his head as though to say suit yourself.  

 

---

 

The kitchens were subterranean, past dungeons which Draco insisted on calling cellars. It had thick pillars and high vaulted ceilings, but really was a space like you would see in a restaurant – room for at least fifteen people to work, walk-in pantries, multiple ovens and washstands. What wasn’t typical for restaurants was the cavernous fireplace, big enough to spit-roast an entire cow. And the multiple cabinets that were padlocked shut and rattling menacingly.

It wasn't nearly as big as the Hogwarts kitchens, but this was still clearly a place designed to serve a great many people. It completely dwarfed Draco, as he took out his wand and casually began levitating things over to him. "Aguamenti," he said to the teapot, before casting a series of heating charms.

Once it began to steam, Draco opened a cabinet that wasn't rattling, and took out – actually Hermione wasn't sure what it was. It looked like he was holding a fertilizer brick. It was only after Draco started slicing bits off and dropping them into the hot water… that Hermione realized he was holding an entire cube of compressed tea.

"Oh no. How old is that?" She grabbed it out of his hands without bothering to ask, and turned it over so she could decide how horrified to be. The label, which had practically fallen off, was both handwritten and in Chinese. "Did this come over during the opium wars ? Draco! This is old enough to be in a museum! And you've just had it sitting there?" How disgusting. "I would have expected this from Ron, and certainly from Harry. But from you?"

"I’m sorry.” Draco actually took a step back.“The storerooms have preservation charms on them, which I am perfectly capable of keeping up. Or do you think I can’t perform a simple Arresto Decomposto?"

"No - it's not-" Hermione was honestly a little flabbergasted. "This isn't about health. It's about integrity. It's about the principle of the thing! You have to have something better than this. You're a Malfoy for goodness sakes! You have a seat on the Wizangamot!" She started flinging open cabinets in search of something more modern. There was the pureblood practice of holding on to tradition, and then there was this. Certainly, some old things could be nice to keep around, but centuries-old tea was not one of them.

"Don't - " Draco grabbed her arm. "I can't - Hermione, stop - there's nothing. Yes, of course, if this were before the war Mother and I would have gone by Madame Puddifoot's and sampled the new blends of the season and had the best sent over, but now she gets more dirty looks than I do! Most days she can hardly bear to leave her room!"

“You can at least get something delivered - ”

“And let people see the state of the house?”

Of course. That explained it.

"Logistics can wait. I'm taking you to get some tea from this century." This was a humanitarian mission now. She set the brick of tea down on the counter with a distressingly loud clunk and dragged Draco by the arm out the way they had come. "You'll have to side-along with me this time because I doubt you know your way around muggle London."

"You won't be able to apparate out of the house," Draco said. "Might be faster to add you into the wards, than it would be to walk all the way back out..."

Hermione stopped short. "All right then. Wards first. But after that, we’re going to get tea."

 

---

 

Hermione knew she would get this house straight in her head eventually. But right now, she admitted to being a little turned around as she followed Draco out a different set of doors onto a wide stone terrace, and down mossy, overgrown steps. "You keep the wards outside? ” she said, swatting nettles away. They’d be all over her socks after this. "That seems like an awfully vulnerable place to put them." Maybe the wards had been a clever ploy to distract her from the tea.

Draco looked over his shoulder. "The chapel's built over the ward-setting. They're not outside."

“I suppose you would have a chapel. Hogwarts used to. But now all the important relics just go up in the Headmaster's office. Hogwarts, a History says that Hogwarts has wards which are designed to be moved if the school comes under attack, and the last time they were activated was back in –" Hermione cut herself off. Because that wasn’t right, was it. She had seen McGonagall activate the wards, as the Death Eaters marched on the castle. “Actually. I suppose it doesn’t have much to say about them at all.”

“The Hogwarts wards could have a Taboo built into them, I suppose,” said Draco. “Like how you can't talk about the Sorting Ceremony with anyone who hasn't already been Sorted." He said this like it was extremely common knowledge.

"Maybe..." Sometimes Hermione had to wonder about that book she had loved so much. It had hurt to realize it had been written by someone who didn’t think house elves were important. But she still kept her copy in her bag, next to Dumbledore's copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. After all, it had been a gift from her parents.

"There," said Draco, gesturing across shadowless grounds lit by noonday sun. At the top of a gentle incline, Hermione could just make out a small stone building overlooking the lake. Quite plain, to her eyes. None of the elaborate Malfoy carving and decorative marble here. Stone river-rock walls, small windows, a peaked roof. Rather like - well - a medieval chapel. The only thing that marked it as wizard was the shape. It was a pentagon, and instead of having one set of doors it had five, one set in each of the walls. 

Draco ran a hand through his white-blonde hair. “Let's get this over with. That is... assuming you still want to be mistress of all of this? 

"I'm known for being fairly stubborn." 

“I hope you're not waiting for me to flinch." With that, Draco pushed open one of the chapel doors and ducked inside. Hermione had to take a moment to blink the sunlight out of her eyes, before following.

 

---

 

She couldn’t see anything. Well, nothing except for the water - water that glowed, as though thick with bioluminescent algae. Bubbling out of some central point. Dripping down.

It was quieter in here than it should have been. That soft drip of water, and nothing else. Hermione could barely hear her own footsteps. She waited for her eyes to adjust, enough to actually see whatever the thing in the center was. A kind of fountain, the size and shape of a bird bath. Only with scalloped sides that gave it the look of a star. The water fell from it into thin stone channels cut into the floor, radiating out from the center. They dipped below the walls, out of sight. Going into the ground, or perhaps the lake – she hardly knew. 

The room felt unsettling yet beautiful in much the same way as a cave. Also like a cave, Hermione felt as though she were being beckoned deeper, while simultaneously warned against trespassing somewhere she did not belong. The water, her own breath, her heartbeat — it all combined in a way that made her feel watched, by something she could not see.

Draco was staring at the basin in the center. He took off his coat. Approached it, unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve as he went. When he was right up against the stone lip, he took a breath - and plunged his forearm deep into the glowing water. Up to the elbow. Hermione held her breath. Half expecting a pair of jaws to emerge, and snap shut.

Nothing happened.

Draco was moving his hand around, as though he’d dropped something small and was trying to fish it out. This continued for one long minute – then another –

It shouldn't have been as nerve-wracking as it was. But every moment Draco’s hand was in that glowing water, the feeling that something was aware of their presence only intensified.

Finally, the muscles in Draco's arm went taut, and with an audible sigh of relief he dragged out a silver chalice. Dripping wet, and now full of the glowing water.

His breath was as heavy as though he'd been running. The cup, he held out to Hermione.

She had been standing back, but now came closer. Her footsteps were loud, every footfall against the limestone floor announcing her presence, no matter how quietly she tried to move. Draco gripped the chalice in both hands.

It was heavy when she took it. The design under her fingertips was some sort of dragon-creature, and Hermione felt sharp wings. So carefully etched that she could feel the difference between the scales and feathers. The little beast in her hands, so detailed she could practically feel it breathing.

“Drink when I tell you to,” said Draco. “Try not to blink once it starts. I’m going to run you through the vows. Just answer ‘I so swear’ to all of them.”

Hermione nodded, taking the opportunity to blink now. Normally, she would ask why - but the atmosphere around her pushed those questions down.

Draco stood before her. The light of the water glinted off his eyes, turning them silver. He took a breath.

“Hermione Granger. Do you swear to use what skill and power you have to protect the Malfoy lands from invaders?"

"I so swear." When she spoke, the acoustics of the room felt like they belonged to somewhere much larger.

“Drink," he said.

She raised the chalice to her lips and drank.

"Do you swear to use what skill and power you have to defend those who claim the protection of the Malfoy name?"

"I so swear."

“Drink," he said, again. "And do you make these promises with a clear heart and mind, without fear and without compulsion?"

She smiled a little as she answered. No doubt there'd be at least one opinion piece speculating otherwise. "I so swear."

"Repeat after me. Sanctimonia vincent semper."

"Sanctimonia vincent semper." 

"Those kept safe will be always victorious."

She took a deep breath. The air felt less heavy than it had just a moment ago. The difference complete enough that she almost thought she had imagined the way it was, before.

“I swear to honor these words, forever and a day,” said Draco. “Finish the drink.”

"I so swear," she said, before finishing the water from the chalice.

Then Draco took the cup from her and let it sink back into the water. Staggered, and put a hand on the basin to steady himself.

Hermione eyed him. His vertigo seemed bad enough that she was a little worried he might fall, and she stopped just short of reaching out to take his arm.

“I’m fine,” he said.

"I'll believe you in a minute." She decided to compromise by standing close enough to grab the back of his jacket, if it turned out that she needed to. But Draco waved her off, then straightened up to roll down his sleeve, put his jacket back on, and begin the process of putting himself back together.

The strange quiet from earlier was now peaceful. The darkness, cozy instead of oppressive.

"You can apparate inside the grounds now," he said.

"We can wait on apparating until you've caught your breath. Let’s get you outside." Despite squirming and his his insistence that he didn't need her help, Hermione slipped her arm around Draco. She figured that she had just sworn to protect him and his lands. This still counted as protection, even if all she was doing was making sure he didn’t fall in a fountain and make himself look like a prat.

Outside, the day had grown overcast. The sky dark, the bright green plants now silver and grey. It was enough of a change that Hermione did wonder exactly how long they'd been in there, dealing with the wards.

Before she was distracted by an approaching figure.

A very tall woman with waist-length blonde hair. Draped head-to-toe in green velvet.

Oh no. Hermione hadn't prepared anything to say. Or rather she had, but she didn’t think her speech about prison reform would work for this.

"Draco?" said Narcissa Malfoy, in a clear, musical voice. The hem of her dressing gown rustled as it dragged through the weeds.

"I'm sorry, Mother," said Draco. "I should have given you some warning that I was about to go into the wards."

Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes drifted between them - and settled on Hermione. Who still had her arm around Draco. Too late to remove it now. Also she didn’t want him to fall over.

"I hope Draco has been making you feel welcome," said Narcissa Malfoy.

"He has." Hermione didn't mention the tea, or that they were only doing this because she had insisted on dragging Draco to a muggle grocery store.

"Many find that staying the night does help, after settling into the Malfoy wards."

"Mother - " said Draco. He stepped out from Hermione's arm. "Mother. May I… may I have the ivy leaves?”

His tone made it sound important, but Hermione had no idea what ivy leaves referred to.

Narcissa grew still. Even the wind did not seem to touch her. She looked over Draco's shoulder at Hermione, her face unreadable.

"You are sure?" she said.

"Yes," said Draco. "I'm sure."

He stepped forward, and Narcissa reached out to touch her son’s hair with a long-fingered hand. "Then the leaves are in the bottom drawer of my jewel chest. Go and fetch them."

Draco popped out of existence. Narcissa continued moving down the path, towards Hermione.

Who couldn't help feeling slightly abandoned.

"Draco will be back," she said. "I know his presence must be a comfort. I do not blame you, for wanting to keep away from this place." Her steady gaze made Hermione wonder, for a moment, if she knew Legilimancy.

"It isn’t that. It's a beautiful house." Except that made it sound even worse. That made it sound like Hermione was avoiding Narcissa personally. "I just… wasn't ready yet."

"And you are ready now?"

Hermione looked back up at the Manor. She doubted she’d ever really be ready, which meant that now was as good a time as any. After all, there was nothing really threatening here, now that Voldemort was gone. It was all just a little sad and in need of repair.

"I think so."

Narcissa nodded.

"You might very well be just what we need. I hope to see more of you.”

At that moment, Draco reappeared, holding a long, flat leather case. A bit like a glasses case, although Hermione didn't actually think that was what it was. Clearly this had some ceremonial significance, and for a moment she thought it might also be related to the wards. But that didn't feel right. That ceremony had been completed in the chapel. This was something else.

"You are a worthy heir, Draco," said Narcissa Malfoy. "Doing as you do will help the house. And your father. But now... I really think I must be going." She looked once more at Hermione. Then completely and noiselessly vanished.

Draco exhaled with his entire body.

"You can not let my mother know this is a sham marriage,” he said. “It would kill her. That's not what she wants for me."

"You really do love your parents."

"Yes. I do," said Draco.

Hermione’s smile started out warm, and when it turned sad, she tried her best not to let it show. She pushed all thoughts of her own parents aside. They were safe. They ere happy. That was what mattered.

Draco stood in front of her, stiffly. Snapped open the box to reveal... three metallic silver ivy leaves. Laid out on a velvet cushion.

"I know this is a little fast. But Malfoys tend to have long engagements, so - will you marry me?"

"Yes." Hermione had expected to feel at least a little conflicted, but didn't. She and Draco were on the same page, and they were going to make this work.

"All right," he said. Then stepped close. For a second, she thought he was about to kiss her - but no. He was pushing her hair behind her ear and laying one of the little metal leaves on her head, about where she would place a hair clip. Except now the leaf seemed to be sprouting tentacles.

"What is that?!" She didn't pull away, but it was a very near thing.

"It's vines, Granger. Relax ."

"I have a complicated history with vines!"

"I... do not want to know. Here ." He picked up her hand and laid her palm on top of whatever new thing she was wearing. Under her fingertips, Hermione felt a net of tiny metal filigree drawing her hair back, contouring to the side of her head and then just... settling there. 

"It's the Malfoy wedding tiara. You put the last leaf in the center on the day of the wedding, it's all very tasteful."

"Oh." Somehow, it hadn't actually occurred Hermione that this process would include important family jewelry. She wasn’t sure why. It seemed obvious in retrospect.

"So can I put the other half on. Or would you rather walk around like that?" 

"I was startled!"

Draco looked for a moment like he might apologize - but then he didn't, and instead slid the second leaf into her hair on the other side. Which Hermione honestly appreciated, preferring not to dwell on her faux pas.

"So that's done," he said. Stepped back half a pace.

"Right.” Enough with wards, and weddings, and curses. “Now tea." 

Hermione brought her hand down on Draco's shoulder and apparated them to a narrow little alley, right behind an Aldi.

Chapter 2

Draco swayed on his feet. Whether from the shock of the side-along apparition, or the shock of being near an Aldi – she wasn't sure.

"Where are we?"

"Getting you tea."

"You must know that doesn't really answer my question."

"It's an Aldi. A muggle grocery store. They sell food here. And other things like toothpaste." Hermione thought briefly of the center aisle – the ‘magic aisle’ or the ‘aisle of shame’ depending on who you asked. ‘Aisle of shame’ was much more apt. Every time she went there it seemed there was something she ought to have bought ages ago. Last time was a six-pack of practical bralettes. "Come on. We're on a mission."

Draco sighed. "I suppose I would be a fool to try and stop you.”

"Yes." She led them out into the open, and nudged Draco towards the automatic doors. They slid open –

He flinched. Actually, flinch was charitable. Really, Draco jumped about half a step back.

"I thought you said this was a muggle grocery?" he hissed.

"It is. There's a sensor, a little camera thing in the doors that detects movement."

"A camera? The muggles are that interested in us?"

"There's just a computer watching. It's like a house elf, but without the slavery. Just plastic, metal and electricity."

Slowly, he nodded. Possibly comprehending. If he had bothered to take Muggle Studies, that explanation would have made perfect sense to him.

"I might as well give you this," he said, and pulled a coin purse from his pocket. "I had the goblins convert some of the gold to Muggle money. It's linked to the vault, so it should never empty."

That was a lot to wrap her head around, so Hermione started with the most relevant thing.

“So there is still money? Voldemort didn’t spend it all?” She had been at the Culpability Hearings, and it had seemed to her that funding the Death Eater war-effort had put quite a dent in the Malfoy coffers.

Draco blinked. Stood there stunned, surrounded by half-off store-brand crisps.

“Ah. Most of the family funds… come from assets we own in the muggle world,” he said, finally. “So our income is… we still have it. I suppose money was not especially liquid the first few years after the war, but now…” he waved a hand. “The vault is filling. Do you want to meet with our banker? See the family books?”

“No, I believe you," Hermione assured him. "And... I’m not actually marrying you for your money.”

“Oh.”

Hermione tucked the coin bag into her purse. She hoped very much that the goblins had put some sort of withdrawal limit on it, otherwise Draco had invented a debit card with no safety precautions - which was when she suddenly realized –

"You walked into that cafe already planning to say yes.”

Draco blushed. This was incredibly obvious, because he was so pale.

"You might have given me a good reason to say no," he said, slightly defensively. "I was more expecting you would say no."

"Why would I say no? It was my idea."

"The Manor wards, my parents." He shrugged. "A bit far to push a Gryffindor." Draco tucked the box holding the remaining silver ivy leaf back inside his tightly cut jacket, the lines of the tailoring staying smooth. It was surprisingly attractive how he managed to accomplish that with so much confidence and familiarity that it didn't turn a single head, despite being a quite magical display done in plain sight, in the middle of an Aldi.

"All right. Any preferences?" Hermione herded him over to the array of teas available, so she wouldn't have to engage with any of ... that. She also suspected that he'd be overwhelmed, and felt like it was her obligation to enjoy it while it lasted.

She was not disappointed. Draco looked at the tea and froze like he'd been confronted with a dragon. Just stood there for one beat - two. Staring at all the different varieties.

"All right," he said. "You've made your point. The muggles are extremely impressive. Happy?"

"Quite." Hermione smiled and bobbled up onto her toes, grabbing a few teas from the top shelf for him to try. He trailed behind, following her around the place as she shopped. When she went to pay, she just used her credit card. Draco watched like she was doing magic.

Or well. Not magic. He probably wouldn't have cared that much if she'd done actual magic.

He was also making a bit of a scene.

Not in the terms of the Statute of Secrecy or anything, but more in a something-here-is-suspicous and doesn’t-add-up way. There he was, in a very nice suit, with the hair and cheekbones of a model. While she paid for everything, and he looked on with rapt attention. It was enough to get people paying attention, and she really wished they would stop staring. This was the most convenient Aldi.

"It's all right dear." Hermione said, thinking fast. "I know you're barely making rent as it is. You don't have to pay me back."

"Oh..." She watched Draco pivot. "That's so generous. You really don't have to."

Oh dear. Draco Malfoy didn't know how much tea cost. He sounded even more ridiculous. She hadn't accounted for that.

She rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sigh-laugh. The next move was just to startle him into keeping his mouth shut. "Drama queen. You're just trying to get me to tell you again what a nice shag you were."

He looked right at her. There was that old Draco Malfoy smirk she remembered from school.

"Was I?"

Hermione didn’t know how to respond to that, and so she just took her tea, leaving a mildly scandalized cashier in her wake. On the way out of the store, Draco looped his arm through hers. It would seem he had been enjoying himself.

"So where do you want to drink this then?" he said, as soon as he detached. "Back at the Manor, or somewhere else?"

"The Manor, I think. We should put the tea… in the kitchen." Hermione was determined not to be embarrassed by the conversation she’d just had, and walked back around the corner to the alley they’d been using as an apparition point. If Draco thought she would offer to side-along him, he was wrong. He could get himself home. She turned on her heel, and apparated into the center of the Malfoy kitchens.

Draco followed a second later. He leaned against a support column, and gestured expansively at a tea service made of crystal so clear it looked like glass.

"Have at it. What is mine is yours."

Technically, that was true. Or nearly so. How strange.

Hermione still felt cautious about using what was clearly such an expensive tea set. The teapot already had water in it, so she cast incendio minor and let it boil as she arranged the boxes of tea on the counter. "These are our options. What are you in the mood for?"

"It should be the guest's choice,” said Draco. “But then… you're not really the guest anymore, are you?" He pointed at one of the boxes at random.

"Good choice." Hermione plopped a few teabags into the water, and let them steep. "So where shall we sit?"

He pulled his wand out of his sleeve - it was made of pale wood, very visually different from his old hawthorn wand. A wand which Harry was still using on a day-to-day basis, as far as she was aware. Draco did a careless little swish-and-flick and a wingardium leviosa, and then the entire tea service floated gracefully into the air. The effect was all very Alice-in-Wonderland.

His form was sloppy, but in a way that seemed almost deliberate. Like people who spent hours trying to get the exact perfect bedhead look.

"I had assumed we'd take it up to my rooms,” said Draco. “As you can see… most of the house isn't exactly usable."

"Your rooms sounds lovely." Normally she wasn't the type of girl to let a boy invite her back to his room like this. Well, with the exception of Harry and Ron, but they were practically living on top of each other in the Burrow, that didn’t count. But Draco was obviously self-conscious about the state of the house, and she hadn’t been here long enough to know which rooms were habitable, or which ones were frequented by his parents. She didn’t particularly want to run into either of them. More than she already had.

Hermione tried to picture what the Manor must have looked like before the war, and found herself dreadfully wishing she'd had the chance to see it. The damage to the Manor was odd. The only thing that could explain some of it was if Death Eaters had been using sculptures and vases as target practice. There was no purpose, no sense to it. It was so wasteful it made her heart hurt.

Draco led her back up the stairs, and didn't comment on any of the mess. It didn't seem like something he was willing, or able, to talk about.

His rooms were indeed rooms. The first was a bit of a sitting room, but beyond it Hermione thought she could glimpse a bedroom, a bathroom, and possibly a dedicated closet-room. Draco had clearly not been expecting guests, so there were books draped over the arms of chairs, empty cups on the mantelpiece. A racing broom propped in the corner. After the rest of the house, it was a relief to be in a room that was messy in a normal human way.

Draco did a wide, clean arc with his wand, and the tea things arranged themself on the table next to the window. A large window, which didn't make a lot of sense in a room with a fireplace, but one or both of them were probably enchanted.

"Won't you please sit?" said Draco.

"I'd love to." Hermione took the seat on the chair with the slightly better view of the door, and Draco sat down across from her. Crossed his legs. Leaned on his elbow, against the arm of the chair. He looked very pretty. It had to be a deliberate pose.

"You made the tea," he said. "Why don't you pour?"

"Of course." Hermione poured him a cup, then herself. She hadn't bought anything to put in the tea, and she hadn't seen anything in the cabinets. So she retrieved some honey from her purse. "I bought this from a muggle beekeeper who owns some land near the Burrow. He has no idea the Weasleys live nearby of course, but his bees come through their wards to drink from the wildflowers there."

Draco tipped a little of the honey into his tea. The liquid in the cup formed a tiny whirlpool to stir, apparently completely on its own, before calming down. The effect was mesmerizing, and Hermione eagerly added some honey to her own tea to see if her cup did the same thing. When it did, she watched the liquid spin, utterly entranced.

"Do you know what spells were used to enchant this?" She could cast them on Harry's collection of novelty mugs. That might make a good Christmas gift.

"It's a fairly good tea service," said Draco, trying a sip. "Lalique and Ashford are always good about making sure their charms stack well. You don’t have to worry about the spells reacting badly to each other, or giving you unexpected side effects when you cast additional spells on their china."

Hermione pulled a quill and a spiral notebook out of her bag to jot down the maker’s name, before tucking it away again. "Thank you. That gives me a starting point for my research. It could save easily an hour or two."

Draco eyebrows rose, rather high into his high hairline.

"I don't know how much good I'll do you as a resource. There is a library. Well. Some of the library is still there, and Father managed to hide the most important books in the crypt."

"You'd let me in there?" Old pureblood families were very particular about their crypts.

"Into the family crypt?" said Draco.

"I thought that was just for family."

Draco just stared at her. "You are aware of what the word marriage means, yes?"

"Oh – yes. Of course – I just –" Hermione felt some vague need to explain herself, but wasn't sure how. "Did… did the crypt make it out relatively unscathed, at least?"

"You wouldn't know this,” said Draco. “Actually maybe you would, I have no idea. But the only reason to destroy a crypt is to deliberately start a blood-feud. The actual casters themselves don't walk away from that. Not really. Not long term. It's suicide, even for someone like the Dark – like Voldemort." 

She noticed the struggle to get the name out, but didn't comment on it. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure what she ought to call Voldemort either. Harry just called him Tom, but Hermione didn't think she'd ever get there herself.

A tiny bit of Draco’s tea spilled onto the saucer. "That's how you get long curses," he finished.

"Well, I'm glad your family was spared that."

Draco just nodded, as he folded both hands around his cup.

"You aren't still keeping the books there, are you? A crypt is far too damp for long term storage."

"I'm sure you're right," he said, dismissively. Then followed that up with - "Fine. I know you're right. It just didn't seem – there didn't seem to be anywhere else – safe enough to put them."

"Just let me bring out a shelf with the proper protective enchantments. I have one in my bag." She used it often. This meant she'd have to replace it, but that was doable.

Draco was giving her a very strange look.

"You have an aegis cabinet with you?"

"Yes. You never know when you might need one."

He was still just sort of... looking at her.

"Let's do that after tea,” she said.

He bowed his head, to look at his hands. "Thank you."

"It's no chore, I promise. I'll take any excuse I can to look at old books. Just ask Harry. He still thinks I'm crazy for wanting to even set foot back in the Department of Mysteries." She had to. They had the largest collection of dementor research.

"I'd forgotten you were there," Draco said. After a pause. "For months, Dolohov was bragging that he'd killed you. But then you're back up again, no worse for wear."

"Dolohov needs to practice better form."

Draco laughed. And then kept laughing, until his laughter became just slightly hysteric - then he got himself back under control.

"He was sloppy!" Hermione tried to explain herself. She didn’t know what about that was so funny. "Not who I'd have picked for that mission. But your father was much more formidable and made up for the holes the others left in their line. It was quite impressive really."

"No wonder my mother likes you…” said Draco, and shook his head. "You have managed to appropriately compliment my family while discussing a spectacular military defeat which my father oversaw. One where you fought on the opposing side."

"Thank you?" Hermione had just been making conversation, but she'd take the compliment.

Draco nodded, and refilled her teacup. Adding in the honey without being asked.

"The first step is of course to uphold the dementor ban," said Hermione, maybe a little too loudly. "But ideally I would like to come up with ways to dismantle Azkaban entirely. I've already looked into containing the dementors and the Department of Mysteries has a few workable options."

It took Draco a second to pivot to her new topic of conversation. "You're going to need an army of cursebreakers to even make a dent in the Azkaban wards. It was a Dark Lord's fortress before it was a prison."

“I know that. There's very little surviving history about Ekrizdis or the building's construction. It was a remarkably risky move to transform it into a prison in the first place. There’ve been cases of guards vanishing as recently as 1983."

"That would be the strategy to take with the Bulstrodes," said Draco. "Don't try to convince them Azkaban is wrong, convince them that it's risky." He leaned back, crossed his arms, and looked up at the ceiling."Slughorn and Longbottom will vote with Potter. Lovegood will vote with her husband on this, although I bet she won't always. Ollivander will vote with her. You control Potter's vote, obviously. You will have problems winning over the Parkinsons and the Selwyns. The Flints and the Greengrasses... the Malfoys have always had a relationship with them. Theo, you can reason with. The Macmillians always go with the majority, and the Azkaban votes do too."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was ridiculous that the members of the Wizagamot imprisoned in Azkaban still got votes, but that those votes were controlled by the majority. "I don't realistically see us winning this without at least the Parkinsons or the Selwyns," she said. "I think we stand a better chance with the Parkinsons."

Draco winced. "I, ah. I could have been more... elegant about turning down Pansy. That's how Mother put it. But she did rather corner me, and just the thought of giving her free run of all of this - " He gestured around. "I mean, you aren't going to sell everything and move us to France. Or take the cursed artifacts out to throw Halloween parties, even if it gets my father thrown back - of course that’s even if she still would have agreed after seeing the state of this place. I just – I –"

Hermione leaned over and patted his wrist. The one without the Mark. "You did the right thing."

Then Draco reached over, and let his fingers rest on the back of her hand.

Hermione had meant for it to be a brief gesture of solidarity, but now it had become - she didn't know what -

"You asked me why I thought you'd turn me down,” said Draco. “To be perfectly honest... my thought was that once I was standing right in front of you, there was a strong possibility you just wouldn't be able to bring yourself to touch me."

He took his hand off hers, enough to shake back the cuff, and reveal the very end of his Dark Mark. That black curve of the snake, so startling against his almost translucent skin.

"Does it hurt?" Hermione asked, looking at it. "I've heard that Saint Mungo's is getting reports of phantom pains.”

"I don't think so. Not since Potter killed him." Draco twisted himself, in such a way that the sleeve covered his entire arm again. "I suppose sometimes I'll dream it hurts again, but I don't think there's much the healers will be able to do about that."

"Their best guess is it has something to do with repeated Morsmordre castings, or else it's purely psychological."

"Are you still interested in taking the books out of the crypt?" Draco didn't even try to disguise the change of subject.

"Of course! Family crypts are just such a key part of pureblood wizarding culture, and I thought –" She hoped she wasn't coming off as rude, or ghoulish. This was his family's final resting place after all. She tried to tamp down her excitement. "Only if you're comfortable with it, of course. We don't have to."

"I don't mind,” said Draco. “And if any of my more unpleasant ancestors would mind, they can... stuff it."

Which was such a Ron phrase, and sounded so funny coming out of Draco's mouth, that it got a genuine smile out of her.

"Just so you know, there was a real vogue for bone-sculptures in around the 1300s."

"Really?” said Hermione. “Oh, please say you're done with tea. I haven't had as much time for museums as I'd have liked since the war." Wizards didn’t really have what she would call museums - they tended towards more eccentric private collections. Either way, she missed it. Hogwarts had been rather like living in a museum, and it had spoiled her.

She finished up her last sip of tea and cast a quick cleaning charm on her cup to signal that she was done. The charm was perhaps a little impolite but it didn't make sense to go all the way back to the kitchen just to cast one spell.

"Don't bother about that, it's self-cleaning." Draco stood, and rebuttoned his suit jacket. Reached a hand down to her. "Shall we?"

 

---

 

It turned out that the chapel that housed the wards also contained the crypt-entrance. This time Hermione couldn’t help but notice the humidity, and think that it couldn’t possibly be good for the books. She reminded herself that the wards employed some kind of magic water, and as such, they were probably fine. Probably.

Draco strode over to the wall, and tapped the stones that made up one of the archways with his wand. They shook and vibrated for a moment, then began to shift and slide. The door in the center faded into smoke, revealing a staircase leading into total darkness.

She stepped through after him, quickly.

"I've only ever seen stones act that way at the entrance of Diagon Alley. Does that mean this door dates to the same time?"

"My father would probably know," said Draco, as the arch grew smaller and smaller behind them, as they descended. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, the door was gone completely, and they were standing in pure, inky blackness.

"I'll be sure to ask him." Only the thought of Lucius Malfoy, combined with the darkness, sent a twinge of fear up Hermione's spine. But she shook it off. The war was over, a fact that everyone here was grateful for. "Watch your eyes. Lumos."

The tip of her wand lit up - but Draco was looking at her like she'd done something wrong.

"Just Nox that light out for me. Trust me, you'll like this."

Hermione did, feeling a little foolish. Of course there would be some kind of light source down here.

"Actually, it's better with two people,” said Draco. “On three, tap the wall on your left and cast Incendio."

"One." Hermione said, wand at the ready.

"Two," he said.

"Three. Incendio." They said that part together, tapping their wands against the wall on opposite sides.

Immediately, the fire lit up some sort of lattice and light shot down the tunnel. Which was impressive in itself, but which was clearly not the point. The point was the floor to ceiling stained-glass windows the fire-lattice on the walls illuminated. Twice as tall as she was, intricate as mosaics, jewel-bright and moving. All of them moving.

Hermione gasped. "Oh Draco. This is – I'm so glad the wards are working down here." She reached out to touch the glass. "It's... well, magical seems a little obvious, doesn't it?"

He was smiling at her, easy and proud. "It's not a short walk to the crypt, mind you. We keep casting extension charms so we can add on more windows."

"Do you know any of the stories behind them?" What was she saying, of course he did. 

"Some of them," said Draco, as they began to walk down the hallway. "Many of them," he allowed. "That's Armand Malfoy, who came over with William the Conqueror. He definitely trained dragons, although I don't know if he actually rode them into battle. All this is very pre Statue of Secrecy, of course."

"That's definitely the more impressive accomplishment. Speaking from experience, riding them's not all that difficult. You mostly just have to hold on."

Draco didn't say anything, but she thought he looked suitably impressed. "Malfoys used to have a reputation for healing magic. And disguise magic, it was the same thing back then." He gestured at a woman who seemed to be disintegrating into petals, the movement repeating itself like a magical photograph. "Domitia Malfoy was a spellcrafter. Died in a magical experiment. But we kept some of her spells in the family."

Hermione desperately wanted to ask follow-up questions, but recognized that now was probably not the time.

Draco kept walking her through battles, the Black Death, a few sweeter and more domestic scenes as the art style of the pictures shifted. Ships and ship battles, some with complements of broomsticks, began to make more of an appearance. Ron would probably find those more interesting than she did.

"Lucius Malfoy, not my father, the one my father is named for, tried to propose to Queen Elizabeth. The storm that destroyed the Spanish Armada was his attempt to impress her. It didn't work."

It was a bit of weather magic that was commemorated by an entire arch, including the ceiling. Hermione's laugh echoed down the long hallway.

Draco's step faltered. "The anti-muggle pieces come after this. It's – if you'd prefer to close your eyes," he held out his arm. "It's what I'd do."

"I'd rather see."

"Fine," said Draco. "Just to warn you. Some of it gets – bad. One of the reasons the Statute was passed was to stop muggle-hunting."

"I'd still rather know. Better to hear it from you first than get the highlights from a Prophet reporter when I marry you." Hermione knew the broad strokes. Just not the events that were specifically relevant to Malfoy family history. Draco hadn't been enough of a threat for her to look into any of that seriously at school.

She studied the shining stained-glass mosaics. The story the pictures told started with the witch trials, and its Malfoy victims. Most of whom were depicted as very young. The muggles here were mostly Spanish Inquisition types, and there were a number of muggle torture devices highlighted. The non-wizards themselves were depicted as so comically stupid and violent that they seemed out of place, not matching the style of the images around them. And then... well, that was certainly a very heroic way to depict a very one-sided fight. If the pictures were to be believed, the Malfoys were leveling entire churches, entire towns.

"If you've ever wondered why those three spells are the Unforgivables," said Draco, glancing at a muggle who was clearly being forced to dance. "It's because they were the popular ones, during this period."

"1518?" she asked softly.

"For this one.”

"The muggles call it the Dancing Plague. It's remembered as a famous case of mass hysteria."

"The dancing plague," Draco repeated softly. "It makes sense that they would still remember."

"I don't know if they even knew what was happening at the time." At his look of skepticism she elaborated. "It was never about magic. Not really. A lot of muggles were found guilty of witchcraft too. It was about power and control and finding someone to blame. The plagues, the earthquake. Maybe some of them knew they'd found a real witch or wizard, but they would have settled for muggles. Muggle or wizard, everybody loves a scapegoat. You remember how eager people were to turn on their neighbors during the war."

"Yes. I do," said Draco. "Much easier to blame one person, then admit that your stupid violent organization is unsustainable and barely under control."

"Exactly." She patted his arm. "I'm glad you see that."

It was nice, not being the only one who saw the need for system-wide reforms. Ron never quite understood why things weren’t just magically better now that Kingsley was Minister. That was definitely part of why they hadn't worked out romantically.

Draco turned to touch the glass. "I didn't know that muggles targeted other muggles during the witch burnings. I thought it was just about us. But then...” he paused. “There were never that many of us. Makes much more sense that we just got swept up in something, like we did with the Black Death or the Crusades."

"Wizards all like to think they're more special than we are." Well, except Harry. He rather preferred to pretend the opposite. Which was good; she wasn't sure she could put up with him if he'd fully leaned into the fame of being Harry Potter. "I’m sorry no one ever taught you."

"Yes, well. I'm sorry I wasn't better able to work it out for myself. Like you, or the Weasleys, or even Severus."

"I think you've done all right, all things considered. Though you do still owe me an actual apology for the name calling. I'm not accepting one forced out of you by teachers."

It was odd, but strangely fitting that they were having this conversation surrounded by images commemorating his family's historical atrocities. It felt like it provided proper context.

Draco closed his eyes. He actually put a hand to his mouth.

"Oh no. Merlin, I did didn't I? Multiple times as well..."

"I wasn’t exactly keeping count... but yes."

Draco looked at his feet. "I don't know the appropriate way to answer for an insult like that, in muggle society. But if you were a pureblood, I’d –"

She hadn’t been expecting him to sink down to his knees, right there in front of her. Then his wand was out and laid across both palms, almost like he was presenting it to her. He squeezed both fists around it, and when he opened them back up again… his fingers were stained black, as though with ink or ash.

"I have dishonored you and in doing so have dishonored myself. Any boon I can deliver is your right to take and my pleasure to give."

"Oh you ridiculous man." She yanked him up onto his feet by his coat, and kissed him.

It wasn't a deep kiss. Just a quick impulsive thing. She had pulled his face so very close to hers. And after all, they were going to have to pretend to be madly in love. It didn’t make any sense to fight the idea, once she’d had it.

Draco was stiff under her arms. And then he wasn't. He brought a hand to the back of her head, and made the kiss longer.

A little electric shiver went down her spine. She didn't entirely know what to do with her hands.

Draco pulled back. But kept his hand in her hair. And looked at her, a question in his eyes.

"You're, ah. Forgiven,” she said, mouth dry.

"I will seek to not injure you so again," he finished, and as he flexed his hand she watched the black stain fade from his fingers.

"Right. The books?" They couldn't afford to linger over the kiss and let things become strained and awkward.

"The books. Right," said Draco, taking a step back. "Through here."

It was very unlike her. But Hermione didn't pay all that much attention to the eighteenth and nineteenth century parts of the stained-glass mosaic. 

 

---

 

The Malfoy books were stacked haphazardly against the wall of the crypt proper. Deeds and land agreements, old journals – there was a beautifully illuminated Book of Days recording all the Malfoy births, deaths, and marriages. There were quite a few grimoires as well. Some full of spells specifically for the house, like the pattern Draco had tapped against the stones in order to open the door. But flipping through a few of them – some of these were full of magic Hermione had never heard of before.

"Father let Severus go through that one," Draco commented. He was standing, hands in his pockets. Watching, giving space. "The healing song he used on me is in there. So is Serpensortia."

"I'd wondered where you got that." Hermione muttered, tracing her fingers over the words on the page.

"It's the Malfoy signature finishing move. It did win Constantius Malfoy the famous duel, but that was mostly because Erastos Surridge was deathly afraid of snakes. In most situations it's not especially useful. Our family cosmetic charms are much better. Like the family sun-protection spell. We'd be lost without it."

"Or at least very sunburnt."

"We see it as much the same thing."

Hermione removed the aegis cabinet from her bag, spelled it larger and started loading books into it. "These are in surprisingly good condition, for having been hidden here in such a rush."

"That would be my father's doing."

"It was good thinking. Most of these are priceless." Hermione ran her fingers gently down the spine of the oldest volume there. After so much time in the restricted section, she'd become very good at spotting enchanted books. None of these had curses on them. Only within their pages.

"At least I'm able to show you all this," Draco gestured around the crypt – extending out in a tunnel system, dense with sculpture-like pillars and graceful decorative elements, carved with faces and crests. "As it should be."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say, and so busied herself inspecting books for damage and placing them on the enchanted shelves, alongside Hogwarts, A History and the only book she owned that was actually valuable - Dumbledore’s copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

She lingered over that one for a moment. It was silly to carry around an entire cabinet just to protect one book. It made much more sense to leave them all here together. But she still felt a little uneasy about it. Once all the books were shelved, the thought bothered her enough that she removed The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and returned it to her bag.

There was no way Draco hadn't noticed. 

“You are welcome to leave your things here,” he said. Looking very tall, framed by all the history of his family. “If you’d like to.”

"I – I know. It's just that Dumbledore left me this book and it saved all our lives and –  it sounds foolish when I say it out loud. I should probably just leave it here. But I feel safer…"

"Oh." Draco's face cleared. “No, you should definitely keep that on you. That’s an heirloom imbued with life magic. You should have an interior pocket made for it, that sort of thing has been known to block spells.”

"Really?” She could hear the beginnings of nervous laughter in her voice as she spoke, and hoped that Draco wouldn’t comment. “So that explains why Ron always carries the deluminator around. He never thinks to tell me and Harry these things. Just takes it for granted that I'll know them because I read so much.” She looked around one last time. "I think we're done here."

“You have been at work for some time,” said Draco. “But I wouldn't recommend appararating out. You could, only we’re underneath the foundations of the house – it’s just a lot of old magic.”

Just one more piece of pureblood knowledge that no one had ever thought to mention. Hermione appreciated the explanation. She also appreciated that Draco was clearly trying to not make it feel like an explanation.

She fell into step alongside him, as he started up the tunnel which led back to the staircase.

He kept sneaking glances over at her.

"What?" She was beginning to think that her hair was misbehaving more than usual today. Surely he didn’t still think she was going to run away?

“Nothing. Ignore me. Only I'm trying to get an accurate sense of you.” Draco shrugged. “It’s polite.”

"I've mellowed a bit since school, but I'm mostly still the same person."

“I didn’t know you that well at school. Obviously.” His focus sharpened. “For example, right now I can’t tell if you want me to kiss you again, or leave you be. I am normally better at judging these things.” He actually sounded a little frustrated.

Hermione could feel herself blushing.

“Forget I brought it up,” said Draco, smoothly.

She nodded, and looked away, pretending to examine the stained glass walls as they traveled in silence.

 

---

 

They made it through the chapel and back out into the overgrown Malfoy gardens, where the shadows of the trees were already starting to grow long.

"You are welcome to stay the night," Draco said. Then it was his turn to blush, as he adjusted. "I'd make up a guest bedroom for you."

"But won't that be a little suspicious? If you want your mother to believe we're really together?" Unless this was another pureblood custom no one had told her about… but first Hermione had to rule out  Draco being shortsighted, or attempting to be considerate.

He winced. She was right.

"Maybe if we were Carrows or Gaunts who go in for virginity magic..." His tone of voice made it perfectly clear what he thought about that. "But Malfoys do not tend to go to their wedding beds as virgins. Or marry many virgins, when it comes to that."

Hermione chose to keep her mouth shut about that. It wasn't her fault she hadn't had much time for relationships.

"I'd sleep on the settee,” said Draco, definitively. “Or, well. You could share my bed in any way you saw fit. I certainly wouldn't mind."

"We're better off sharing. It's less suspicious that way." It might make sleeping more difficult, but it left less room for error. "Anything is better than bunkbeds."

"I'm not going to ask," said Draco.

"They were what we could fit in the tent."

“The tent.”

“When we were tracking down Voldemort's horcruxes. We slept in a tent. With bunk beds.”

"That sounds horrifying. Know that my mother would actually disown me, if she found out I made my fiancee sleep in a bunk bed. "

This was the most shocked and offended he’d looked all day. Hermione tried her very best not to laugh.

“I think Harry would have been happy with just a mattress on the floor as long as it had clean sheets."

Draco's look of intense alarm somehow just made the whole thing funnier.

"To this day he doesn't understand what Ron and I were complaining about. Insists it would have been a fine way to spend the summer, if not for the war and the horcrux situation."

"I am now deeply concerned about Potter, and you, and I am certainly buying you dinner before you tell me that you also spent the war foraging for mushrooms."

"Mushrooms are much too dangerous. I wouldn't trust those two not to poison themselves."

Draco held out his arm for her in a very pointed way. Like he was offended on Hermione's behalf.

She placed her hand on his arm, and he whisked them off.

 

---

 

It turned out that Draco knew exactly what he was doing. He apparated them to the doors of a very romantic restaurant in Diagon Alley, all low ceilings and dark red fabric, and tucked them into an alcove booth in the back, half-hidden by a curtain. Then he pulled the sash and let the golden curtain fall almost completely shut – and proceeded to be extremely knowledgeable about the best dishes, the best wine, the best dessert - effectively, he ordered for the both of them. A few patrons pointed at his white-blonde head over the course of the meal – but Draco ignored them, keeping up a steady conversation with Hermione the entire time.

"Thank you." She'd let Draco be the exception to her rule of not letting others pay for her meal. There was no risk of it being a misguided show of gratitude from him, and he could still afford it.

On the way out, he looped her arm under and over his. "I'll bring us back to the Manor?" he said, as soon as they were out in the cool night air. Again, attracting a look or two, although no one approached them.

"Yes, that sounds lovely." Hermione would have rather apparated back herself, but it would be clearer they had left together if they used side-along. It would be good to get whispers started as soon as possible…which was what she suspected Draco was doing.

He half-turned – and then paused. Bent down, to whisper in her ear –

"There's someone with a decent camera. I'm going to kiss you, if that's all right."

"Oh. Yes. I appreciate the warning." For both the kiss and the camera.

Draco pulled her half behind a decorative vine arbor, full of fluttering glowing butterflies that she realized, on a bit of a lag, would do an excellent job of illuminating their faces in the dark. He was clever. She liked that about him. And, she was starting to realize, actually good at this kind of thing - he'd been aware of his public image since childhood.

Then he stepped close to her. Close enough to cup his hand around her jaw. Tilted her chin up. He let his fingers rest just below her ear. Then let his thumb stroke lightly across her bottom lip. His first kiss… wasn't even a kiss, just a brush of lips against the corner of her mouth, as he brought her closer, and let a hand drop down to her waist.

She brought her hand up to rest along his side, all thoughts of butterflies and cameras temporarily banished. His lips were very soft.

He wrapped an arm around her back, and pulled her flush against him. The kiss started soft and almost massage-like, their faces touching, giving her time to get used to him, his proximity. But now he was running a hand through her hair, his lips met hers properly, and the kiss had heat behind it.

She let out a soft involuntary noise as she clung to him and kissed back. She hadn't meant to let herself get so carried away, but – she supposed – there wasn't any harm in it –

He was kissing hard now, running fingers down her spine. Before ducking his head to kiss her neck.

"Draco," she gasped, curling her fingers in his hair and tilting her head to give him better access.

He was sucking a little love bite there.

Then he pulled back and Hermione rested her head against his shoulder. He had one hand on the nape of her neck, the other at the small of her back. "Pictures move," he whispered, into her hair. "And I wanted them to get a good one of your face with the Malfoy leaves in your hair." Hermione was close enough to feel him exhale. "We can go now."

And holding her just like that, he apparated them away. Into the corridor outside his suite of rooms. 

Chapter 3

They apparated back inside Malfoy Manor, to a dark corridor just outside Draco’s rooms. Hermione kept her arms around Draco a moment longer than was strictly necessary – before her brain caught up with the situation. Then she promptly let go, and stepped back.

"Thank you,” she said. “You didn't have to do all that."

He placed a hand on the doorknob, and turned his head to look at her sideways. "You thought I was going to kiss you poorly?"

"No," she blushed. "I meant the whole dinner, and – and the butterflies. I know the tabloids would have happily run with a lot less than that." She fidgeted with her bag. "Now I'm definitely going to have to tell Harry and Ron before they read it in the paper." 

"Oh," said Draco. "I do apologize if that was – too much.” He opened the door a crack – then shut it again. "And Mother's laid out a dressing gown for you… it’s her way of trying to be welcoming…"

Hermione smiled. Then felt something in her expression crack. Her thoughts had gone unexpectedly to her own parents.

Draco laid a hand on her shoulder. Bringing her thoughts back to the present.

"Hermione," he said. Studying her face.

"It's alright. I'm fine.” She tried her best to push her grief back into its little box. Her parents were alive and safe and had moved on with their lives. So many others had lost so much more than her. It was okay. “It's nothing.”

"No. It's not,” said Draco. “I've been waiting for something to push you over the edge all day. I was beginning to think you were entirely hex-proof. "

"I'm fine," Hermione said again. Even though she could feel herself trembling slightly. All because her parents weren't around to signal their support by leaving out an extra toothbrush.

Cautiously, Draco folded her into his arms again – and for a moment Hermione was angry because that was too much. She buried her face against Draco’s neck and absolutely refused to cry.

"You're not good to apparate like this," said Draco. 

He opened the door, and guided her into his sitting room. He let go of her to shut and lock the heavy door behind him. Then went around the room, lighting Victorian style gas-lamps. And then the fire.

Hermione just stood there, mortified, hugging herself and devoting all her energy to not crying.

Draco was walking back to her, footsteps muffled in the soft carpet. He put a hand on her shoulder again. "Would you rather… I leave you alone?"

The dam behind her eyes burst . She didn’t know which one of them moved – but somehow she was in his arms, blotchy, red, and ugly-crying. Draco patted her back cautiously, as if she were about to explode.

“If you sleep next to me, you'll soon realize I have nightmares,” he said. “I suspect we all do."

Talking wasn't a possibility right now, so she just nodded against his chest.

"I did mean to thank you. For trusting me with this. I know I wasn't anywhere near your first choice. I may… have been showing off, back there," he admitted. "I hope you will not hold it against me."

She shook her head as she fought to get herself back under control.

"Let me heal my – overenthusiastic bite on your neck at least.”

That startled a wet, tear-filled laugh out of her. She'd been so absorbed in her thoughts she'd forgotten about the spectacle she’d just made of herself.

Draco sat her down in one of the armchairs before the fire. "The spell I'm best at works better if the wand actually touches your skin. Is that – are you all right with that?" 

"Yes, of course!" Hermione said, managing to sound offended as she wiped at her eyes and sniffled. "It's fine." She felt a complete mess.

"I thought I should ask," Draco said mildly, before tracing a circle on her neck with the cool wood of his wand. Adding a long, low incantation that repeated, until it almost sounded like a song.

The soft, steady sound of his voice helped Hermione get her breathing back to something a little more normal. She was almost disappointed when he pulled back, and brushed a thumb over the spot.

Turning away from him, she reached into her bag and pulled out one of her travel-size packets of tissues. It didn't matter how much of her life she spent around magic, wizard handkerchiefs were the one thing she was never getting used to. They just never felt clean.

Draco folded himself into the armchair across from her. The light of the crackling fire accentuated the lines of his cheekbone, and his slim-cut suit. 

It was probably rude, but Hermione pulled her feet up onto the chair with her as she blew her nose and tried to get herself into a slightly more presentable state. 

"You can stay here," Draco said. "I'll bring you a blanket, some tea. A… book? If you want it."

"I have a blanket in my bag." Hermione still had most things in her bag, in case she ever had to relocate on a moment’s notice. It didn't weigh anything extra, and no one else had to know.

"You still feel like you're on the run, don't you?" said Draco.

"I have an flat. With furniture." As if that were any sort of proof she wasn't ready to drop everything at a moment's notice. 

"I didn't ask if you were currently on the run."

"People keep saying it's over,” Hermione said. Not looking at him. “And I was there when we won, of course, but somehow… it feels like it could start back up again any second."

"I know," said Draco. "It still feels like he could come back."

He moved off his chair, and sat on the floor next to Hermione. Leaned a little, against the side of her chair.

"Thank you for stopping him," he said.

"I'm glad we could. I can't imagine what you went through."

He didn't answer. Just stared into the fire.

"I could get used to this,” he said, suddenly. “Worrying about starting scandalous rumors. Instead of… other things. Stay here a few nights," he said, with certainty. "It will only add to the rumors, and the wards will make you feel better."

"Crookshanks should be all right for a night or two but if I'm gone much longer he'll start looking for me."

"Cat?" 

"Half-Kneazle."

Draco hummed."There's sure to be some way of protecting the peacocks."

"He's very intelligent. I think he takes after his kneazle half more. If we make it clear they're off limits, he'll respect that."

"That's good to know," said Draco.

There was a long pause, as Hermione took her blanket out of her bag and curled up in the chair beneath it. "I've had a good day too,” she admitted. “I don’t think I would be having nearly as much fun with Marcus Flint."

"Although you do like your Quidditch players," said Draco. "Seekers and keepers. If I remember right."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh shush."

"What?" Now there was a little bit of laughter in his voice. "Am I wrong? Krum, Weasley, McClaggan…”

“I don’t just like Quidditch players.” But she was having trouble coming up with a counter argument.

“I suppose that means you like your men with a dexterous sort of build,” said Draco. “That, or just very good legs. Could be either."

Hermione hid her face behind her hands. It was hopeless. Anything she said would just dig herself in deeper.

"You know what they say about Seekers," Draco said, utterly merciless. "Very good with their hands."

She pulled the blanket up to her face in a futile attempt to disguise her giggles. The day had been much too long, she was much too tired, and could not possibly be expected to come up with a witty reply.

She felt a weight against her knee.

Getting her fit of giggles under control, Hermione lowered her blanket only to see Draco, looking up at her. 

"At least the papers won't be questioning if you're my type,” said Hermione. “Too bad you're not exactly known for going for mousey bookworms."

"Oh no," Draco said, with an entirely straight face. "Malfoys like power . We always have. And you have that in spades." He got an elbow up on her cushion and scooted himself a little bit closer. "And who told you that you were mousey ? I'll bet it wasn't Krum."

"No, Viktor's a sweetheart. That was you again." She idly patted his head before she quite noticed what she was doing. Draco thankfully did not comment. "You were a very mean little boy, you know."

Draco closed his eyes. "I know."

"It's all right. You're better now. I wasn't the nicest back then either and I'm sure it's going to end up costing us the Patil vote."

"You were still better than me." His eyes were fixed on her. "My parents did warn me, you know. They told me that you and Potter would make formidable enemies one day." 

"You had a lot more growing up to do than we did. But I suppose you did do it." 

Hermione stared down at Draco. He was backlit by the fire, and his fine, silky hair was giving him almost a halo effect. She was going to marry this man. Even if it was just for a Wizengamot seat. It was a strange realization, one that she was still trying to make feel real .

"I could do a lot worse than you,” she said.

"I'll take that compliment," said Draco. "Especially since everyone is going to say I'm playing far above my division, with you."

She rolled her eyes. “Please. You're worlds better than Cormac McLaggen."

"If you're measuring me against that, I suppose. Blaise says that he's a complete bore, and much too pushy. But good looking," Draco allowed.

"I suppose so? Maybe at a distance?” Hermione made a face. “So much else about him is unattractive and I don't think he said a single intelligent thing the entire time I was around him."

"I will take that as a compliment too."

"Ron and Harry still blame you for poisoning that mead. After Ron drank it Harry had to sub Cormac in for keeper, which lost Gryffindor that final match against Hufflepuff." Bringing that up was possibly a little insensitive, considering that mead had been one of Draco's attempts to assassinate Dumbledore. But it was the one thing Harry and Ron had been categorically unable to forgive him for. And she thought that was very funny.

Now that she thought about it…  she wasn’t actually sure if Draco knew where that mead had ended up.

"I did what? "

Apparently he didn’t.

"Well. To be fair. It wasn't all your fault. Romilda Vane accidentally dosed Ron with a love potion. She put it in chocolates meant for Harry which of course Ron ate." She waved off Draco's mildly horrified look. "He has a terrible sweet tooth. Anyway, Harry took him to Slughorn. And once they'd dealt with the love potion Slughorn poured him some mead he'd gotten from Dumbledore. Which… I’m sure you can guess the rest."

"You just say these things, you know. Some horrible girl tries to drug Potter into her bed and that’s not even the terrible part of the story?"

"It was never going to work . It turns out that salvia neutralizes the effect of Weasley love potions completely. It's honestly some really ingenious antidote work by the twins. I keep saying they should – " She caught herself. "That George should really submit it to an academic journal." She shook off the mild discomfort. She’d rather not think about that. "Anyway. All that led to Cormac hitting Harry over the head with a beater's bat. They are still angry at you for that.” 

"Harry Potter still has one of the most perfect records of any Hogwarts seeker," mumbled Draco. "Just that, and the Dementor attack during third year. That's despite starting to play when he was eleven, which is just unheard of."

"He still has the snitch that he swallowed."

That made Draco laugh.

"For what it's worth, I don't think that should have counted as catching it.” Hermione said. She had thought about this. “It sets a bad precedent."

"There was debate over that in some circles. But I still count it as the most incredible catch I have ever seen."

"And it was very funny."

“It was.” Draco had started playing with the decorative fringe on the chair. "Anything else I've done to annoy you?"

"I do still want you to apologize to Hagrid for trying to get Buckbeak killed."

Draco winced. "I did pretend to be more injured than I was…”

“For three months! You weren't particularly subtle about it."

"I thought I was very subtle. It was awful."

"You were awful."

"You will have no argument from me about that,” said Draco. Who still wasn’t quite looking at her. “You’re being more than fair. If you keep this up, I may begin to start to suspect you're going easy on me."

"Oh, I'm absolutely not. When you apologize to Hagrid, he will cry. And hug you. The amount of guilt you'll feel will be crushing."

"Literally and metaphorically."

"Also Fang may drool on you, and you're not allowed to mention it or get mad about it."

"That will be very difficult, but somehow I will manage." Draco looked up at her. "It does seem like I've dug myself into a hole. I do wonder how I can make it up to you." 

"I promise it's fine."

"Hermione. I'm flirting with you. I’m trying to say that I'd like to kiss you again."

"Really?" she hadn't expected that.

"Yes, really." He sighed. "You casually talk about defeating dark lords and just take everything about me in stride. Even the house –" 

"It's a beautiful house!"

"That is not the point I was trying to make!"

He put a hand entirely on her knee, and bowed his head over it. "My point is – I want to kiss you for no other reason than wanting to kiss you. All right?"

"I guess so? It wasn't originally part of the plan, but I suppose it can be."

"I'm going to need a little bit more than that. Hermione. Do you want to kiss me?"

She checked in with herself. Noticed the way her heart rate had picked up, the almost nervous fluttering in her belly. The way the firelight traced his eyelashes, and the side of his cheek. And she noticed that yes, she did want to kiss him.

"I think I would like that."

There was no rule saying she wasn’t allowed to enjoy the engagement. Even if it was a sham.

Draco smiled. And, holding the back of the chair for balance, he climbed up into her lap, facing her.

While she was still processing that… Draco shrugged off his jacket, revealing just a shirt beneath.

Hermione bit her lip, unsure what parts of him she was allowed to touch. He did have beautiful legs. Hopeful she wasn't crossing a boundary or going too far…  she cautiously put a hand on his knee.

Draco smiled. Touched just under her chin, to tilt her face up. The touch sent delicious little shivers down her spine.

Then he cupped the back of her neck. Leaned in with that light brush of lips he seemed to like to start with. Hermione’s mind immediately kicked into overthinking. She didn't know what she was meant to be doing but she didn't want him to know that.

Draco didn’t break the kiss, but he did make it more insistent, pushing her back into the cushions of the chair. Hermione made an embarrassing little noise.

He kissed her harder . Leaned in, against her torso, enough so she could feel a bit of his weight.

She shifted against him and realized she was getting. Well. A little more aroused than expected.  But Draco had turned on the charm full force and she couldn't keep herself from running her hand up his side as they kissed. His hands were in her hair, bringing her face closer towards him. He got in deeper, and nipped her bottom lip. She sighed, without completely meaning to.

Draco broke the kiss in order to hum happily, stretching his muscles underneath her hand. Then he was back, kissing delicately underneath her ear. Arm coming around her back to hold her. Pulling the collar of her shirt just enough to put his lips to the place where her neck and shoulder met.

Hermione let her head fall back with another breathy sound, as she pulled his body closer. Then brought her fingers up, to weave through his hair. Draco adjusted, kissing down in such a way that her head was completely back, neck fully extended. But he had one hand on her back, another on her head – he was supporting her just fine.

"Draco," she breathed, incredibly turned on – and overwhelmed –

He leaned her carefully back against the cushions, and his next kiss was more delicate. But long. The hand Hermione had been resting on his knee had slid up to his thigh without her noticing. But she certainly noticed it now, because Draco’s hand rested over hers. Touched her arm, her waist. And then up, to rub her side.

Curious, Hermione let herself explore a little more. Slid a hand further down his thigh. Then up over his hip. There was a brief second where she almost brushed her fingers against his firm, quidditch player's arse. He was a very beautiful man.

Suddenly Draco’s kiss got fierce. Then he broke it, but only to kiss along her cheekbone. 

"You're... very good at this,” Hermione gasped. Clearly that was why she was having thoughts as mad as touch his arse. It was because he’d left her light-headed, and a little breathless.

Draco kissed her for that, deeply. This time, letting his tongue tease just a little. Not bothering about the fact that he was stealing her breath, and he had to let her recover, gulping air, while he went to work on her neck, and his body rocked against hers.

Hermione made another happy little noise of approval. He had her almost uncomfortably turned on. This was significantly more than just one kiss… but she didn't want to stop.

His hands had found her collarbone. His lips – just the corner of her mouth. Not quite enough. Then a deep rich kiss, gaining heat and surface area the longer he kept at it. Hermione’s bones felt molten and she was pretty sure her underwear was soaked.

When he finally did break the kiss, Draco kept their bodies close together, sliding his cheek against hers.

"Had enough?"

"I – I don't know. This is already... It's quite a lot, isn't it?"

"Yes." He pushed her hair back. "If you want a bit more I would love to oblige. But I'm honestly shocked I've been allowed to do this much. And it's not as though we don't have the time."

Draco cupped her face and kissed her once more, sweetly. Hermione caught herself chasing after the kiss when he broke away, and he must have taken the cue. Because he pressed against her chest again, to give her another soft, leisurely kiss. 

"What would more look like?" She wasn't saying yes. Not yet. But she was… curious.

"Well," said Draco, rubbing her side. Reddening slightly. “I could probably get you off. Over clothes!” 

He was probably responding to whatever expression was on her face. Hermione didn’t know what she looked like. All she knew was that her body burned both with embarrassment and with how much she wanted him. She caught herself nodding without entirely meaning to.

"Yes?" Draco kissed her hair.

"Yes." This was more than she'd done with any other boy, but she wanted it so badly . At this point it was this, or ask to borrow his shower so she could get herself off. And she knew which one she preferred.

Draco smiled at her. A slow smile. Reached, to adjust the silver leaves in her hair. Then he cupped her face between his hands, and drew her up close to him. Hovered, a millimeter away from her lips. Close enough that she could feel his breath. Not close enough to touch.

Closing the distance, running her hands up his back, over the expensive fabric of his shirt – Hermione kissed him. She wanted him. Quite a lot actually. It was a little ridiculous.

Draco's hand ran back and into her hair. Twisted there, as his kiss became deep and thorough. His hips rolled into her. Slightly cool fingertips drew winding designs on her neck. Then those fingers explored the dip of her collarbone, and the top button of her blouse.

She broke the kiss to look up at him.

He drew his hand out of her hair to stroke over her cheekbone. His eyes were pale gray in a way that almost looked silver in the firelight, and there was a question there. She wished she were better at reading people.

"Having second thoughts?" said Draco.

She shook her head, and just took in his face. His slightly disheveled clothes, and hair. This was a big step for her. But it did make sense to take it now. She wanted to.

"You know," Draco said, and let his lips brush against her cheekbone. "I find being around you very reassuring." He kissed the tendon behind her ear. “If you ever wanted to fight me, I have no doubt that you would win. No amount of planning or preparation on my part would make much of a difference, in the end." 

As far as compliments went, that one was a little disappointing. "I'm not terribly unique,” she said. “Most of Dumbledore's Army could do that." Draco was not an especially accomplished duelist. Ginny could probably defeat him faster.

He scoffed. "Dumbledore's Army." And slipped his hand a little bit lower, just to catch her off guard. Played with her top collar button. "It was your army. I saw those coins you enchanted. The general is the one who gives the orders, no?"

"You do not get to call me ‘general’ in bed!” she laughed. "Or anywhere else for that matter!"

"No?" Draco said, a light in his eyes. He was more single-minded in his quest now, and actually undid her first two buttons.  "Gryffindors are so annoyingly modest."

He moved his fingers in a single smooth stroke up from her breastbone to her neck, ending at her chin. And took the opportunity to kiss her hungrily again.

Hermione felt unbelievably scandalous. Even during those two months they were together after the final battle, she had never let Ron take her top off. Yet here Draco was, unbuttoning her blouse. It was still tucked into her skirt of course, but already sliding off her shoulders. His hands trailed across her skin so lightly... down her chest, resting over fabric, but between her breasts.

She made a soft little sound. Felt a hot kiss on her neck – he was pulling back to look at her –

"Hermione." He cupped her breast in one warm hand. Over the shirt, and the sensible bra. Then those fingers began to tease, as he came back in to drink his fill of kisses.

Hermione sat forwards a little, pulling him closer. Let one of her hands maybe rest ever-so-slightly on his rear. She spared a moment to be thankful he was in her lap and not the other way around, because if their positions were swapped she was absolutely certain she would be grinding against him.

Draco rolled his hips, only slightly. His free arm pulled the tails of her shirt free and curled up around her back, soft fabric against her spine and one large hand between her shoulder blades, holding her in place.

"Draco." She'd been reduced to begging.

He let his hand drop down to her thigh.

"Yes, Draco! Please." She could be embarrassed by all this later. Right now, she only had room for want.

Draco adjusted himself on her lap, slightly. His fingers crept up her leg – then down. Under her skirt. Caressing the soft skin of her inner thigh.

Without meaning to, she whimpered slightly. She didn't think she'd ever been this turned on in her life , and there was no way he wasn't going to know.

He laid his whole palm confidently between her legs. Surely feeling how soaking wet her knickers were, because he smirked, and kissed her impertinently. Splayed out his fingers slightly. Pressed down a little more, right where she needed it. Then – began to rub small circles against her. Gentle. But not light.

She moaned into the kiss and rocked herself against his hand. He pulled away only to murmur against her ear – "Put your arms around my neck."

Hermione wrapped her arms around him without having to be asked twice. Enjoying all the angles of his body pressed up against her. It gave him a hand free to touch her side, her breast, her hip. Draco nuzzled her neck, subtly changing exactly how he touched between her legs. Small experiments with speed, with pressure, with placement.

She let herself grind against his hand, felt herself getting closer.

"Just like that," he said, as he lay burning kisses across her neck and shoulders. "Just like that. Oh fuck you're perfect –"

All she could do was grind against him and hold on as her orgasm started to overtake her. Her breath caught in her throat, all the muscles in her body pulled taut as she came, with a soundless cry.

Draco’s hand came up to her back again, and his other hand – stayed right where it was.

"Let's see if we can get one more out of you," he said, against her ear.

He started up again, slightly faster. This time, he watched her face.

The soft little moans he pulled out of her barely even registered as she wrapped her legs around him and let her head fall back against the chair. He was grinding between her thighs, teasing over her clit with a thumb. And touching everything.

She wasn't even slightly in control of the noises she was making. Everything was still so sensitive from her first orgasm it didn't take long at all before she was shaking and moaning his name through a second one.

Then Draco pulled back. Slipped off the chair to kneel between her knees. Left one cocky little kiss against her inner thigh, before moving his hands to safer areas, and gentle petting.

Hermione collapsed back into the chair, completely boneless and overwhelmed.

"How was that?" said Draco.

Hermione closed her eyes, still catching her breath. She'd never done anything like that before and she still needed time to process.

Luckily, Draco seemed perfectly patient and perfectly happy to give it to her. "Accio cup" he said at one point, and pressed a cool crystal goblet full of water into her hand. As she drank that, she leaned back into the chair. This was a more than agreeable arrangement.

When Draco offered her his hand she took it, and rose to her feet on slightly unsteady legs.

"You know I don't normally do this."

"What, propose to the heirs of pureblood families?" But when Draco looked at her, his aspect changed. "I did know what you meant, actually." He looped an arm around her, to give her more stability. "I'd put that together, more or less. You seemed much too busy since the war, and during the war... I suppose there might have been a clumsy fumble with Weasley in there somewhere, but that hardly counts."

"There um... not really, no." She picked up her bag from next to the chair and rummaged around inside it for her pajamas. There were some benefits to carrying the essentials with her at all times. Beyond just peace of mind.

"The washroom is second on the left," Draco said smoothly. "Although one of these days, you might let me pick out a nightgown for you to wear to bed."

Somehow, even after all they'd just done, the thought still made her shy. "I'll think about it." She certainly would.

But for tonight, she was sticking to her comfy pajamas. Which always seemed to have Crookshanks’ hair on them, even though she always did spell them clean before putting them in her bag. Hopefully Crookshanks wouldn't be too upset with her for leaving him alone for the night. She'd find some way to make it up to him.

Draco, it turned out, slept in black silk pajamas with a vaguely Chinese cut. On a huge four poster bed, draped with fringe and green velvet hangings. Because of course he did.

Hermione lingered at the foot of the absurd bed, feeling out of place in her slightly worn pink floral pajamas and the Narnia-map pattern socks Harry had gotten her “because you're a lion and a witch and you need these in your wardrobe.”

Draco flipped the top cover back. Just studied Hermione, for a long moment.

"Come to bed, my lady," he said, with a flourish of his hand.

"Oh stop it." She clambered gracelessly onto the bed. "You make it sound like I'm some sort of princess." Hermione didn’t think she would mind as much if all that didn't sound so ridiculous when applied to her.

"Princesses are a 'your highness,' not a 'my lady.'" Draco settled down on one elbow to face her in bed, under the covers. "But you are right, no one uses the old titles anymore. I was being old-fashioned on purpose, since you do seem to like the history of this place."

"I've always liked places with history. They make me feel like I'm part of something." Hermione snuggled down under the covers.

Draco hummed. Waved a hand that did… absolutely nothing.

“I need to put out the lights by hand,” he said. And then got out of bed to do that. The room got dimmer and dimmer with every lamp extinguished – until there was nothing but moonlight, and Draco returning to bed, rather sheepishly.

Then he reached for her. Pulled her just close enough to drape an arm around her waist.

"Too much?"

Hermione hiked the blanket up around their shoulders and tried not to roll her eyes at him too obviously. "No. Out of all of it, this is not too much."

"Well I'm sorry, I was trying to be considerate."

"And thank goodness for that."

Draco got stiff. And then – even when he relaxed – he remained quiet.

"Draco?" Hermione went back over what she'd just said and felt like kicking herself. "I'm sorry. I just meant that I'm glad we're friends now. Even if we weren't always."

"Effectively what's going on," he said, still with that arm around her. "Is you have entered into an arranged marriage for political reasons. Which, fine. And normally of course I don't care if someone's a virgin or not, but – you were really prepared to have your first time be with someone who you didn't especially like, and who might not be... considerate?"

Hermione could feel herself blushing up to her ears and had to hide her face against him as she spoke. But she owed him an answer.

"Girls do talk, you know. You'd be surprised what you can overhear in the ministry archives when you spend most of your time at the back in the restricted files." Penelope Clearwater and Tracey Davis had some very complimentary things to say about Draco, in the year or so following the war. Before he’d vanished entirely from the public eye.

"I'm glad my reputation precedes me," Draco said, mildly. "That's quite a bit nicer than being known for some of the other things."

Hermione was thankful that her wild, out of control hair kept her face hidden, now that the Malfoy ivy hair clips were resting safely on the bedside table. Because Draco's chest was a remarkably comfortable resting place, and she wasn't ready for him to see just how happy she was to be there, in this moment.

Softly, he began to run a hand through her hair. "I don't think you were disappointed. But I do take constructive criticism these days."

"Goodnight, Draco." She was almost certain he was just fishing for compliments now.

He settled her against his chest, arm around her waist. It wasn't long until she felt his breathing go slow and even.

 

---

 

Hermione awoke, in the near total darkness, to the sounds of someone whimpering in pain. It took her a second to remember where she was, and a second longer to locate Draco, curled up far away from her in the gigantic bed. Tight in fetal position. Cradling his forearm to his chest as though he had broken it.

The Mark.

Hermione worried her lip and for a moment, wondering what she should do. If she should do something. Then she started talking. Not trying to wake him, or touch him. Just speaking in a calm soothing voice.

"Draco, you're dreaming. I don't want to touch you and wake you up because I think that would startle you, but I'm not going anywhere. And I'm going to keep talking until you wake up or get back to a more restful sleep."

"Granger..." he mumbled, still in sleep. "Forget... get out..."

"It's okay, we're safe." She moved a little closer, still not touching him. "I'm part of the wards now. There's nothing to worry about. I promise."

He just looked so scared.

"...safe."

"Yes. Go back to sleep." He looked so dreadfully vulnerable lying there, so pale on his dark bed. A little sickly too. Like one of those delicate translucent tree frogs from the rainforest. 

Draco said something that was mumbly and half gibberish. Something about dementors, maybe. Kisses and bites. 

Hermione stayed awake listening to his breathing, waiting to see if he was going to stay asleep or not. Eventually, she was satisfied his sleep was restful once more. But try as she might, she couldn't find her own way back to sleep. Finally giving it up as a lost cause, she slipped out of bed and found that the house was freezing. 

She wrapped herself in the dressing gown Narcissa had left out for her. It was a very nice dressing gown, and she found she liked it very much. Now that she was  wrapped securely in beautiful dark velvet, she quietly slipped out of Draco's rooms, and into the hall. It might be a little rude to go exploring, but she didn't see any harm in returning to the kitchen to fix herself some tea. Something to get her mind off the way Draco had looked, lying there clutching his arm. She turned a corridor, and saw –

Her first wild thought was that Draco had somehow gotten out of bed and followed her. There was someone with white-blonde hair, there at the end of the portrait gallery. 

Only the figure turned, and the hair was long. Not long enough to be Narcissa.

Lucius.

Chapter 4

Hermione’s hand was halfway to her wand the instant she recognized Lucius Malfoy. She tried to disguise the motion by adjusting her dressing gown. She feared she was rather unconvincing.

He had wandered into a patch of moonlight, one that made his hair and skin look blue, and illuminated the long dressing gown that trailed behind him. Rather, dressing gowns. There were at least three, layered one on top of another. Embroidered brocade. Now torn, frayed, and stained.

Lucius Malfoy had both his hands flat to the wall. Feeling a great torn gash in a tapestry, she realized. Attempting to line up the two sides. Press them together.

Hermione considered just turning around and pretending she hadn’t seen him. But no - that was no longer an option - he had moved, and was looking in her direction. Even with the darkness of the portrait gallery, it would be impossible to sneak away. And besides, Hermione told herself firmly. She would have to speak with him eventually. Best to get it over with.

Lucius Malfoy stepped closer. And slowly… the expression on his face changed into one of recognition.

"Of course," he said, muttering under his breath. "It was only a matter of time till one of you got yourselves killed." 

"Pardon?"

He turned away from her. "Go haunt elsewhere. There is nothing you can tell me that I do not already know."

"Sir. Mr. Malfoy, I'm –" Hermione hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t talk to her. She gave chase. “I’m fine. I promise. I'm not haunting you."

She'd inferred from the way Draco was acting that his father wasn't entirely well, but she hadn't expected this. She reached a hand out to Lucius Malfoy’s dressing gown in an effort to get his attention. He flinched back from her.

"Then the Azkaban hallucinations have returned,” he said. “I tell you, leave me in peace!" Lucius Malfoy stared at her with too-bright, glassy eyes and Hermione had the horrible thought that he might cry.

"I'm – I didn't mean to – I'll just –"

She fled. It wasn't her bravest moment.

 

---

 

Hermione ended up in the kitchen. There, with the door shut and the lamps lit, she allowed herself to slide down the wall and sit on the floor. Stare at the cabinet in front of her, pitted with burn marks.

Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe she should have tried harder to locate Ernie Macmillian. 

No. She was not giving up so easily. She'd already started down this path and not everything had been an unpleasant surprise. After several deep breaths, and a few extra minutes regretting not stopping by her flat to at least pick up Crookshanks, Hermione picked herself up and busied her with making tea.

While contemplating the beautiful Malfoy tea set, she felt a plan forming. Tea was very un-ghostly, and always managed to help her when she was feeling out of sorts. Even if Lucius Malfoy couldn't bear her presence, he could at least accept a cup of tea. She would leave one for him, and then stop feeling so vaguely guilty about things. Yes, that would do nicely.

So, she returned the way she came, back through dark freezing halls. Carrying a steaming cup, spelled to remain hot. Perhaps, she considered, she wouldn’t be able to find Lucius Malfoy again, and that would hardly be her fault. It was a big house which she didn’t know very well –

There he was. Easy enough to spot with his pale coloration, amidst all the dark woods.

Something white flashed out behind him. A peacock, trailing its pale feathers along the ground, staying near his feet.

Hermione found her mouth had gone dry. No idea at all of what to say, and a vague hope that he might wander off again, and save her the decision.

Only then did he rotate, to look at her. Despite the ragged clothes and hair, it was still Lucius Malfoy's cold, imperious face. He looked from her, to the tea, then back to her.

"Your attacks are more subtle now, are they? I know that you are clever, girl. You outperform my Draco at every exam."

"He wasn't especially focused on his studies at the time." Although even if he had been… she would have done better than him in most subjects. She didn’t count Potions. Professor Snape’s grading was too biased.

"Perhaps not," said Lucius. "And perhaps that is my fault as well."

"Well, I'm still going to leave you some tea even if you don't want it."

"I should have known the Dark Lord's plan would fail in that moment," he said, wandering the line of sleeping portraits, trailing his fingers along the frames. "A little girl, of no wizard family, identifies a basilisk. Protects herself. And her friends. You know that I would have let you die, and felt no remorse. Only you were too clever for me. But then,” he continued. “I am a fool.  Who did not even have the sense to die in battle like the rest."

"Draco would be upset if you had."

Lucius didn’t respond. He stood in silence a second longer, then turned to go. But that was the point when his peacock squawked. Waddled on over to her and squawked again. 

"Oh, hello!" She said, startled. She didn't know how one was meant to interact with a peacock.

The peacock pecked at her, in a mildly judgmental way. Its little feather crest stuck straight up, its head jerked to one side.

Lucius was staring at it.

"They don't react to things which aren't there..." he said.

And then his eyes got wide with horror.

"Merlin save me," he whispered. "What do you want?"

Hermione took a slow deep breath to remain calm. Start small. "I just thought you looked like you could use some tea."

"No," he said. "No. You did not come here to forgive me. What do you really want?"

"You're right,” she acknowledged. “I didn't. Even without the rest of it, I don't think I'll ever forgive you for what you did to Dobby. But that's okay. I don't have to. I'm –" she stopped and tried to figure out what to say. There was no good answer here, so she resolved to work backwards. "Draco had a nightmare. He's gone back to sleep but I don't think I can."

"You're sleeping with my son," said Lucius Malfoy. Just a fact.

"He can be quite charming when he wants to."

"He takes after his mother."

"I should probably get back to him. I'd hate for him to wake up and wonder what's become of me."

"Yes," Lucius Malfoy agreed, faintly. "You would be clever enough to know that the mark on his arm does not speak to his character. Beyond… a desire to please his father."

"I know. I –" Hermione paused. She knew that once she said it there would be no taking things back. But he did seem lucid now in a way she worried he might not be later. "I wouldn't be marrying him if I didn't."

She held her breath. Reminded herself that she had a wand and he didn’t. Waited to get yelled at for sullying the Malfoy bloodline.

But instead Lucius Malfoy gave her a strange look. "Have you come here to ask me for his hand?" An almost laugh. "That's very proper of you. For a… muggle-born."

"It would mean a lot to Draco to have your blessing." It hadn't occurred to her to ask, but she supposed it did feel polite.  

"My son has my blessing, in all that he does." Lucius Malfoy straightened a little, settled his dressing gown a little more neatly around his shoulders."If you would take this… what's left of it…"

He pulled the dressing gown tighter. Nodded once, and turned. His peacock trailed behind him like an extra gown. Then he turned a corner, and even the long white tail feathers were gone. 

Hermione stood there for a moment longer, attempting to process a set of strange, contradictory emotions… before deciding that she really should get back to Draco. Not that it really made much of a difference. She had even less chance of getting back to sleep than before.

 

---

 

Draco was sitting up, when she returned. In front of the fire, wrapped in a gigantic blanket. Watching the flames. 

"You left the ivy leaves on the bedside table," he said. "I was sure that you had come to your senses, and apparated home." His hair was a little disheveled. He was perhaps a little shaken from his nightmare. But Draco did seem more himself, as he turned to face her. 

The flames before him snapped and popped. "You made tea?"

Hermione looked down at the cup of tea she had made his father, still steaming. "I did," she said, and perched on the arm of the settee. "I met your father."

She had not known that Draco Malfoy's face could go any whiter.

"You..." he barely got the words out. "You saw Father?"

"He thought I was a hallucination at first, but we – "

But Draco's breathing had gotten fast. "He – whatever he said, he doesn’t mean it. If he taunted you, or threatened you, or called you a – he hasn't been allowed a wand since – "  Draco got half out of the chair, and let the blanket fall."He's not a threat, he knows he did wrong, all he wants to do is – look after the peacocks – take meals with Mother... " 

Hermione nearly rolled her eyes. But instead, reached out a hand. "Draco, breathe."

He squeezed her fingers. Let out a long shaky sigh.

"Everything's fine. Nothing bad happened. If anything, I think I scared him. But he's all right now." Then she realized what all this was really about. "No one is going to hurt your family."

Draco bowed his head, and breathed. Wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Quickly, like he was hoping she wouldn't notice. Hermione did him the courtesy of pretending not to.

She thought back to the terms of Lucius Malfoy’s house arrest. Forbidden to use a wand obviously, and forbidden to handle any dark artifacts. Violation of either of those stipulations would have resulted in his being sent to Azkaban. 

The first one, about the wands. That made sense. But the second… Hermione hadn’t paid much attention at the time, but being here, in the actual house Lucius Malfoy was confined to – there was so much here that might qualify as a “dark artifact,” and there was no way the Wizangamot didn’t know that. The empty niches and alcoves, the statues wrapped in bandages, some of the strange damage. It was starting to make more sense. How many things in this house had Draco destroyed, all so his father wouldn’t accidentally touch them, and violate his parole?

“I think they were setting your father up to fail,” she said, softly. Kingsley and Augusta Longbottom had been talked around oddly quickly. Especially Augusta. “They wanted your father to break his house arrest. Then they'd be able to use him as proof that Azkaban was the right choice all along.”

Draco's body stiffened. "I mean," he said. Casual. But a false casual. "I suspected." He tried to laugh, but there was no humor. “They’ve certainly done their very best to carve him into a monster, ever since the war. I mean... I know you want that big Death Eater trial. You want someone powerful, high-ranking, in chains, spewing off muggle hating nonsense, and you want to see that person punished. But there was rather a lack of appropriate Death Eaters, just post-war. I mean who are you going to get? The Carrows, who are just insane? If Voldemort had wanted to rid the world of champion gobstones players, they would have been just as happy to do that. Greyback wouldn't have even talked, and besides. He was never technically even a Death Eater. Macnair might have worked, if he hadn't spent over a decade at the Ministry. They wanted to keep that as quiet as possible." 

Draco was getting heated. "Oh yes, throw Rowle up there. Hermione Granger single-handedly defeated him in a duel. Little Draco Malfoy tortured him countless times." Hermione could tell he needed to speak on this. Probably had needed to, for some time. "But my father led the attack at the Department of Mysteries. His house was the headquarters, he'd been terrorizing the Hogwarts governors for years. And then every word out of his mouth is about how he was trapped. Out of favor, wand snapped, trying desperately to survive and keep me alive. Spending most of his time as Voldemort's punching bag, as that – that –" Draco couldn't seem to come up with a word bad enough to call him  “– amused himself by inventing more ways of torturing him. Or torturing me, because that was obviously the best way to punish Father.

"They wanted Aunt Bellatrix. Someone cold, and powerful and a true believer, and what they got was Father, who was already so broken by Azkaban and... he could barely even..." 

Draco couldn't talk anymore. Turned his face away.

Hermione didn’t know if he wanted space, or comfort. And if he did want comfort, she had no idea what that would look like. So she just said what she would have liked to hear, in Draco’s place.

"I think the fact that house arrest has worked this well is going to make it easier to argue why Azkaban is unnecessary." She sighed. "Your family... shouldn’t have been put in that position."

"I'm all right." Draco murmured. Gathering up the fallen blanket. Sitting back down. "It was harder when I didn't know how long things would stay... that way." 

"At least we could run,” Hermione admitted. “During the war, I mean. We didn't know how anyone else was doing, beyond what we could glean from Potterwatch. But no matter what happened, we could always try to escape." 

Unlike Draco. The mark on his arm kept him prisoner more effectively than any manacle.

Draco blinked. Got himself together. "Father was… polite to you?" Like he was just focused on making sure he said the words themselves correctly.

“Decently. He didn’t yell at me when I said I was going to marry you, which was what I was expecting.”

"You told my father. Lucius Malfoy. That you were going to marry me. In the middle of an unfamiliar house. Alone. At night. After he'd just accused you of being a hallucination." 

When he put it that way she supposed it really wasn't a very flattering description. It made her sound extremely reckless.

Draco slipped off the chair, to join her on the settee. Wrapped his arms around her. And just buried his face in her neck. "Thank you."

She stiffened. "You're welcome? I'm not sure what you're thanking me for."

"I'm thanking you for your idiotic Gryffindor bravery. For talking to my father at all. For – for – wanting to marry me, enough that you'd do this -"

"Azkaban is an evil place. I've seen what it does to people. What it takes from them. Your father wasn't in there nearly as long as Sirius, but it’s the same thing. And I just can't let the Ministry keep hurting people with that place. No matter what they've done." 

Draco threaded a hand into her hair. "I'll help you do it. If all I've got is a Wizengamot seat and the ability not to embarrass myself totally in the bedroom... well. I'll take it."

Hermione smiled to herself, as she threaded their fingers together. "You have more than that."

"I was wondering when I’d get a compliment out of you."

She'd meant that he had pureblood Slytherin connections she couldn’t access otherwise, but it seemed a little mean to correct him now.

He settled his body against hers.

"What if we just slept here. We have the eiderdown." 

"You're welcome to sleep on the floor if you want. I'm going to sleep on the bed." She got up, tugging on the duvet. "Come on. I've had enough sleeping in strange places for one lifetime." 

Draco made a noise of deep complaint, but got to his feet anyway. Hermione led him back to bed and climbed in without bothering to remake it properly. Stole the duvet entirely for herself. 

He struggled in along with her, until he was flush against her body, with the covers wrapped around them both. Draco was warm, and the house had been drafty, and the fire hadn't had time to heat the bedroom yet. She snuggled close, and Draco wrapped himself around her just that little bit more.

"Oh. I should have asked earlier,” said Hermione. “What do you want me to do if you have a nightmare?"

"So that's what woke you." A long pause. "I mean when – when I was a child my mother or father would pet my hair until the nightmare no longer felt real. If it's not – if it's too much to ask – " 

"Of course not. It's – " Hermione nearly stopped herself. But – "Harry's always had nightmares. I promise, it's not too much to ask." 

Harry usually wanted space after his. It would be nice to be able - to be able to do something, for a change.

 

---

 

Hermione woke with Draco's arm around her waist, and his body pressed against the long line of her back. Still asleep. She tried to sneak out of bed without waking him… but was thwarted halfway through by an unexpected yawn. 

Draco was clearly one of those people who looked unfairly good, after just waking up.

He blinked at her, a few times.

"Good morning," she said.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting up in bed. He reached for a small white origami crane sitting on the bedside table. One Hermione was fairly certain had not been there the night before.

She rubbed her eyes and looked at it. The part of her that refused to believe the war was over assumed it was a threat, but logically she knew that was ridiculous.

Draco unfolded it, looked at the paper, and hummed.

"Mother wants to see us for breakfast. She's going to want to discuss wedding plans. She does specify here that she's not waiting on us, so we should take our time."

Hermione paused for a second, in her efforts to at least somewhat tame her hair. She'd spent so long thinking of marriage as just one necessary step in her plan that she hadn't even begun to think about planning the wedding itself.

Draco glanced over at her. "Do you need help with that? I'm decent at hair."

"No. I can manage quite fine by myself, thank you." She liked her hair. And, it had taken her long enough to learn to like it that she wasn’t going to frivolously hand it over to someone else. All the cosmetic spells she'd found changed the texture so completely it didn't feel like her anymore. She had hair like her parents, and she wanted that to continue being the case.

"Of course," said Draco, smoothly. "Then may I kiss you good morning?"

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet!"

"Well at least let me show you the spell for that."

At Hermione's horrified look, Draco raised a hand in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll leave you to it." He slid off the bed and into the side bathroom, which could have been one of Professor Snape's storerooms, there were so many jars and potions in there.

She retrieved her toothbrush and toothpaste from her bag. "I'll never understand how some people can just point a wand at their face and feel like their teeth are clean." It just didn't feel clean without the mint aftertaste.

Spells and all, Draco still took longer than her get ready, and emerged in another slim-fit silk suit, dark green this time. She'd chosen a skirt similar to the one she'd worn the day before, but in black this time instead of burgundy, in an effort not to be quite so loudly Gryffindor. She'd also returned the Malfoy ivy to her hair.

He smiled at her, and held out his arm. "Shall we? We can walk, or I can apparate us right to Mother."

"Let's walk."

Hermione had hoped that a good night's sleep and some bright morning light would make the house seem less sad. Unfortunately, being able to see everything properly just made it look more damaged and abandoned. Still, the two of them walked through it together and Hermione made a note of all the secret passageways Draco used. She was also getting a better idea of what the house needed, and which of her many talented friends might need to be called in to help.

Narcissa was waiting for them in the Unicorn sitting room. Hermione thought that she – or Draco – had put quite a bit of effort into making this room look correct. Nothing was damaged, and Narcissa herself was framed in the morning light coming through the French windows.  A light breakfast was laid over a side cabinet. Toast, fruit, eggs. A larger and a smaller teapot. Narcissa was sitting with a cup of tea, looking over a black leather-bound book. Her look was altogether more tailored than it had been yesterday, and her hair was pinned up. Hermione had a feeling the ivy hairpiece she was wearing had looked considerably better on Narcissa than it ever could on her.

She rose to greet them as they approached, and extended a hand. "Draco. And - may I call you Hermione?"

"Yes, please. And what should I call you?" Hermione didn't know what she'd do if Narrissa asked her to call her mum, but she felt reasonably sure the odds of that were extremely low.

"You may call me Narcissa, dear," she said. "My husband will not be joining us, but you may call him Lucius, if you encounter him in the halls again."

"Good morning, Mother," said Draco. "You look well."

"Please let your Hermione know which is the silver drawer." Narcissa addressed Hermione with her next comment, as though in explanation. “The sideboard dislikes it when you get it wrong on the first try."

Then she drifted back over to her seat. Elegantly picked her teacup up again. Draco sidled over to the food, opened one drawer out of about thirty, got his silver cutlery, his bowl of fruit, his tea, and then went over to join his mother. There were two more chairs clustered around her, each with its own small table.

Hermione served herself a perfectly reasonable sized breakfast and wondered if she'd ever lose the urge to get more than she wanted, in anticipation of Weasleys stealing off her plate. Her time with them gave her no insight into what was expected of her here. At least she had better table manners than either Harry or Ron.

So she sat, took a sip of tea, then looked across at Draco and his mother. In terms of build, body language, table etiquette, hair - they really did match.

"Now," said Narcissa. "What date have you chosen? How much time do we have?"

"Winter, wasn't it?" said Draco, glancing at Hermione. "A little less than five months."

Narcissa clinked her cup in her saucer. "Winter is very clever. The snow will work to hide all manner of sins. Five months is most certainly not ideal, but - manageable, if we begin now. My next question. When will your engagement become a matter of public record?"

"I expect the press will get their hands on it today or tomorrow," said Draco. 

"When that happens," Narcissa continued. "I would like you to contact every caterer, decorator, entertainer, and wedding tailor we know" - and here she handed Draco her black leather book. "Engage everyone you possibly can. Do not haggle, no matter how ridiculous a price you are quoted. We will use credit if we must. If they will not work with you, throw away their names. Nothing will persuade them to forget the war, if this will not." 

Hermione tried not to fidget and burst out with a speech about how she didn’t need all this. Draco was marrying her to help his family’s image - and she supposed that such a thing had to be public. A small wedding, she was beginning to suspect, would be more of an insult to the Malfoy reputation and status than no wedding at all.

It didn’t matter. If this helped her to a Wizangamot seat, and helped her close Azkaban once and for all, then all of this was necessary.

"While you do that - ” Narcissa was still talking to Draco. “I will concentrate on contracting every last gardener and landscaper there is to be had in Wiltshire. Hiring muggles may be a possibility, and if so I will need your help to supervise the more overtly magical areas of the grounds. I think we may ignore the venomous tentacula for now. It will be dormant come winter."

“What of the house?” said Draco. Narcissa hissed.

“Much of it can be closed off or glamoured, but if the Malfoys do not open the ballroom for their son's wedding, people will ask why."

A shadow crossed Draco’s face, and then he turned pointedly to Hermione. "You opened the dancing at the Yule Ball, didn't you?"

"If that's your tactful way of asking if I still know how to dance, yes. I do," she said.

"If you must know. That was my tactful way of showing off to my mother."

Narcissa smiled. "In the meantime," she said. "We assemble a guest list. We will invite everyone - even those we are sure will never attend a Malfoy wedding, or the wedding of a pureblood and a muggleborn. Hermione dear, please give me any names I may not have."

Hermione's tea paused partway to her mouth, just a small barely noticeable skip in the otherwise normal action. She wondered if this was Narcissa’s roundabout way of asking about her parents. Hermione wasn't about to talk about them, not to anyone who didn't already knew. She made the smoothest recovery she could, setting down her tea and clasping her hands in her lap so they couldn't fidget or shake. If Draco noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Well, there's the Weasleys of course." Who Narcissa knew, though maybe not all by name.

"Of course the Weasley family will be invited. Their names I do have," said Narcissa.

"All of the Order is invited. And Neville and Luna. I'd suggest Ollivander but I'm not sure how you want to handle that situation."

Narcissa smiled at her. "We send out invitations with your name on them."

"I'd also like to invite Winky the house elf? I doubt she'll accept, but it'll do good for her to feel included." Hermione still worried about her.

"You could invite the Hogwarts giant squid, and I would find a way to accommodate,” said Narcissa, and Hermione wasn’t sure if that was a joke.

"Maybe we invite all the Hogwarts house elves?” said Draco. “Inviting just one might be considered rude."

"They're not a monolith, Draco!" That was just too much. "Winky's a friend. We can invite her and let her bring a plus one. Or plus several if that makes her more comfortable." Hermione was warming a little to the situation. Pureblood etiquette was one thing, but planning she understood. "Bill and Fleur are cursebreakers. He would be able to help with the wards… or at least with clearing out some of these rooms..."

Narcissa nodded, and yes she was hard to read, but Hermione thought her eyes had gotten very bright. "How I would love to house the guests overnight. That was such a wonderful part of my own wedding." She made eye contact with Draco. "I do know how… ambitious this is."

"We'll have to make sure there's nothing that could hurt a young metamorphmagus,” said Hermione. “Harry's good at keeping an eye on Teddy but a wedding is going to be very busy." 

"Would he be Bride's Guard, do you think?" said Narcissa.

"Together with Ronald Weasley, I'm sure," Draco amended.

"Certainly," said Narcissa. "Harry Potter treats the Weasleys as kin, so kin they are."

"Excuse me, Bride's Guard?" Hermione had never heard that term before, and now was racking her memory for details from Bill and Fleur’s wedding, which was still the only wizard wedding she had ever attended. It wasn't much help. That wedding had been rushed because of the war, Hermione had been fairly distracted at the time, and she was beginning to realize that Bill and Fleur were not exactly what you would call a traditional pureblood couple. 

Draco looked slightly embarrassed. "The bride needs a young kinsman to walk before her. With a sword. I assume Potter has a sword? If for some reason he doesn't, he can borrow one." 

"Why would Harry need a sword?" Hermione said, vaguely alarmed.

"He doesn't have to do anything with the sword," said Draco. "Just wear it. You wear swords when you're in weddings. I'll have to wear a sword." He sounded vaguely annoyed about this.

"That reminds me," put in Narcissa. "What muggle wedding customs should we include? For this must be a muggle wedding, as well as a Malfoy one."

Hermione felt like she’d been asked a question in class. "Well. There's going to be some overlap,” she said. “Like exchanging rings. And we can work on the vows to make them a convincing mix of the two." She'd never been one to fantasize about her future wedding, so there were really only a few essential elements she could think of. "Muggles throw rice at the newlyweds as they leave the wedding. The newlyweds, not the guests." She made sure to clarify. "And there will need to be a wedding cake at the reception. I think it would be nice to use a muggle bakery."

"Should the rings be heirlooms, bought new, perfectly match, or does it not matter?" said Narcissa. She flipped open the notebook on the table next to her, balanced the peacock feather bookmark on its end. "Rice and muggle cake," she said to it, and the feather started scribbling.

Hermione had just assumed that wizards exchanged rings. But... she didn’t see a ring when she looked at Narcissa’s hands, and now that she thought about it – adult wizards didn’t wear rings much, did they? Just Umbridge, who wore too much jewelry anyway, and the Gaunt ring, which was magical.

In retrospect, Hermione should have realized that the elaborate hairpiece she was wearing clearly served the function of an engagement ring. She even remembered Draco saying something about adding another piece to it on the day of the wedding. Then just felt stupid and embarrassed about the whole thing.

The silence was getting long and awkward. Draco and Narcissa were clearly waiting for her to say something.

"The rings don’t have to be heirlooms," she said. "Though sometimes they are. Draco and I can go pick out rings together."

Narcissa took it in stride. "The eldest Weasley has a daughter, does he not? She would be perhaps four? Ideal for a wheat-bearer.” 

Hermione had no idea what that was either.

"We'll need one too," Draco said to his mother.

"Yes..." Narcissa replied vaguely. "I may need to talk with my sister..." And on that note, she stood.

"I approve of your choice, Draco," she said. "And Hermione..." Narcissa brushed Hermione's sleeve so lightly that she wasn't entirely certain it had happened. "I hope my son makes you happy. You have already done good for this house."

Hermione felt practically pinned to the chair by her gaze, like a field mouse looking at a snake.

"Um… thank you."

"You are most welcome. Now, you know how to contact me if you have questions or think of anything else. But for now, I do believe I have some errands to run." Narcissa slipped her book into her pocket, and swiftly exited the room.

The second she was gone, Draco’s posture slouched. Hermione was just now starting to realize how much of an undertaking this wedding was going to be, and tried her very best not to get overwhelmed. She also tried not to think too hard about exactly who would be coming, and just how badly all of this might go. She felt completely blindsided, and unprepared. Which of course she hated.

Draco turned his chair sideways, to face her. "It's difficult to stop Mother once she builds momentum."

"I'm starting to see that."

“If you’re having second thoughts…”

Hermione shook her head. "I want this. It's more involved than I was picturing, but I still want this." 

She was doing her level best not to think about the fact her father wouldn't be there to walk her down the aisle.

"You're a Malfoy bride,” said Draco. “If Mother had her way, she'd spend a year planning this, and the festivities would last a week." He squinted at her. “I do think something is bothering you, though.”

She forced a smile. "It's nothing."

"The fact that you do so easily shrug off things like the war, my family history, riding dragons... makes it easier to spot when you really do find something distressing."

"I'm fine, it's nothing. Please." She knew she wasn't fooling him, and was hoping he would be kind enough to let it go.

“All right,” said Draco. “I won’t press.”

The intensity of the relief she felt surprised her. She reached over to briefly cover his hand with hers. "Thank you."

Draco swiftly captured her fingers, and kissed them.

"You've done nothing wrong," she added.

"I'm not apologizing," he said. "I may be thanking you. I can't remember the last time Mother enjoyed herself so much."

Hermione felt her smile waver. She missed her mum.

"Oh..." he scooted his chair closer. "Just so we're continuing to be practical here... after the wedding is over. If you ever wanted to... travel, or take a lover – that shouldn't present a problem. Once the wards recognize you as family, they don’t care about that sort of thing.

Hermione sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. Wondering what her life had become. "I did tell you that I don't do this kind of thing very often? Those aren’t the sort of problems you'll need to worry about."

"Ah," said Draco. "I thought... that might have been a concern. Clearly I can't read you as well as I thought."

"Clearly," she said. "Did you think there was someone in particular?"

“Wizards live a long time,” said Draco. "It's always possible you might meet someone."

"Unlikely. I have too much to do, and don't especially like the idea. It seems like it would complicate things."

He looked at her, eyes probing.

“I feel as though I’ve annoyed you. I can leave you be. I even have a real excuse."

"You do?" Actually, she didn't particularly want to be left alone with her thoughts. But she didn't want to keep him if he was busy.

"You heard my mother. I need to start hiring wedding vendors. And get a sense of just how much work I need to put into the ballroom, before it’s usable."

Just then a shadow passed the window - and a loud rapping startled them both. Draco was immediately behind her, and she saw he'd gone for his wand.

But Hermione recognized the enormous owl just outside the French window. "That’s Basil. She’s Harry's." It was the only owl Hermione had ever met who knocked on glass with quite that much enthusiasm. She seemed to take joy in scaring people.

Draco nodded slightly, shaken. Eyes not leaving the window. Then he coughed. Cleared his throat. "Potter... Potter knows you're here ?"

The owl gave the glass another especially hard peck, followed by a series of slightly lighter taps. A warning that she would start scraping soon if she was ignored. A fact some of the marks on Kingsley Shacklebolt's desk could attest to.

"We've left it too long." Hermione said, opening the window to let the bird in. "He must have seen us in the paper."

Draco was checking the back side of the pane of glass, presumably for scratches. "If it's a formal challenge to single combat, do let me know. I'm not sure where my dueling robes are at present."

Basil thrust out a sharp-taloned foot with a scrap of paper tied to it, and scowled. Even with her very aggressive foot-shaking, it took Draco a minute to process that the paper was indeed for him. He pulled it off the owl, warily, and unrolled it.

Basil settled her bulk very primly on one of the fruit trees outside, and waited. Draco read the message aloud.

‘'Hi, I'm out front. Thought I'd stop by. Can't find a doorbell.” He waved the piece of paper at Hermione. "Is this what Potter's handwriting has looked like this entire time?" 

"Yes, unfortunately."

Draco closed his eyes, as though in pain. “I suppose I had better go and retrieve him. It's just as well Mother's gone out. If he asks about the house… tell him I’m having the place redone. He’s essentially muggleborn. He’ll believe that.” 

Satisfied her message had indeed been delivered, the owl took flight again, gliding noiselessly towards the edge of the property and – presumably – Harry. Hermione did trust that he and Draco wouldn’t attack each other on sight anymore… but given the situation... she supposed it was possible that they might fall back into old habits.

“I’ll come too,” she said. 

"Oh, you're apparating down there first," said Draco. "I'll follow."

Chapter 5

Harry was waiting for them outside the gates of Malfoy Manor. Wearing a slightly ratty sweatshirt that had CHUDLEY CANNONS emblazoned across the front, a single astronomically expensive dragonskin falconer's glove he had found in a drawer at Grimmauld Place, and crocs. Today, lime green. That was more-or-less what he always wore these days, even when forced to speak before the Wizangamot. When Teddy had been smaller, he'd also worn a Baby Bjorn.

Hermione thought his new style was partly Harry being completely and utterly done with what everyone thought about him. And, partly channeling Albus Dumbledore's fashion sense in a metaphorical sort of way. It made him happy, and Harry deserved some uncomplicated happiness.

He raised the arm with the falconer’s glove, and a gigantic cloud of grey feathers barrelled into him. Landed, then shifted its weight to glare at her malevolently. Harry had quite easily the biggest owl she had ever seen, and had named it the same way he had once named Hedwig – opening up a textbook to a random page and pointing. Only, he’d used one of Hermione’s magical law textbooks back when she’d been trying to give herself a crash-course during the Culpability Hearings. So Harry’s owl was called Embezzlement, a name which he usually shortened to Basil. 

Being Harry, of course he rather pulled off a gigantic intimidating owl. His whole effortlessly cool, chaotic look couldn't have possibly been more different from Draco, who popped into existence behind Hermione’s shoulder tailored to within an inch of his life, not a hair out of place.

Harry handed his owl a dead fish longer than his palm as a treat, and fondly watched her inhale it like a macabre spaghetti noodle. "Can't remember the last time our personal lives were big enough news to make the front page,” he said casually. "Hey Draco. I don't think you've met Embezzlement." 

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," said Draco, tightly. "Won't you come in, Potter? We were just having breakfast." 

"Think you can find your way home?" Harry asked the owl.

Embezzlement looked at him, unimpressed, before taking wing.

"Yeah, I'd love to." said Harry, walking through the gate as it poofed into smoke. Now that the massive owl was gone Hermione noticed the copy of the Prophet he had tucked under his arm. The society pages. She tried to sneak a look at the headline. 

Harry spotted her attempt and grinned. "They had a lot more to use than they did that time Skeeter tried to build up something between us."

Frustrated, Hermione just snatched the paper away from him. 

A NEW ERA FOR THE MALFOYS?  

Beneath the title, the photograph from Diagon Alley was splashed across the page, and the tableau Draco had posed was... effective. Hermione’s head was bent back, the butterflies making her hairpiece and eyes sparkle. Draco was kissing her neck, arm around her waist. And the picture was definitely moving. While it wasn’t making sound, the sound aspect was... definitely implied. 

Hermione felt her ears burning. They looked like the cover of a romance novel. A spicy one.

"I'm not sure when this happened, but I'm happy for you." Harry sounded a little sad. "You know you could have told me, right? I'm not going to be mad just because it's Malfoy."

"Oh no. We're not – I'm not – "

Hermione couldn't tell Harry the truth. Not if she didn’t want him jumping to the worst possible conclusions, and offering to marry her in some vague attempt to save her from Draco. Even in the very best case scenario, he would still feel bad she was doing this in order to get a Wizengamot seat, while he’d fallen backwards into one he didn’t even want. His face would fall into that tired, dead-eyed look he’d worn all through the Hearings, and he’d ask her what he needed to do. In order to help her close Azkaban. 

Draco slid the paper out of her limp hands, and Hermione tried to think quickly.

"I didn't mean to hide anything from you. There was just never a good time – "

"It's alright, Hermione," said Harry. 

Draco wrapped an arm around her waist. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. At first it was a conflict of interest because you were testifying on my parents' behalf at the Hearings, and then... selfishly..." He gazed at Hermione. "I kept thinking she'd come to her senses. I wanted to spare myself more public embarrassment." 

Harry threw his head back and laughed.  

"Harry!" Hermione scolded.

"No, it's cute!" he insisted. "It's cute he thinks you change your mind about anything. Ever."

"I know better now," said Draco, still gazing at her. "But I should probably invite you in, better than standing here in the garden.”

Harry strolled up the walk, hands in his pockets like he had no particular baggage with this place. And well, he probably didn’t have any negative associations with the grounds. Hermione would give it until the entry hall.

But house or no house – Draco could restrain himself no longer, and was already scanning the Prophet article, trailing behind them.

"A breath of fresh air amid dusty pureblood halls.’ Hmm. Hermione, would you describe me as 'lithe and stormy-eyed, a rogue who has been shown the error of his ways?'" 

"Hardly. You've always been a rule follower. We were just operating on different sets of rules."

"Yes, well. I suppose 'at one point pretended to forget Harry Potter's name and then lost a wrestling match' is difficult to spin as romantic." Draco sped up, to walk a little more abreast. "Is the wand still working for you, Potter?"

"Sorry, still using it. You can't have it back." 

"Oh, no. It's yours now. Only I found that hawthorn backfires occasionally, or at least it did for me."

"'The wand chooses the wizard'," Harry said, in a half-decent impression of Ollivander. "Maybe it was just having buyer’s remorse." At the look Hermione shot him, he threw up his hands in surrender "I'm kidding! Kidding! Can’t say it’s ever backfired for me though, sorry." 

"Well. They also say that 'as a wizard acts against his nature, spells come backward.' I suppose you would have less trouble there, than I did."

Harry looked down at his lime green crocs and smiled. "Hmmm. Didn’t think you’d be having that problem much anymore."

"I have been redeemed by love. It says so, in the paper."

"Same paper that speculates I'll collapse under the pressure of fatherhood when raising Teddy?"

"It says that?" Hermione had no idea where they got that from. "Who wrote that?! Skeeter?" The front doors opened for them, as they approached.

"How is your godson?" said Draco. "Or is 'son' still the right word?”

"Merlin, thanks for asking. So few people do. We're going with son for now, but it's more of a placeholder. Andromeda says his mum was flipping back and forth between ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ until she was about six, and Teddy only just turned five.” 

“Really?” said Draco, who was trying to guide them through the entrance hall and into the Unicorn sitting room as quickly as possible. “No preferences at all?”

“He really seems to like Andromeda’s nose and my hair texture. Everything else changes though.” 

Hermione was thankful that Draco had brought up the subject of Teddy. Harry hardly seemed to even notice the house around him, now that the topic of his godson had come up.

"He's brilliant. He just figured out how to do birthmarks, and now he's running around doing these camouflage zebra patterns that make him look like a cuttlefish. This is the third day straight. He only stops to sleep." Harry looked more proud of this than he ever had of his own accomplishments. 

"That's remarkable," said Draco, herding Harry in the direction of the food, and tea. “Is he changing color to match his surroundings ever, or is it all about putting on a show?" 

"Does red hair around the Weasleys count?" 

"I would say so. I don't know if you've already eaten, please help yourself." Draco had picked up a teacup but was mostly using it as a prop. Surreptitiously taking a longer look at the newspaper. 

"Thanks. I'm good." Harry helped himself to a piece of toast anyway.

"We hadn't meant for you to find out about us this way," Draco said, dropping the newspaper over the arm of a chair. "I must compliment you on taking it so well." 

Harry just shrugged. "Hermione can do what she wants. If she thinks you've stopped being too much of a prat to be worth her time, then I’m not about to tell her she’s wrong."

"So... does that mean this is a good time to ask if you would consider being in the wedding party? It would involve walking in front of Hermione while wearing a sword." 

"I've er... not been to many magical weddings." Harry looked to be fighting the urge to fidget with his toast, which would have gotten crumbs everywhere. "The one I did go to was erm... cut short. But… yeah. Count me in." 

Draco beamed. Completely unselfconsciously. "Thank you," he said, with a deep nod in Harry's direction.

Harry looked a little spooked. Like being thanked was the one thing he found too hard to believe about all of this.

"I've been so focused on planning the wedding that it's made keeping up with Quidditch difficult,” said Draco. “But the Cannons are certainly having a very interesting season. What was that three-day game all about? I'm not sure I believe the official explanation. I've never heard of a snitch getting lost underground in a mole-tunnel."

Harry's face lit up. "So. I'm not supposed to know this… but people tell me things. The leading theory is that a muggle dog ate it. Just… you know." He gestured vaguely "Based on the state it was in when they got it back." 

"Congratulations Harry. You're not the only one in the history of the sport to swallow one," Hermione teased.

"I did not hear that," said Draco. "Really?"

"Yeah. They're keeping dead quiet about it. Someone could be getting in trouble for a Statute of Secrecy violation."

"Why was there even a muggle dog there? Wait. Does this mean there's something to the rumor that one of the Cannon’s beaters is dating a muggle?"

"All I know is they're not looking into it. Nobody was even supposed to tell me this much."

Draco looked pleased, and very smug about his inside knowledge. Privately, Hermione was beginning to suspect Draco needed gossip like a plant needed sunlight.

Harry went through more and more of the toast as he and Draco chatted about the controversial "Invisible Snitch" ruling (whatever that was), if there was or wasn't sideways drag on the new Firebolt model, and Ginny potentially getting drafted to the Harpies.

"The Manor is full of excellent places to fly," said Draco. "Please do come, anytime. But I fear we're being rude. Quidditch is not one of Hermione's areas of interest.” He smiled as he caught her eye. "Only Quidditch players ." 

"Draco!" She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a  giggle, and then shoved him playfully. That was so embarrassing, but if she tried to deny it Harry would just start teasing her too. Also… she found she didn’t mind it as much as she felt she should? Draco’s teasing was maybe… fun? It felt good-natured and warm. The exact opposite of everything from school.

Draco pulled her to his side again, smirking. 

"You're just fishing for compliments again!" she laughed, and rested her head against his shoulder.

Harry looked between the two of them. Nodded. 

"Yeah, okay. I can be happy about this."

Draco held Hermione against his shoulder, just a second longer.

"Anyway. I should get back. Do damage control with the Weasleys so Mrs. Weasley doesn’t show up at your door demanding to know if Hermione's been imperiused. She took out Bellatrix, so you know. I wouldn’t want to fight her.” 

"You will have done me a great service," said Draco, deadpan. "The Weasley family is all invited to the wedding, of course. And if Weasley would agree to wear a sword as well..." 

Harry got a little sheepish. "Ron's... somewhere tropical right now? He sent a postcard but I forget from where. He made George take a break from the joke shop. He'll probably head back when he sees the paper though. Thought I'd get out ahead of that." 

"The wedding won't be for another five months. But I'd be grateful to have Ron Weasley participate. If he needs convincing..." Draco sighed. "Tell him that I’d be willing to host a Ghost Night. He'll know what that means."

"Sure." Harry shrugged and grabbed one last piece of toast for the road. "I don't think he'll take much convincing. Probably just have questions. It's Ginny who's going to be the real tough sell."

The Diary. Of course. Hermione wouldn't blame Ginny if she didn't ever want to set foot in Malfoy Manor. Draco, next to her, had gone very still. 

"I'll put in a good word,” said Harry. “But that's all I can do."

"Thank you," said Draco again. "But if I were in her place, I don't think that I would agree to come here."

"You never know. She might insist on coming because of that. Hard to tell with her." Harry pointed vaguely in the direction of the front door. "So, do I just show myself out or....?"

"I'll see you to the gate," said Draco. "Hermione can apparate within the grounds, but only because she's been keyed into the wards."

He led them back out into the hall, and wasn't quite so adept at distracting Harry this time. Hermione noticed Harry's eyes lingering at certain key places. She wasn't sure what he was thinking. But she could take a guess, when he rubbed his scar the way he used to when the headaches got bad.

She didn't say anything about it. Draco was clearly trying to get them into the sunlight as quickly as possible, and the sooner Harry got away from here the sooner he could go back to thinking about other things.

Once they were outside, Harry nodded his thanks. And by the time they reached the gate, he was looking much better.

"Don't be put off for good,” said Draco. “The house has gotten far too lonely these last few years. And thank you again, for agreeing to be part of our wedding." 

"I wouldn't miss it." Harry then made a surprising move, and pulled Draco into a brief hug. "Don't let her plan the whole thing all by herself." Without really giving Draco time to process, Harry had moved on to hug Hermione. "Take care. Both of you." 

She hugged him back. "Tell Teddy and Andromeda I said hello."

"I will." Harry stepped back, gave them a little wave, and apparated away.

Which left Draco, slumping  back against the gate’s elaborate metal filigree.

"That actually went well," he said, eyes closed.

"It did, didn't it?"

He squinted at her, and then reached out an arm. "Come here?"

Hermione went to him, unsure where he was going with this. But Draco just folded her into an embrace, burying his face in her hair. Exhaling, long and relaxed.

She settled into the hug, tucking her chin over his shoulder. Let her eyes close for a second. It was nice to be held. Nice to have someone she could hug without worrying about starting any unwanted rumors. Draco rubbed her back lightly through her blouse. Then pulled back.

"Now that our engagement's been officially announced... you at least need to pick up your cat, even if everything else you own is tucked away under that Undetectable Extension charm. And I need to pay a few calls." He looked a little apprehensive. “Dinner tonight, in Diagon Alley? I'll need something to look forward to."

"'Pay a few calls' sounds somewhat ominous," observed Hermione. "Now that we've linked our reputations together, we'll be getting in trouble together or not at all. So there's no point in hiding whatever you're up to." 

"Nothing like that .” Draco laughed. “I need to go around and engage all the caterers, decorators and similar that I possibly can. I am far too lazy to trouble concealing anything from you." He paused. "With that said... you are right. They would all behave themselves if you were there. But I'd rather learn that they wish me ill today. And not in three months’ time, after I've given them access to the Manor."

"That makes sense." Hermione could always appreciate a good fact-finding mission. "Before you ask, I have no opinion on flowers. If anyone has allergies we can just charm them to keep the pollen contained."

“Flowers?” said Draco. “We have a cutting garden.”

“Wedding flowers, like lilies and roses.” It was true there were plenty of flowers in the overgrown gardens but – “Certainly we’ll need more on the day?”

Draco still looked confused. “More than table centerpieces?"

“Wait. What are you picturing for wedding decorations?”

“Banners?” said Draco slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Ribbons? Live fairies?” 

“Not flowers?” 

“Not…especially. As the wedding is in winter. We could do ice sculptures.”

She supposed that could be pretty, in a wizardy sort of way. Maybe. Perhaps it would be easier to just let Draco plan everything, if every second thing she said was going to result in someone correcting her. Except – the particulars of the wedding shouldn't really matter, she knew. It was just one step towards other more important things. Yet somehow… Hermione didn't ever see herself ever having time for a real wedding, and there was a part of her that wanted the one time she did get married to line up with the image in her head. At least somewhat. 

“I want a white wedding dress." As soon as she said the words, she was surprised to realize just how important this was to her. 

“White?” said Draco. Apparently, he considered this choice scandalous. “We have a wedding color, you know.” 

Oh for goodness sakes.

“Wedding color?” Hermione said, dully. 

He was looking at her like he was concerned. “Malfoy Green. The swatches are on file with the Ministry. We would be within our rights to feud with anyone who wore it without our permission.”

“Well you can wear green then.” Except Hermione found she didn’t especially like that idea either. It didn't fit the traditional image she had in her mind. When she pictured a groom, he was definitely wearing black.

 She hadn't realized she had so many opinions on the subject. 

“I can’t put myself in green but not you.” Draco sounded a little desperate. “It would look terrible. As though I were refusing to put you under Malfoy protection.” 

“Well, muggle men tend to wear black suits at their weddings. Unless they’re being trendy.” 

Now Draco looked positively stricken. “I can’t wear black. That’s the Blacks’ wedding color. Of course I’m entitled since Mother is a Black… but that would make it look like I intend to press my claim to the family seat. I certainly do not plan to insult Harry Potter by doing that. I recognize Teddy Lupin as the Black heir, and Potter as steward, and that’s all there is to it.”

Hermione was positive Draco was being over-strict or old-fashioned about at least some of this. Fleur had worn white to her wedding after all, so the idea couldn’t be as bizarre as he was making it out to be. But at present, she didn’t have enough information to build a proper argument. 

"I may be willing to compromise," she said, as an olive branch. Also because she didn’t want to talk about this anymore. 

Draco smoothed his hair, getting himself back together. He touched his sleeve, checking for his wand. Patted his pockets. "Say an early dinner? Six o'clock? And did you like the place we went to, or should we try another?" 

"We could try another. It might be good to be spotted going different places." 

"There's always Fox and Fae. We can eat up at one of the tables in the gigantic tree. Or Alchemy? They have dancing." Draco shifted his weight a little. "Of course I haven't been going out all that often recently. They may have declined in quality." 

"I'm sure I'll be impressed." 

"Call it Alchemy then. I’m sure you still remember how to dance." 

"You still  have to go run your errands. Delaying won't change that."

Draco sighed. "You are right. Well, I'll see you on the other side." He said it very dramatically, and vanished.

 

---

 

It wasn't much work, all things considered, to go and retrieve Crookshanks from her flat and put him in his carrying basket. She took a quick look around before she left, just to see if there was anything else she wanted to bring with her. There wasn't. Hermione had meant to get pictures for the walls, and put up curtains. But the curtains were still sitting in their box, there wasn't even any food about to go bad in the fridge. The lease would be up in a few months, and then... 

She picked up Crookshanks, and the bag of cat food, and apparated back to Malfoy Manor.

Crookshanks cautiously poked his nose out, when she opened up the lid of his basket. Then he yowled, jumped out, and rubbed his face against the carpet, fascinated by the new smells and new terrain. Next he made a circuit of Draco’s room, looked with interest out the window, and stretched out happily on a velvet couch lined with fringe. Hermione sat, and played with him a little. Made sure he knew where his food and water were set up. It was still very strange, to be alone in this place without Draco, and without something to do.  

She thought about how much her life had changed, and how quickly. Was careful not to think about it too much. It got overwhelming if she thought about it too much. It would feel more real, she decided, the longer she spent here. Crookshanks was sure to help. 

 

---

 

Hermione was slightly early to the restaurant, and Draco was slightly late. She hovered vaguely outside, feeling underdressed and full of cat hair, compared to all the sharply dressed couples.

She would have sworn the ivy leaves in her hair had shrunken down to a slightly more manageable size, as though they knew they looked out of place. She felt real relief , when she spotted Draco's white-blonde head coming towards her down the street.

"Things could have gone worse," said Draco, planting a kiss on her cheek and a hand on the small of her back, steering her down a set of stairs into the restaurant – or was it really more a club? "Two of us," he said to the seating hostess. "A table near the dance floor."

Hermione swiftly found herself seated at a tiny cabaret-style table, Draco across from her, and a candle encased in blown red glass between them. He was just sort of looking at her, over the top of the drink menu.

Draco looked quite handsome, and appropriate in his surroundings. Although she did notice the slight splatter of – what looked like black paint? Ink? All over one side of his shirt collar. 

She leaned in close, reaching over and brushing the spot with her thumb. It would have looked very affectionate to any onlooker. "I'm giving you fair warning, because I’ve pointed a wand at you under very different circumstances. But you have a spot on your shirt and I'm going to clean it." She drew her wand, cast a minor charm, then pulled him in for the briefest kiss before stowing her wand again.

Draco touched the collar. A smile, just a slight movement of the lip – but it lit his eyes as well.  "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long."

"Not too long." Though she was comparing him to Ron and Harry, which was grading on a curve. "Have you managed to persuade any caterers over to your cause?" Grimaced inwardly at the way she’d decided to phrase that. She had been accused of approaching everything as though she were still waging a war before. 

"And a fairy wrangler,” said Draco. “A decorator who can do never-melting ice, and plenty of muscians. Although I'm wondering if I should hire some security as well. I heard some very interesting theories about why you might have agreed to marry me." 

"Oh no. What are people saying?" 

"The expected things." At which point heleaned back, and shrugged. "Love potion. Imperius. Nebulous 'dark magic.' Blackmailing, tricking you into making an Unbreakable Vow. Veela hypnosis. And whatever 'Stockholm Syndrome' is." 

"Veela hypnosis? Really?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why am I surprised?"

"That's an old rumor, actually. It’s the hair. And possibly the fact that we’re more attractive than most pureblood families. One or more of us is supposed to have kept a veela mistress, off the record. No truth to that of course." 

"It seems that people could just look up the Malfoy genealogy records, if they’re so curious."

"Off the record," Draco repeated, smiling. "You seem... I can't say. If you don't like this place we can always leave." 

"I'm sorry." Hermione sighed. "It's just... I'm covered in cat hair and you look so good while I just look out of place." She hadn't even noticed how uncomfortable and stressed she was until he pointed it out. But she was.

"You look beautiful. And I hadn't noticed the cat hair, but I do have a spell for that. Only fair, since you cleaned up my ink splatter." Draco pushed back his chair, and got up to stand behind her.

"I know it's a silly thing to be worried about."

"It isn't." He tapped one shoulder, then the other. Hermione felt a funny tingling sensation, as all the hair vacuumed to his wand tip, and vanished. Then she felt his hands, touching her hair, pulling on the headpiece. "You probably haven't gotten much of a chance to play with this thing." Draco was twisting her hair into a kind of low bun on her neck, and the leaves were pinning it in place. As a final touch, he draped his green silk blazer around her shoulders, covering up her plain white blouse. The whole operation had taken him maybe thirty seconds.

Hermione scooted her seat closer to him, until their knees touched. "I suppose I should be used to being in the spotlight by now."

Draco adjusted the tendrils of hair that were framing her face. Then pulled her in, for a light kiss. 

Which only put Hermione more on edge. It seemed as though everything today had been designed to throw her off – wedding planning with Narcissa, Harry's unexpected visit, that first fight with Draco, too much idle time left to her own devices, and now being here, feeling painfully out of place. She wanted to just enjoy things, she really did, but her thoughts kept returning to Draco’s passing comment about hiring security for the wedding… and now she was forcing herself not to check the exits… 

"Let's get out of here," Draco whispered. "We've made an appearance. Looked good in a few photos. We'll get fish and chips on the way back." 

"Thank you." Hermione felt pathetically relieved not to have to stay for another minute. 

The place was filling up too, and Draco pulled her standing, then aggressively steered her past everyone, and out into the early evening. 

"Of course this makes it look like I really can't keep my hands off you," he commented. Once they were free of the press of people, and standing in an alley between two buildings. 

"I don't care what it looks like." Hermione was still too aware of her clothes against her skin, but she finally felt like she could breathe again, now that she had a little more air.

Draco put his hands on her shoulders. Hermione removed one – but kept hold of it. She needed a little space, but not too much. She worked to slow her breathing. The process wasn't immediate, but in the end she managed it.

"Do you really want chips,” said Draco. “Or should I take you home?"

Hermione was about to say yes, but the words caught in her throat. With a deep sigh, she let her head rest against his shoulder. "No. If we'd done that to begin with, this could have been a lovely evening. But everything is too much now." 

"I'm sorry. It was my fault. Maybe it can still be a lovely evening. A quieter one." Draco’s hand was resting between her shoulder blades.

"You haven't met Crookshanks yet." Ever since learning why he had gone after Scabbers so viciously while leaving the rest of the Hogwarts animals alone… Hermione felt that the world was more secure with him around. Now that she was out of the restaurant, she realized the layout in there would have been ideal for an ambush. Which these days wouldn't be anything worse than a reporter after an interview or someone wanting to thank her. But it was still enough to bother her. 

"Should I take you back?" said Draco.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him. "Yes please."

It was the responsible thing to do. She was still off-kilter enough to be at risk of splinching.

 

---

 

Draco cracked them into the center of his rooms at Malfoy manor. Hermione had a second to wonder if maybe if the wards would protect against splinching – before Crookshanks was headbutting her leg and making his low, throaty yowl. Draco got down on one knee and held out a hand for him to sniff. Crookshanks investigated, and after a minute seemed to find him acceptable. Hermione realized she was not surprised. Draco had very cat energy himself, and it wasn't long before he was petting Crookshank's squashed-looking head.

"If anyone ever doubts you're trustworthy, remind them my half-kneazle loves you. I don't think he warmed up to Harry that fast."

Draco tilted his face up, as he stroked the cat with his long musician's fingers. Crookshanks took the opportunity to rub up against him, leaving orange hair behind on his crisp dark suit.

Hermione scooped the cat up and cradled him. "You've been having fun exploring, haven't you? Yes you have. I love your frowny little face so much." This was absolutely what she had needed.

Draco laughed quietly. "Just explain to him that the peacocks are out-of-bounds,” he said.

"He's very good about not hurting pets. The only one he's ever attacked was Scabbers, and he turned out to be a horrible little man." Hermione was still so proud of Crookshanks for that. "So unless one of them is secretly an animagus, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"I'm not going to ask," said Draco, getting to his feet. "Anyhow. You seem to be doing better." 

Crookshanks had decided he was done saying hello and wanted down. Draco essentially replaced him, to stand right in front of her.

"I could draw you a bath. Get you something to eat. Or perhaps you'd just rather lie down." 

Draco was being very sweet. Suspiciously sweet, even. It was hard to believe this was the same person who had called her slurs when they were younger. Crookshanks did like him though… 

"I didn’t mind your dinner-and-dancing plan. Maybe we don't have to cancel that entirely?"

A smile crept onto his face. "You feel like dancing?" His hand found hers. "Because I do warn you. My cooking is severely limited."

"I assumed as much. Lucky for you I did pick up a few spells from Mrs. Weasley." Actually, she had gifted Hermione an entire set of household spellbooks right after the war. Possibly under the expectation that she and Ron would be a lasting thing… but even if that hadn't lasted, the books were still useful.

"Well. If you promise not to be shocked by the state of the pantries. I do what I can, but it's more or less down to 'rations' territory."

"You've already braved muggle stores once. I'm sure you can do it again if we have to."

Draco closed his eyes with a look of pain. "But I've already had such a long day."

Hermione did take pity on him. Sighed. "I'll see what you already have and then go do the shopping without you."

"She shows mercy." 

"How does spaghetti bolognese sound?" It was one of the dishes she considered herself quite good at by this point. The spell for chopping the onions had a particularly fun little wand flick to it. 

"It sounds perfect, Hermione." He actually did look exhausted. 

"If you need to take a nap, I'll wake you when the food is done." With that, Hermione apparated directly to a different muggle supermarket than the Aldi she'd taken Draco to. She was slightly too embarrassed to show her face there again, at least for a few more weeks.

The shopping was uneventful, and a nice task to occupy her thoughts. Hermione was just another face among many in muggle London. After all that, apparating back to the spacious Malfoy kitchens made her smile. She supposed that the kitchen in her flat had been a bit cramped. No such problems now. Draco had stayed in his rooms, giving her another chance to experience this house on its own terms. Something she appreciated.

Hermione let the quiet meditative task of cooking occupy her thoughts. It was a lot like potions, really. Only with end results that tasted better. 

When the food was ready, she plated it up, and added a little garnish of basil. She had only made enough for two, and felt like a cozy dinner in Draco's rooms would be preferable to checking to see if the Unicorn sitting room was free. There was a chance it wasn’t, and she really did not feel like discussing wedding plans with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. 

She found Draco curled into one half of the little couch in front of the fireplace. Drowsing, dtill fully dressed. Crookshanks was nowhere to be seen. He'd turn up.

Careful not to wake Draco, Hermione set the food on the small table by the window. Much better. But now the problem was that he was still asleep.

"I know it's been a long day, but I'm afraid you do have to wake up if you want to eat."

Draco stirred. Blinked. Unfolded himself. Registered Hermione. The dinner. The set table.

Then surged up. Pulled her towards him, for a real kiss. She made a surprised noise, and floundered a little before relaxing.

He left a hand on her jaw for a moment. Then he let her go.

"I'll have to cook for you more often if that's the reaction it gets me," she said, trying to make a joke of it.

"Oh I don't know," murmured Draco, sleepily. "There are probably easier ways to get that reaction out of me."

"It's nice to be appreciated." Nothing against Ron, but he had rather taken it for granted the handful of times she had cooked. "I'm not much good with wine pairings though, so if you wanted any you'll have to get that yourself."

"We've got a cellar full of Malfoy Red." Draco sat up more fully. "And I hate to think of those dunces who don't appreciate you." He got to his feet. "I'll get the wine."

She couldn't think of a response to that until he had already left the room.

He returned a few minutes later with wine, and goblets. Turned all the lights in the room to a low golden glow, and lit a candelabra. Seated across from him at the small table below the window, Hermione realized this might just be the most romantic dinner she'd ever had.

"I know I said I know how to dance…” she said. “Truthfully. I don't really know much beyond a basic waltz."

Draco had begun to eat, with very elegant table manners. "Nine times in ten, a basic waltz is all you need. Throw in a spin or two, maybe a dip. It's not bad to know a quadrille, and a tango is fun to show off with. Or well. It was . Who even knows what the London social season will look like once the dust settles. This is delicious, by the way." He was quiet for a bit longer, just appreciating the food.

"Cooking is a lot like potions. I think you could learn if you wanted to."

He smiled. "I wouldn't call myself especially gifted at potion making. I would say that Severus spoiled me, and made it seem that way. " 

"Oh I know. I'm still better at it than you. But you understand the theory well enough, and cooking is generally more forgiving than potion brewing."

For some reason, that made Draco smile more . He glanced down, which worked to make the smile a little private. "I'm sure you're right."

"He was a brilliant potioneer." It was the nicest thing Hermione had to say about Severus Snape. He was a terrible teacher who had been cruel to her friends, but she knew what he had done for Draco. He had lost people too.

"Severus was brilliant. Never should have been potion master. I used to think Dumbledore had something on him to keep him there. And while he never actually said it to me, I think my father thought so too."

“He should have been allowed to pursue academic research, and not given any actual students." she agreed. "Teaching was a horrible fit." 

"I don't know if Dumbledore wanted to torture him, or if he wanted to torture himself. Either way..." Draco trailed off. "He was close with my parents. Might have been even closer. Only he got swallowed up, by his mind and his work." 

Hermione thought she knew what Draco might be insinuating. Sat quietly with this new knowledge for a moment. Pureblood society was very different than how she had been raised, but she found in this instance… she didn't judge it.

"I think...." It felt wrong to even speculate, but she couldn't shake the idea. "I think maybe Dumbledore wanted to isolate him. So that he never got over Harry’s mum." It sounded terrible, but Dumbledore had also sent Harry to his death. In the past she would have said he never would have done either. It wasn’t the kind of thought she was at all comfortable with, but she supposed if anyone would understand… it was probably Draco.

"I know you lot are very loyal to him." Draco had suddenly become very occupied with studying the way the firelight hit his wineglass. “And he's dead now, so it hardly matters. But I will say is... he was astonishingly powerful. Astonishingly intelligent. Very good at hiding both those things." Draco took a sip. "And he frightened my father."

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Draco was still staring into his glass.

"Albus Dumbledore said my attempts on his life were so feeble it was like I wanted to get caught. He said I was afraid, and that I wasn't a killer.." 

"I could have told you that," said Hermione, which earned her a look she hadn’t expected. "Even back in second year, when Harry was so sure you had opened the Chamber of Secrets, it never really seemed like the kind of thing you would do. You'd much rather humiliate people you hate than kill them." He had been petty and more than a little pathetic back then, but he hadn't been a murderer. And Hermione wasn't surprised that he hadn't grown into one either. "You were always more annoying than frightening."

Strangely – or maybe not – that earned her a smile. 

"You were intimidating," Draco said. "You were smart, and loud, and you broke rules."

"Speaking of breaking rules in second year, did you ever find out about the time I turned into Millicent Bulstrode's cat? No, you can't have. You would have made fun of me."

"... I still might." 

"You were our only suspect at the time, so we got hair from people you knew so we could Polyjuice into them. Harry and Ron's turned out fine, but I didn’t realize Millicent had a cat." 

Draco stared at her.

"You were brewing Polyjuice potion to spy on me? In second year? Merlin.” His eyes went to the ceiling. "We never stood a chance , did we? I am very glad I have you on my side."

He found her hand across the table. Then squeezed it. And just... kept holding it.

"Why don’t we dance?" he said.

 

Chapter 6

Draco went to the record player in the corner. Of course he would have a record player. Hermione was in the middle of wondering if it needed actual records to work, or was attached to some kind of wizard radio, or if it selected the music it played according to some internal logic of its own – but then a scratch, and – a waltz. Light and teasing. Not one she recognized. Mysterious. Lots of violin. It made her think of a ball obviously, but fancifully, a masked ball. Draco held a hand out for her. She took it.

He pulled her to her feet and suddenly – Hermione was in his arms. One of Draco’s hands in hers, the other on her waist. He began to lead her across the carpet, and well… he had been quite confident when talking about his dancing ability. Now he moved weightlessly, making every aspect of the dance look entirely effortless. But every step and every turn was so crisp, so uniform – it was far from effortless. Draco was good at this because he had done it a thousand times before. Slightly begrudgingly Hermione had to admit… every bit of his confidence was justified.

And yes she was aware that she was a little slower, a little less graceful. But no one else was watching, and she had time to practice.

“You know this dance,” said Draco, not breaking from that one-two-three waltz rhythm he’d fallen into. “Don’t think about your feet. Pay attention to my hands, and the line where my side touches you. I’ve got the lead. Just feel where I’m trying to put you.”

Hermione sighed, because the urge to carefully watch her steps was very difficult to let go of. But dancing wasn’t like spellwork, where you could do a movement identically each time. You had to make allowances for the other person, at least somewhat.

“If I step on your toes, that's on you.”

"I'll survive."

Once Hermione gave herself permission, she found that paying attention to Draco was very pleasant. He had nice hands. Soft hands. With every minute that passed, she was becoming more and more aware of all the places they touched.

She did step on his toes. Once or twice. But then she started adapting to his rhythm. There were tiny changes of pressure – at her waist, at her hand – that Draco used to communicate a change of direction, or a turn. It was strangely focusing. She had to pay attention to the way he touched her, or end up missing her cues. 

Once that got a bit easier, Hermione found herself thinking about how this dance would look in a dress designed for this sort of thing. One that went all the way to the floor and matched  the silver leaves in her hair. Because for the first time, it didn't feel entirely ridiculous thinking of herself as some sort of Malfoy lady? Dancing like this, she did feel like a lady. Even more so when Draco said, "Turn for three beats," and raised his hand to spin her.

Hermione giggled as she spun, which rather ruined the grand tone of the whole thing. But he couldn't help it.

Draco smiled too, when he recaptured her waist and she fell back into step with him.

"That's it," he said, and Hermione’s heart couldn’t help but flutter at the praise.

He smoothly moved her around the floor of his room once more, and she made no mistakes this time. Draco spun her once again. "Let's try a dip,” he said. “When I bring my arm up, lean into me. Weight on the inside leg."

Suddenly Hermione’s steps were all over the place, twisted and clumsy. Completely shattering the illusion that she knew what she was doing.

Her face was hot, and she refused to look at him. "I'm not sure… I understand the directions…" She could already tell that she was making a fool of herself. 

"Like this,” said Draco. “Let's do it just on its own." Deliberately moving at about half-speed, he slid his hand out of hers and wrapped it instead around her shoulders. He was still holding her waist, and their faces were suddenly much closer. "This is me bringing my arm up." There was a smile playing behind his lips. "You can slide your hand to my elbow, or hold your skirt, it doesn't really matter.

She slid her hand to his elbow. Draco brought her even closer.

"Now I'm a good dancer. So I'm going to support your weight with my legs, and not try to hold you up with my arms. Which means all your weight needs to go on your inside leg, the one closest to me. You can kick out the other, if you want."

Hermione didn’t think he was about to drop her, but –

"I'm trusting you."

"I appreciate that."

Then Draco brought Hermione close in, and dipped her. Lower, and lower – until she felt that strange shift in balance she associated with swinging too high on a swing set –

She looked up into his grey eyes. Draco’s arms around her felt extremely solid. Secure. He held the pose for one – two – three beats.

Then tipped her back up, and dragged his hand off her shoulder, down her arm. Found her fingers again. "Perfect." He took a moment to just stand there, still. Hermione, for her part, was feeling something so bright and bubbly that she wanted to hug him. But that would have ruined the effect.

"Now we just do it to music. And... put you in a gown." Draco had another second of just looking at her, before leaning in. "My footwork needs to be perfect. But the truth is, if you're in a big enough dress, no one can see the mistakes."

"I'll know!"

Draco laughed. "I suppose you will. Does that mean you want to practice more? " He took a second to wander back over to the record player. Adjust something. "You're good enough that I'm not going to go easy on you," he said, over his shoulder.

"You better not."

Draco smirked, and held out his hand once more. This time she took it with a smile. Much more confidently.

"You know, I think even Viktor might have dropped me. He’s the only one I've danced with who was even passably competent."

"He did seem like the sort of man who would know a few flashy lifts." Draco swung her into an easy waltz hold, and now they were moving easily.

"Would it be too strange… to invite him to the wedding?” said Hermione. “Only… I think it could be a great opportunity for Ginny to network…."

Draco looked at her sideways. "I’m sorry. Are you really asking me if I want less internationally famous quidditch players at my wedding?"

In his arms, Hermione shrugged. Apparently Draco lacked Ron's possessive streak. That, or it didn’t matter because it wasn’t really a marriage. "I don't know what he's up to. Viktor, I mean. We tried to stay in contact, but the war got in the way."

"The war put a halt on everything." 

But the war was over now, and they could all get back to living. Or at least, they were supposed to. It had proven a lot harder to do, in practice.

"I'm trying to remember the last time I danced like this,” said Draco. “I used to love it. Don't tell Mother."

"That you haven't been practicing or that you love dancing? Because if it's the first one, I imagine she probably knows. "

"She used to shove me at my dancing masters kicking and screaming. I swore that I'd only ever tolerate it."

"I'm happy to be your excuse. But you should know I think you're being silly for not admitting to enjoying dancing in the first place."

"I used to think I was so subtle," said Draco.

Then, the music started to shift – into something faster, and more exciting. And also more… romantic. Draco waited for the right beat – and then pulled her into the dance.

Draco had perhaps been in something of a problem-solving mindset before, Hermione realized. Figuring out what kind of a dancer she was, what steps she could do. Making small adjustments as they went along. Because now he was dancing for himself, simply for his own enjoyment. Fluid and graceful and quick, getting lost in the music and lost in her, turning and spinning and catching. Hermione felt herself make mis-steps, but he was apparently good enough to adapt in the moment, and make them look like deliberate flourishes. 

“Don’t think,” Draco whispered, in her ear, as he swept her into another whirlwind turn.

She understood what he meant, but he was acting like it was easy. "Thinking is kind of what I'm known for!"

Since trying not to think obviously wasn’t working, Hermione instead focused on letting herself feel.

His fingers, warm in hers. His hand, firm on her waist. His body, pressed against her side. When his arm moved to cradle her shoulders, she knew what to do. Move her weight onto one foot, let him dip her low.

His face was so close to hers. Almost touching. Almost.

But then the dance wasn't over, and he was spinning her until she was light headed. Draco caught her then too, and drew her back into the basic waltz step. Hermione felt – beautiful. But anyone dancing with him would look beautiful. It was more a testament to his skill as a dancer than anything.

Draco was starting to add in his own improvised little moves. Letting go of her waist to spin her out, then pull her back in. He made dancing feel like flying.

"Maybe I do have a thing for Quidditch players,” she said, breathless.

He smiled, and made his tight spin tighter and faster, pulled her in – and then used the momentum to lift her feet off the ground. The whole thing startled a surprised, happy laugh out of her – and she didn’t land all that gracefully, but he didn't seem to mind. She desperately wished she was wearing a dress, but he looked amazing exactly as he was. All sleek lines and effortless movement. Somehow, Hermione mostly managed to keep up with all his footwork as the music got more intense. She was beginning to understand how he led.

Then a quick line of spins. One after another after another. Until the music broke – and Draco lowered her down into one final dip. The record scratched. The piece was over, and Draco was still holding her.

Hermione realized she'd kicked her foot into the air.

She also had the overwhelming desire to kiss him.

Draco held her suspended in that moment, one beat longer. And – before she could catch her breath or think better of it – she did kiss him.

He didn't break the kiss, when he pulled her slowly upright. Or when he walked her a few steps backwards, leaning her up against some kind of thick drapery. She wasn't doing a great job supporting her own weight.

Draco has gotten her so used to not thinking that Hermione didn’t notice her hand at his lapel, until it was too late to draw it back. Then she found… she didn’t really care. He’d been wearing a suit coat this entire time, surely she could have him at least down to shirtsleeves.

He  moved with her to get the jacket off his shoulders, let it fall to the floor behind him. Undid just one button, at his neck.

Then his lips were back on her, and Draco was grabbing fistfuls of her cardigan, and her hair –

She let her hands explore along his back and sides. He pulled the hem of his shirt free from his trousers, and Hermione took that as an invitation to start in on the buttons. She so desperately wanted to see all that flawless pale skin that she knew was under there –

She felt Draco shiver. Suck in his stomach as her fingers brushed the soft skin of his abdomen. He had folded himself in, arm around her waist. Helplessly kissing her neck. She shivered a little too, as her hands travelled up his torso, and she found the faint raised lines of  – scars.

Harry had done that. Just when she thought she couldn't get any more mad about him using that book he'd found – she was glad it was gone for good –

But right now Draco was breathing, heavily, forehead pressed against hers, and it was distracting.

She traced the lines of scars with her fingers, and in response he kissed her fiercely. One-handed, he managed to pull loose some of the buttons at the top of his shirt.

Hermione pulled away long enough to shed her  own cardigan. It was getting a little too warm.

Now there was an entire strip of Draco's chest visible, collarbone to hip. His hands were hot through the cotton of her blouse and she pulled him in to kiss his neck, getting one of her legs in between his… in her efforts to get closer…

His breath caught. For a second, Draco might have stopped breathing entirely. With a hand on the small of her back, he staggered back half a step, letting Hermione lean on him, instead of on the curtain.

She already had her palms against his chest, under his open shirt. It was easy enough to let them explore lower. Draco had a very lovely arse.

He made a sound. Wrapped her in his arms. Let his head tilt back, and that let her kiss more of his neck.

Hermione… didn't exactly know where she was going with this. Mostly, she just wanted to explore. And get more of those sounds out of him.

"Bedroom?" she asked, tentatively.

He had to exhale. Lean against her, letting their foreheads touch.

"Oh fuck. Oh Merlin, yes."

He pulled Hermione with him, clutching her shoulders. Opened the bedroom door by leaning back against it, still looking at her. Rolled them onto the green velvet bed with something suspiciously like a modified dancing move.

And then he was underneath her.

Hermione situated herself so she was straddling him, and could push Draco’s shirt out of the way. Giving her a nice unobstructed view of his chest.

His eyes fluttered almost shut. Then his hands went to her knees – then up her thighs – the muscles in his chest moved, as he breathed.

"Ah – " a noise forced out of him as she ground down, particularly hard.

Hermione was feeling him start to swell a little, now she was pressed up tight against him like this. He made her feel – beautiful, and powerful. And she simply had to kiss him again, he didn’t give her any other choice. Not looking at her like that.

Then there was the way he kissed her back, desperately. Tangled his hands in her hair. Kissed her like he'd die if he stopped. It made it that much harder to break the kiss, and move on to his scars. She kissed down his neck, taking her time and noting what got particularly strong reactions. Though, perhaps her methodology was flawed, because everywhere her lips touched got particularly strong reactions. She had him thrashing. Shivering. Sucking in small breaths.

Hermione dug one hand into that flaxen hair, and kissed where a particularly long scar crossed his collarbone. Draco’s neck tipped back. He cried out, a broken little half-syllable.  Kissing her way down his chest, she was struck by how deep this wound must have been. How close he must have been to dying. And even knowing it was sure to put a damper on the mood, Hermione had to say something.

"I told him to throw that book out. He never should have used that spell."

"... don't think he knew what it did," murmured Draco, eyes closed.

"It just said 'for enemies'. He should have been able to guess." Hermione should’ve taken that book from him the second she found out about it, and thrown it in the lake.

"I don't mind having his scars on me," said Draco softly.

"Well, you should. He was stupid and I'm still mad at him for it."

He found her hand,  threaded their fingers together. “It's comforting. The reminder that I wasn't the only one being stupid, that year."

She hid her face against him. "It shouldn't have ever been your war. If more adults had just listened at the start, it wouldn't have been."

"I'm sorry, Hermione,” Draco’s hand came up to touch her hair. “I'm sorry they're still not listening to you the way that they should."

"I thought it would be better, being older. Being a war hero . But it's not enough. You have to have the right titles and go to the right places and know the right people. Know all these rules they don't put in books.” She swallowed around a lump in her throat. Then voiced the thing she was afraid of –

“Maybe nothing will be enough. Maybe marrying you, sitting on the Wizangamot – maybe  it still won’t be enough to make anybody listen."

He didn't disagree.

"I do believe that marrying me sends just about the strongest message possible," he said. Which was a very politic sort of answer. “No one will be able to say that you don't understand, or have no reason to care, or are playing out old wartime grudges."

Hermione looked down at him. The silver leaves the only thing stopping him from getting a faceful of her hair right now. So she slid off to lie more along his side. When he just kept looking at her, without moving away… she let herself touch his chest again. Until she could feel the deep exhales he was taking, under her hands.

"You're curious," he breathed.

"You look like a sculpture." She brushed her thumb across one of his nipples.

"Ah – " Kiss-swollen lips parted. "Please, then – satisfy your curiosity."

Hermione kissed him again. Draco was a very good kisser.

As they kissed, she trailed her hand further down. Hesitated when she got to his waistband. Then, as he made a particularly pleased noise, moved down further still. Until she was cupping him through his trousers.

Draco suddenly went very still. His pulse, going like crazy. Hermione could feel him against her palm. But the rest of his body might just as well have melted into the mattress.

Feeling adventurous, she sat up on her elbow and familiarized herself a little more with the shape of him. Got to the point where Draco was taking one long shuddering breath after another, and feeling noticeably harder, under her fingers.

She wanted closer.

Draco was running a hand over his own face and into his own hair, muffling himself as much as he could. Hips pressed up, seeking her out – she kissed him again, turned on and vividly imagining… certain things.

And no, she certainly wasn't ready to go all the way yet. But she had passed the point where she was going to need some kind of relief. And straddling Draco once more seemed like the best way to get it.

Sitting up, she worked to undo his belt. The cry that Draco made at that… now that only the thinnest layer of fabric lay between her hand, and his cock.

“Let me…” he murmured, breathless. He shifted, arranged Hermione ever so slightly across his lap. Tugged her skirt up and out of the way. Kept their underthings just as they were, not commenting on how absolutely soaked her knickers had become. But positioned things so the swell of his cock rested right… where she needed it. Between the lips of her labia, at just the right height for her to lean forward and tease her clit as well. Separated by two layers of fabric… but she was so turned on, that did almost nothing to dampen the sensation.

"Draco..." Everything felt so good, all she could do was moan his name and grind against his cock.

One hand slid underneath her shirt and up against her spine. Soft skin, the fabric of his sleeve, the buttons on his cuffs. His other hand found her face, and brought her down to kiss him.

She was close enough to feel him breathe. Feel his cock twitch, and his thighs quiver. Draco’s fingers hovered over the clasp of her bra, but didn't do anything. His kiss got sensuous and long , as he worked to bring her ever closer.

Teasing herself on his cock felt fantastic. She was so close , and so wet. She wanted him badly, she felt empty inside. Just seconds after getting her fingers in between them to play with her clit, she was coming. Hard. So hard she had to fight to stay quiet – as the shockwaves rolled through her.

Draco was slipping a hand down between their bodies to finish himself off. Judging by his face, and by the sounds he made – it did not take him long. Hermione found she could understand why some people might think he was part vela.

Then he collapsed, spent, eyes closed. So beautiful against the dark green velvet coverlet, it was hard not to think of a pearl in a jewel box. 

She smiled, and curled up against his chest while they both got their breath back.

"Are you finished?" was the first thing Draco said, as he stroked the outside of her thigh. "Or is there another orgasm in you?"

"I think I could go again." She grinned, shockingly fond of this considerate man.

Draco grinned too, and then his hand went to her inner thigh. Sliding up and under her skirt. His clever fingers found her soaking knickers and began to touch – incredibly lightly at first.

Her eyes slipped shut and she bit her lip. He had such beautiful long fingers. And there was so much she wanted him to do with them.

But for now, he kept them outside her knickers, and let it build slowly – almost lazily. Long strokes pressing between her folds. Tiny circles over her clit. Petting over her thighs to coax her legs wider.

"I'd love to use my mouth for this."

She kissed him. He meant that.

He made the kiss deeper, as his fingers played between her thighs. A moan forced its way out of her, and Draco’s kiss got softer, lingering on her lips. "That's it."

She rocked against his fingers. Chasing after that wonderful feeling of too much and not enough.

Then  – "May I touch you?" He said it almost apologetically. "Only you're so wet, I'm worried about fabric chafing –"

"Yes, please!"

He smiled a bright, brilliant smile, and kissed her fiercely – as he tenderly slipped a warm hand up against her skin.

It felt so good.

"Yes. Yes. Draco, you're – yes," she gasped. She didn't think she could get any wetter, but she could feel her body trying anyway.

He touched deeper than he could with the knickers in the way. Stroking the lips of her labia. Touching her opening with the pads of two fingers. Leaving his thumb to gently tease her clit.

She whimpered slightly at just how much better it was than anything she'd ever done before. Her hips moved into his touch. Everything was so sensitive. 

It was wonderful. Exquisite. Unbearable.

Soon she lost all semblance of control, her movements becoming less smooth, more insistent.

He playfully bit her bottom lip. "More?"

It was almost perfect, but it wasn't enough. Her body needed something to clench around. She was desperate for it. "Draco, please. I need – I – I need – please, your fingers. I want them. Inside me."

"That's what I thought," said Draco. And he slid them in deep.

She moaned, clenching down around those two beautiful long fingers as his thumb continued to play with her clit. It was only a few seconds before he was wringing another orgasm out of her. Turning her into a shivering, moaning mess. She had been so close for so long. That was really all she'd needed to push her past the edge.

Carefully he pulled out. So as not to leave her painfully oversensitized.

She needed to change. But first she would have to remember how to move.

He kissed her once more, closed-lipped. Then arranged her head against his bare chest. 

She was sweaty and sticky and disgusting, but she couldn't even muster the energy to reach for her wand. Draco just hummed in a contented sort of way. Not much better off than she was.

She sighed happily. 

"I do know how to vanish clothing," he muttered. "But unfortunately, not how to replace it with different clothing. If you were thinking about sleepwear." 

Hermione sighed less happily this time, and gave herself a moment longer before sitting up. Draco’s eyes followed her as she got out of bed.

"I'm not going all the way to the other room to get changed. So close your eyes." She quickly cast all the cleaning spells she could think of on herself, and then went digging through her bag for her pajamas. "Or I could temporarily blind you if you don't think you can behave."

"My lady, I am insulted," he said. "Accio blue pajamas."

When they arrived, Draco sat facing away from her as he took off his shirt completely. She caught a glimpse of the Dark Mark on his forearm for barely a second, before it was hidden away by blue silk. 

She turned her back to him and began changing into her own pajamas. "You mentioned picking out a nightgown for me?"

"If something worn by a previous generation of Malfoys isn't too ghoulish for you, there are gowns of all descriptions lying around. I would love to see you in some of them."

"It might make me look less out of place." Hermione finished putting on her understated pink floral pajamas. Anywhere else, they would have looked tasteful, if a bit girlish. But here in Malfoy manor they just made her look silly, and like she didn't belong.

"May I turn around?" 

"Yes." She was just finishing buttoning up her top.

He put a hand on her shoulder, and guided her down to the covers. Lay beside her, up on one elbow. Delicately, he touched some of the ivy in her hair. 

"If there's one thing I can reliably do," he said, adjusting. "It's put a pretty gilding of gold over top. That isn't hard. But it'll all crumble into dust eventually, if the thing underneath is rotten." 

He had fixed the headpiece, but was still running fingers through her curls. “I suspect your gold might actually run all the way through. And that's a lot harder to find." 

Hermione didn't know what to say. That was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, and she searched for words, but found them all missing in the face of that.

Draco didn't make her answer. Just kissed her, and turned to pull back the blankets.

“Put it this way," said Draco, getting out of bed to put out the lights. "Going unwilling to your marriage bed... well. The wards have more than enough darkness mucking them up."

As the room dimmed, Hermione tried to figure out if he was saying what she thought he was saying.

"I'm not... you're... Draco, I'm fine. I'm having fun. You’ve been lovely, that's not something you need to worry about."

"Oh I was talking about myself," he said. “Although, of course I would prefer it if you don’t drag the house down around our ears on our wedding night." 

If he'd been more direct, Hermione would have assumed he was just being nice. But the way he'd phrased it made her think he was being sincere.

"Thank you. I... um..."

"Mmmm," said Draco, sleepily. Climbing into bed, and curling an arm around her side. "Don't thank me for that."

He ran fingers through her hair. Quieting her thoughts about the Wizengamot, the wedding, how they were going to get the Parkinson's vote now...

There were no dreams that second night.

 

---

 

Draco woke up the next morning, grimly talking about having to do chores. Unsure what he could possibly mean by chores – and with nothing better to do – Hermione dressed and went to follow him as he threw a handful of potions into a basket. Then she practiced apparating around the Manor grounds with him, getting more of a sense of the geography of the place, as Draco Malfoy did… chores.

First he re-did the preservation charms on the pantries. Poured a series of purifying draughts down the Malfoy well. Went out to a sort of kitchen garden behind the house, and cast spells on the vegetables there to speed up growth, keep off bugs, and even a few she wasn’t familiar with. He did the same thing with the fruit orchard, and to a walled garden that was now dedicated to… growing wheat? Some kind of grain anyway. Hermione knew that Draco didn’t like talking about the state his house was in, and tried very, very hard to just politely observe. But it was when he threw open one of the kitchen cabinets to reveal that he was apparently growing his own homemade yeast, in jars… that she absolutely had to say something.

“Can’t you just buy bread?”

Draco did not look at her.

“Our funds were not especially accessible directly after the war. Besides. We couldn’t very well get anything delivered, and Mother fretted whenever I left the grounds. Now that everything is set up…” He shrugged.

Hermione suspected there were things Draco wasn’t saying. He had made this decision to cloister himself away in his house and she didn’t know if that was due to fear of the world, fear for his family, or perhaps some kind of penance for his actions during the war. After all, everything he was doing now was surely work that at one point would have been done by Dobby, and the other Malfoy house-elves.

Chores finished, Draco started talking about going to clean the ballroom, and this he framed like  going into battle. Hermione was sure he was being dramatic, but he chugged a purifying draught himself, and apparated back to his rooms in order to start strapping on – an excessive amount of protective dragonhide gear. A dragonhide balaclava. Dueling bracers.

"What's in there?" She had helped clean out Grimmauld Place the summer before fifth year, and Sirius and Moody had never insisted on anything like this.

Draco put on old-fashioned motorcycle goggles. "I don't know, that's the point. The Death Eaters used it for storage, and then I used it for storage to keep certain things away from Father." 

"Then you're not going in alone. Or at all. I suppose you can make bread from scratch if it makes you feel better, but this is ridiculous. I'm flooing Bill."

"Hermione – " he put a hand on her arm, stopping here. “ If anyone sees this place… anyone who didn’t grow up muggleborn… they’re going to send in a swarm of aurors, looking for – twisted alchemical experiments, or the blood sacrifice I’ve bricked into the foundations, or – ” He sucked in a breath. “That by itself could be enough to change the terms of my father’s house arrest. Bill Weasley… the Weasleys have no reason to trust us, and every reason to think I’m doing dark magic to keep you here against your will.” 

Hermoine stopped. She hated having to watch people going up against things they didn’t really have the expertise to handle. But Draco had a point. She trusted the Weasleys… but he didn’t. But she was only willing to compromise so far. 

"I'm still going in with you."

Draco sighed. "I'm sure you'll be value added. Just – gloves and something over your mouth, at least."

"And something to write on. So we can inventory things as we go. We're going to be systematic about this." 

 

---

 

She wouldn't have known it was a ballroom if Draco hadn't told her. It looked like a warehouse.  Most of the space filled with crates and boxes and detritus. There were paintings, sculptures, and even what looked like an entire rowboat, just to make things difficult. 

It turned out that Draco did have a system for this, probably one he had worked out while cleaning the rest of the house. He wheeled everything out into the entrance hall with actual carts – and yes, there were temperamental magical objects that might react badly to being levitated. Then he opened up any crates or boxes that were too large – again by hand, he had a set of lockpicks for this. Once everything was laid out on a grid, he cast Revelio a few times. Magical things were set aside to deal with later. Valuable non-magic things – "Probably stolen," he commented, bleak – got put aside as well. And non-valuable non-magic things got transported via vanishing cabinet to the curing house behind the Manor. Apparently, he’d managed to turn this into a makeshift incinerator.

Hermione froze, when they found a slightly charred muggle driving license. She was sure her hands were shaking as she held it, but the man in the photograph was as still as she was.

Draco looked at it, then looked away.

She placed it gently into the vanishing cabinet. Whoever he had been, there was no helping now. No explaining his absence in a way this family would understand.

The cursed items were bad in a whole different way. They couldn't just stay there, so they had to be moved, in some cases literally carried to the dungeons. Draco stubbornly insisted on calling them as the cellars, but the dungeons had spell-dampening walls. That was good, because some of these artefacts whispered, or hummed, left the patch of floor they sat on burnt or sticky. Draco would come back clammy and sweating, needing to sit down for a few minutes, and drink a purifying draught.

She hated seeing him like this.

It wasn't even especially rewarding work, because the more they did, the clearer it became how much there was to do. She lost track of time, a little. It both felt she'd just got there, and like she'd always been there.

"Right," said Draco, abruptly. "That's the last potion I brought with me. Bath."

He grabbed her arm and apparated them to right outside his rooms, where he proceeded to pull off all his protective gear – everything but the trousers – and leave it in a heap outside his doors. Hermione did the same, and was sure it left her hair looking an absolute mess. But taking a good look at the contents of the ballroom had convinced her that Draco wasn't even slightly overreacting with all his precautions. She’d followed his lead with the protective gear, and now thought a bath to wash off any kind of remaining residue was a wonderful idea.

 

---

 

Predictably, the bathtub in Draco's rooms was gigantic, and designed  similarly to the one in the prefect's bathroom. He turned on the water – and then started dumping in plants and potions with healing properties, until the water smelled like a combination of charcoal and sage, and was so soapy and murky that she didn't think modesty was going to be an issue. But even if it hadn’t been, nothing was keeping her out of that bath after how she’d just spent her afternoon. 

Draco was peeling off his jeans. She caught a glimpse of bare hip as he lowered himself into the steaming water, and let his head fall back. Exhaled, long and satisfied.

Hermione admired the long line of this throat, as he leaned his head back against the edge of the tub. With his arms out either side of him like that – he reminded her of paintings she’d seen of saints, lounging seductively while also happening to be very inconvenienced by whatever they had just been through.

"I can't tell if you're deliberately posing or not." 

Draco did not raise his head up all the way, but he did crack open his eyes to look at her, standing, wrapped in her towel. His eyes may have... trailed over her skin a little, and his look went from one of elegant suffering to something a bit more – playful. 

"You think I'm posing for you?”

"Are you? I assumed it was just force of habit."

He languidly stretched his arms over his head, in a way that absolutely was supposed to bring attention to the lines of his shoulders and chest. Then suddenly, all flirting aside, Hermione realized that of course it was designed. She knew it was designed because – Draco was carefully moving in such a way as to bring as little attention to the Mark as possible. 

She wondered how much time and energy he spent on just that, every day. Because now that she was looking for it, she could tell that the arm draped around the back of the tub was contorted just slightly unnaturally flat. Just enough so that you couldn't really see the underside of his forearm. 

"You know it doesn't bother me. Seeing it. The Mark, I mean," she clarified.

Draco dropped the offending arm underneath the murky water. Looking  – caught.

"You don't want to look at that,” he said. 

"Seeing it won't hurt me." 

"I didn't mean to imply that you've got some delicate constitution that faints at the least unpleasantness." His voice sounded flatter than it had in a while. Colder. More Malfoy than Draco.

"That's not what I meant." Hermione moved closer. Put a hand in the water, to test the temperature. "I just meant that it's nothing to be ashamed of. You couldn't have refused it, even if you wanted to."

“I expect you’re right,” he said, bitter. “I don’t suppose it would have mattered if I had said no. If there was ever a way out, I wasn’t clever enough to see it." He curled in around his arm somewhat protectively. "It's terrible. But - sometimes I do wish I was like Severus or Father. At least they made an actual choice. I was – too full of myself to realize that was what had happened, until it was too late. To stupid, and flattered.” He snorted. "I might as well have been one of the peacocks. Everything – all of it. It was all him trying to punish my father." 

Damp hair covered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Hermione. You were flirting… you didn't want to hear this. Only it's closer to the surface after I've been cleaning." 

"I do want to hear it. I'm the one who brought it up."

Draco turned away from her, the set of his shoulders suddenly much more fragile. He pulled his arm out of the water, to look at the black image twisted onto the underside. Touched it with a thumb.

 Hermione divested herself of the towel and slipped down into the murky water. "I know it can't be covered by spells, but muggle makeup might work. If looking at it bothers you."

"Magic like this comes back blacker if you try to paint over it, or bandage it away. It wants to be seen, that's the point. Besides. If people are going to hate me… I think they’d rather do it because of what I actually did. Instead of for trying to pretend none of it happened."

She sighed. After all of this… "You're not a bad person, Draco." 

He smiled. Not happily. "You know the terrible thing? I don't think I'm bad. I never did. Certainly not after meeting him. No." He hid his arm away again. "I think I'm weak."

"Well, I think you're wrong." 

Draco looked at her, confused.

“You survived. You’re not weak.” He had lied to Bellatrix. Bought them the time they needed to escape. It almost made her wonder if the Sorting Hat had made a mistake.

"I got lucky." Draco nodded at her. “And my good luck continues.”

"We got lucky too." She edged a little closer in the gigantic bath. So she wasn’t sitting directly across from him, anyway. "You were there to lie for us, when the Snatchers found us."

An actual smile this time. Or at least the ghost of one. "I am a decent liar. Or I became one, anyway. I did mean it though, when I said I don't lie to you." 

"I know." Feeling a little daring, but mostly just wanting to be closer, she slid herself so the sides of their bodies almost touched. "I'm a terrible liar." 

He turned his head. Reached up, tucked a curl behind her ear.  "Are you?"

"In matters of life and death I can manage, but other than…  that I'm hopeless."

He touched fingers to her bare shoulder. 

"So… do you think I'm handsome?"

She rolled her eyes, "You've always had that going for you. Even when I didn't like you very much."

"But you like me better now."

“That isn’t saying much.” Although… submerged in the water like this, he looked just like the muggle idea of merfolk. Beautiful sirens who lured sailors to their death. Not something she was about to tell him. 

His fingertips went to her skin. Sliding slowly down, dropping below the waterline.

She turned to face him, propping her arm on the of the tub, resting her hand in her hair. The pose revealed rather a lot of her cleavage.

And even with everything – and there was quite a lot of everything – Hermione could admit she found this part rather fun.

Chapter 7

"As fun as this is, I really should wash my hair.” Hermione made a mental note to wrap it up in a headscarf the next time she cleaned the ballroom. Even dust could be dangerous, if it had been sitting on a sufficiently dark artifact long enough.

Draco put some space between them, and then started absent-mindedly playing with the bubbles in the gigantic bath. "My offer to help with your hair still stands."

"If this is your way of suggesting I should use something to calm it down, I'm not interested. I promise I tried everything while I was in school, it just doesn’t feel like me unless I let it stay curly."

“Where did you get the impression I didn't like your hair?"

"I suppose… you didn’t say anything.” Hermione could feel herself getting defensive. Ron had said that was a habit of hers. But she had plenty of reasons to be defensive.“Not specifically, anyway. Pansy said I looked like a chipmunk. I know it's not the current fashion, the other Gryffindor girls were offering to ‘help me with it’ constantly. I know it can be... a lot." 

Draco squinted. "You can be a lot. But I don’t think I mind that at all. I want my wife to be impossible to ignore." He reached out to touch her hair. Close enough to kiss, but not quite closing the distance. "Your hair suits you. I want to lie with my body against yours and bury myself in it."

Hermione couldn't help her smile. Even though she was beginning to suspect that a few of Draco’s lines were a bit… rehearsed. She still liked them.

Draco touched the corner of her lips with a thumb, and smiled himself.

"It's strange,” said Hermione. “I don’t think I ever really saw myself getting married. Even if I lived through the war, I expected to be too busy with other things."

"And now?"

"It's still a little strange. But I think we could make a good team. As long as you don't expect children, it could be quite fun.” 

"I am going to have to leave all this to somebody,” Draco said, seriously. “Knowing my ancestors, there’s probably some curse laid into the stonework that triggers if the house ever falls into Ministry hands. But…” He had probably noticed her slightly alarmed expression. “There's no reason it has to be my blood. We're not that old fashioned." 

"That's… reasonable." Then, just to make sure she was making herself completely clear – "I'm not interested in adopting any time soon either. I'm not sure I'm exactly the mothering type."

"Maybe one day. When the house is as it should be, again," Draco said, vaguely. "If that ever even becomes the case." 

"Maybe..." Hermione wasn't sold on the idea. She'd rather investigate the viability of adult adoptions under wizarding law. 

Draco found her hand, and squeezed. "Hermione. Relax. You didn't promise me a child. Many, many years from now, I could… formally adopt whatever second-generation Weasley I like best. It'll cause a scandal. And they can finally get their Wizengamot seat back." He kissed her fingers. "I am well stocked in contraceptive potion, and I should like the sex I have with you to be purely for fun. And to get the house to recognize you as family obviously, but that part you did agree to." 

"I had been meaning to ask about that. I didn't have any brewed because I wasn't… expecting to… need it so soon." Hermione could feel herself blushing. She did know how to brew contraceptive potion, obviously. She'd just never had the occasion to.

"You can check my work, but it's not a difficult potion to make," Draco said, lightly. "Also… do feel free to tease me about this. But the only spell I can reliably cast both wandlessly and non-verbally is the one to undo buttons and clasps." 

She smiled. It was very Draco. “I suppose it can unclasp a bra?”

He did not confirm or deny this. He did let his eyes stray down her neck.

"You really do have... excellent breasts. Not sure if I've mentioned."

"That's good to know." She would be lying if she said Draco had no effect on her self-confidence. "Maybe I'll pick out a particularly low cut nightgown."

"If you like. I'll look for one while you wash your hair."

"Did I lose my chance at you helping me?" She was a little disappointed.

He raised his eyebrows. "I had thought you didn't like that idea. My mistake."

"As long as we’re on the same page about the curls, I think it sounds lovely." 

Draco smiled. Then coaxed her back, until her head was lying against the lip of the tub. It turned out that one of the oddly-shaped faucets was detachable, like a shower head, and he used it to run glorious water pressure over her scalp, while  massaging  in some sort of oil or hair lotion. Hermione hummed happily.

"That feels good, doesn't it?"

"Mhmm."

He had her melting as he scratched his nails over her scalp.

"It's hard not to get ideas when you look like that." Draco’s hands were lathering her hair.

"What kinds of ideas?" She felt like she was finally getting the hang of being flirty.

"Well," Draco said, getting that lovely massaging water pressure right at the base of her skull. "I don't have to use this on your hair."

She moaned a little at how good it felt. "But it feels so nice."

“It feels nice other places too. But that can wait for another time.” He tipped her forward to rinse out her hair. That water pressure ran down her back, like jets in a hot tub. She enjoyed just that sensation – before he finally shut it off, and kissed the side of her neck.

Now Draco was passing her some sort of fluffy towel to dry off her face - so soft, being a Malfoy was going to spoil her - before helping her out of the tub, and folding her into some kind of velvet dressing gown. It siphoned the water off her skin without getting damp – apparently everything in this house had a spell or two infused into it.

Hermione walked barefoot over carpet thick enough to sink into, Draco leading her back to the sitting room. Lowering her down onto a loveseat facing away from the fireplace, then casting incendio so she felt the heat of flames on her neck, and hair. 

And then he was sitting behind her, brushing. Slowly. Properly. Using a wide-toothed comb, and starting at the ends.

"I hadn't expected you to know how to do this." Hermione’s eyes were closed, and she was so relaxed she felt like she was barely supporting her own weight.

"You know how long my parents wear their hair," said Draco. "Father would brush out Mother's sometimes, and I thought it the height of romance when I was younger."

Hermione smiled slightly. It was hard to imagine Lucius Malfoy doing something so soft and considerate. But to her surprise… she found that she could.

Draco was carefully working through tangles, letting the curls dry. “You have to scrunch them as well,” Hermione reminded him.“In some kind of thin fabric…”

She always used T-shirts to do this, but she had barely finished speaking before Draco produced a handkerchief from somewhere, and started squeezing the water out of her hair. Some time later – she wasn’t sure how long, exactly – he felt him take his hands away.

Hermione turned over. Draped herself over Draco in a boneless hug.

He climbed over the back of the loveseat and slid in next to her, swathed in his own dressing gown. Let her lie, half reclined, in his arms. Slipped one of the silver ivy leaves from his pocket, and carefully arranged it in her drying curls. This time the branching silver felt cool and good – and not a bit concerning – as it wove itself tight through her hair. Even gave her a pleasant little shiver.

She felt taken care of. She didn't know what to do with herself.

Her dressing gown fell open a little. All of this, from enchanted dressing gown to lounging by the fire… made her feel so glamorous. Like this wasn’t her exactly, but some alternate version she could just watch.

Draco's hand was on the fabric, as though to draw it closed. But then he paused. Let the velvet fall a bit more open instead. Began to draw little curling patterns against her breastbone, as she lay against him.

"You do think I'm beautiful." Hermione hadn't been sure before. But after how much he seemed to enjoy brushing her hair… and now the romantic little spirals he was tracing… that was a great deal of extra effort, if Draco was just making the most of the situation they found themselves in.

"I do," said Draco, softly.

Hermione smiled, shy. Not really sure what to do with this new information, but – very happy about it. "Did you still want to pick out a nightgown for me?" She wasn't quite comfortable enough to sleep nude. She didn't think she'd ever be. Too much time on the run, living on top of Harry and Ron.

Draco kissed the top of her head. "The family has been filling this house with clothes for hundred of years. I’m sure I’d be able to find something that suits your tastes. I will have to leave you for that, unfortunately.”

"You have me feeling so elegant. Changing into my pajamas would ruin the illusion."

"I won’t take long. I've had some thoughts about this already." Draco shifted underneath her. "You need to let me up."

She twisted around to kiss him first. Then reluctantly let him go.

He took his time leaving the room. Eventually though, she was left alone. Until Crookshanks made an appearance and curled up on her feet, anyway. It looked like he enjoyed the velvet dressing gown as well.

 

---

 

Draco returned a little while later with three choices slung over his arm, cascading down to the floor. The first he laid out was a soft pink fabric, like her pajamas. Only this one had fluttering little sleeves and a wide collar Hermione suspected would fall coquettishly off one shoulder. The second was silver satin, with longer sleeves and a plunging neckline. Ribbon laces held the bodice in place, but really – in practice – it was the sort of detail that would only bring more attention to her cleavage. The last consisted of floaty layers of gossamer-thin ivory gauze. While it probably covered more skin than the others – Hermione could see through it, down to the dark wood of the chair it was draped over.

She had maybe underestimated just how revealing her options would be. Or how daring Draco’s taste was. The third one was beautiful, but she wasn't that daring. What if something were to happen in the middle of the night and she had to rush out in her nightclothes? She wouldn’t be able to sleep. Really the only one she would feel comfortable wearing was the first.

"They're all very beautiful." She let her fingers linger on the ivory fabric a little longer before picking up the pink one. "I think I like this one the best."

"I promise I won't look," Draco said, before going to lounge on one of the chairs facing the fire, away from her. His patterned velvet robe managed to drape in a way that revealed a pale calf, and an elegant ankle.

Slipping the dressing gown from her shoulders, Hermione felt strangely powerful. Maybe it was the fact she trusted him not to turn around. Or maybe it was something about the princessy clothing.

The soft fabric against her skin was enough to let her know she'd made the right decision. The wide collar did have the effect she'd expected, and was significantly more revealing than what she was used to. But she found she liked it.

"I'm decent," she said, fiddling with the ivy so it held her hair up off her shoulders in a loose bun.

Draco turned in the chair. Looked over his shoulder. Just drinking her in. Then he was getting to his feet. Coming over.

His hands were on her hips first. Then traveling up her waist – her sides – until one was wrapped around her back and the other was on her bare shoulder. Then he was kissing her, tilting her head back into a romance-novel kind of kiss. Hermione leaned into him, and he supported her effortlessly. It felt like dancing. He was a little too good at this.

"It is very unfair that you’re this… this smooth!" Hermione said, breaking the kiss. Annoyed, at being so out of her depth. But pleased, despite herself. It was a very complicated emotion.

Draco gave her a little bit of an eye roll. "Well. We can't all be on top of everything like some people."

"There's quite a lot I'm not on top of. I'm just good at prioritizing so that no one notices."

"Are you sure you're not just being modest again?"

"Draco. I only barely budgeted enough time to sleep when we were in school. I didn't think to devote any to making friends. I'm lucky Harry was so charismatic." Hermione was getting flustered, and didn’t know why. All she knew was that it was important Draco understood this about her. 

"You were busy I suppose. Solved the mystery of the Chamber, orchestrated Sirius Black's escape, kept Potter in one piece during the Triwizard Tournament."

The fire crackled. It was all very romantic, but Hermione just sighed. Draco was flattering her.

"Half the girls in the school were going after Viktor Krum,” he continued. “A good portion of the boys as well. But you’re the one he took to the Yule Ball."

That was ridiculous. Draco was…  treating her like some kind of desirable seductress, and she wasn’t. Either he was lying, in which case she wanted him to stop… or he actually truly believed that, which meant he thought she had skills that she didn’t. That sort of thing only lead to future miscalculations.

“Draco, when Viktor asked me to the Yule Ball, I nearly turned him down because I thought it was a joke. He was the only person that year who treated me like I was worth more than just… help with research. Or essays.”

“So there was no one else…?”

“No!” Then Hermione turned her emotion down a little, because she knew how she probably sounded. “I don’t want you to think that I’m pining after him. I'm not.” Viktor had been a very calming presence, that was what Hermione had liked best about him. When she was with him, she had been able to go quite long stretches without worrying about the state of things.

"I'm not about to fall into some sort of jealous despondency, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Draco. “That's not a claim to virtue, I've just never cared much about what the people I like do in their free time."

Hermione felt like he was trying to hint at something. She had no idea what.

At her confusion, he continued. "I did mean it, when I said I wouldn't have any problem with you taking a lover."

"Draco, no. That's not..." She didn't want to seem too judgmental or prudish, but he was getting her completely wrong. "I don't want to offend your pureblood sensibilities, but I’m not the sort of person who would be comfortable with that "

"I've been trying to figure out what kind of person you are," Draco said, lightly.

"I'm just… "  Hermione swallowed. She didn’t particularly want to talk about any of this, but if she was going to navigate the pureblood world, and the Wizangamot – then she needed him to understand.  "Ever since finding out magic was real I’ve been out of my depth. People love to say that I’m the 'brightest witch of my age,’ but there's things that children born into this world understand which I still don't know. Ever since I got here, I’ve been playing catch-up. I thought that one day it would stop, but it never does.” 

“But you have nothing to prove,” he said, coming slightly closer. Somehow looking confused about this. "Potter and Weasley seem to know that."

"I have everything to prove. Especially now that there are things I can't study but that I need to know." She knew she had gaps, but it was impossible for her to identify where those gaps were by herself. You didn’t know what you didn’t know.

"Hermione." Draco took her shoulders in his hands. "You defeated Voldemort. I said you have nothing to prove, and I mean that. If you want to throw around your weight in the Wizengamot, fine, good, I will help you in this. But you owe them nothing. They've already asked too much of you. I think the smarter ones even know it." He took his hands away. "That's probably why they get uncomfortable around you."

"I can't just leave it how it was!" All that lovely relaxation Draco had worked so hard to create was gone. Hot, angry tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Azkaban, and – the Dementor's Kiss. It should be outlawed. Even if they won’t do that – ” The Dementor’s kiss had the same magical foundation as the Obliviation Charm. Her voice had started shaking, but she wasn't done. "Barty Crouch Jr. belongs in the Janus Thickey Ward, not prison!"

She remembered pointing her wand at her parents and making herself cast the spell. Remembered the feeling of the wood in her hand. It was the right thing to do but – it would never stop hurting. She just wanted to stop thinking about it.

She felt Draco's arms around her, again. "Barty Crouch Jr.?" he asked.

"He wasn't a terrible teacher. Besides the murder." Hermione’s voice was muffled, her face buried against Draco's shoulder as she tried her very best to refocus on the matter at hand. "He was a horrible man, but – but now he's not anything anymore. And whoever – whatever it is that's left is sitting in that horrible cold damp cell." She held on tight enough that Draco must feel the way she was trembling. "They would have done that to Sirius if they'd caught him!" An uncontrollable sob tore through her."They shouldn't be doing that to anyone!"

"Whatever else he was, it's obvious that Crouch was brilliant,” Draco held her against him. “That mind shouldn't be just – gone." 

"There's not even a reason to keep him there. He’s not a threat anymore. It's just cruel." Hermione’s voice sounded tiny and tight. "I thought the cruelty would stop when we won."

She was a little ashamed of how naive that seemed, now.

"You must think us all so backwards," said Draco. "I wish – I'm sorry. That we haven't done better."

It wasn't really Draco's fault, but it was nice to have an apology from somebody. Sometimes it felt like she was the only one who even saw the problems.

But she knew she shouldn’t be making a fuss, especially not in front of Draco. He was more directly affected by all the Azkaban business than she was. If Lucius Malfoy violated parole, he'd be sent back to that awful place. That thought calmed her a little, enough to gulp in some air. "I know I shouldn't be putting this on you. You have… enough to worry about."

"Less now. Since our engagement," he reminded her. "Besides. I think somebody ought to worry about you. And I don't have a metamorphmagus toddler to occupy me."

“Teddy just turned five. He’s not really a toddler anymore.” 

“You knew what I meant.” 

He was right. She did. "We'll make this place safe for your dad again. I promise." Her voice wavered, even though she’d been starting to get herself back together.

Draco hugged her close. "Come to bed?" he said, into her hair.

She was sure she would start crying if she tried to speak, so instead she just nodded.

He rubbed her back, through the beautiful nightgown. "There's no use trying to think more about this tonight. Take care of your teeth. I'll cast warming charms on the bed-linens. "

She hugged him tightly in thanks, then went to retrieve her toothbrush from her bag. Brushing her teeth had the benefit of refocusing her enough that she could finally make the tears stop.

Teeth freshly clean and toothbrush back in her bag, she found her way back to Draco’s bedroom, where the blankets had already been pulled back, and – when she slipped between them – they felt gloriously warm.

Draco was still up, dimming the lights. But he was warm too, as he climbed in beside her, and wordlessly pulled her to his chest.

She got an arm around him, and hugged him closer.

"Sirius sometimes talked about the cold…" she whispered. "The way the rain and the wind came in through the windows." She knew there was no use worrying about it more tonight. But it was hard to stop thinking about it.

"You were close with him,” said Draco.

"He was Harry's godfather." 

Then Draco hummed, in some kind of understanding.

"The summer at Grimmauld Place..." Hermione took a deep breath. "I didn't think he slept at first. The third night there, he woke the whole house with night terrors." She remembered it vividly. They'd all thought the place was under attack. "He hated calming draughts. Said they made him feel too numb. But he took them whenever Harry was there. He didn't want to upset him."

"Father was much the same,” said Draco.

"I think Harry was the only thing that kept him going in Azkaban. I think you probably kept your father going too." It sounded so trite when she said it like that, and she tried to explain. "Dementors take all the good memories. Everything happy. But Sirius was falsely accused, and the person responsible for getting Harry's parents killed was still out there. He wanted to protect Harry, and couldn’t. That wasn't happy. So he could hold onto it." 

Tired of figuring out how to put things diplomatically, Hermione decided just to be direct. “They were still processing your case when your father went back to Azkaban. You were underage when you took the Mark, so you were never going to prison… but snapping your wand was still a real possibility. That was just about to go to vote when your father was sentenced. Which isn’t happy either. So I think he got to keep that. Just the reminder that you were alive probably helped."

Draco clutched at her shoulder. Fingers dug into her arm, and his heartbeat sped up. His breathing did too.

Hermione was suddenly aware of just how much she had said. Of how all of this was information Draco, of all people, definitely knew. It wasn’t her place to speculate.

"Hermione, I – " his voice was thick. "I was so scared. I was so fucking scared."

She held Draco just as tightly as he had held her. She knew what lengths she'd gone to in order to keep her parents safe. But Draco… had been helpless. With the potential to become even more helpless if the Wizengamot vote had gone differently. Miraculously Augusta Longbottom had changed her mind, right at the end. Everyone had expected her to ask for vengeance – but after an impassioned plea from Harry – she’d come down firmly on the side that children should be protected.

Draco twisted, and Hermione realized he was going for the wand on the nightstand, apparently just to touch it. Because he folded her back into his arms a second later. Only that wasn't enough, because he tangled their legs together too.

"If they'd taken your wand, I'd still have married you,” said Hermione. “We'd fix that too."

A sharp sound. Then Dracp was pulling her up towards him,  you'd have to break his arms to drag him away. His kiss was quick, and his face was wet. Afterwards, he tucked himself in her neck. Slowly, he let out a shaky breath. Limp, and worn out.

"I can never repay you and your people, you know," he whispered. "The debt's too great."

"We've all paid enough."

"Thank you," he said, against her skin.

She kissed his hair, then started to tentatively comb her fingers through it. He made another sound, and melted more thoroughly against her.

"If you… ” he said. Then tried again. “If you really do trust your cursebreaker to be discrete… "

"I trust him with my life.” Bill and Fleur had been the ones to take them in after fleeing the Manor. She left that part out. They knew what Draco had done. Nothing they saw here was going to surprise them.

"I'd… I would like someone to look at the wards,” said Draco. “I can only cast the most, the most rudimentary diagnostic spells –"

"We'll find a way to make this right." Hermione was going to get his home and family back the way they should be. She needed to. She refused to think about how much of her childhood home must have been replaced by whoever lived there now. "Go to sleep, Draco."

He nodded, obediently. His breathing starting to level out.

Hermione stayed awake a while longer. Long enough for Crookshanks to come down from wherever he was hiding and investigate why she was cuddling this relatively unfamiliar man instead of him.

She reached out and gave him some scratches on his neck until he curled up on her opposite side. The steady purring eventually lulled her to sleep.

 

---

 

Draco was nowhere to be found that next morning, so Hermione took it upon herself to write the letter to Bill explaining the situation. Remembering Draco's general reaction to putting sensitive information in writing, Hermione did use invisible ink and instructed it to only reveal itself to Bill or Fleur. That done, she felt lighter. Wondered briefly if she ought to owl Ron as well. It had been ages since she’d heard from him, she wasn’t even sure what country he was in. But she could do that later. 

Still unsure where to find Draco, she apparated to the Manor's entrance hall. She would try the Unicorn sitting room first. Even if he wasn’t there, Narcissa might be. She would know where Draco had gone off to.

Narcissa Malfoy was indeed there, standing on a stool in the center of the room, wand out and eyes closed in deep concentration. A circle of envelopes was slowly spinning around her, a different Quick Quotes Quill skittering on top of each of them. Perfectly in unison, the quills would skip out a layer and continue writing, while elsewhere cards slid into lacy envelopes, and rotated slowly to where a floating candle, and floating seal were located. The wax dripped, then stamped, and then finally flew off Narcissa’s makeshift assembly line into a stationary box.

The whole visual was rather mesmerizing. Enough that she didn't notice Draco, until he tapped her on the shoulder. He held a finger to his lips, and an empty stationary box. Motioned her out into the entrance hall.

Hermione followed, still trying to figure out if Narcissa was using a specific purpose-built spell – perhaps even a ritual – or if she had extremely precise control of a more general one. Either seemed equally possible. Silently, Draco handed Hermione a card that read: 

~ Your presence is requested at the wedding of ~

Hermione Granger

& 

Draco Malfoy

First of December 

Malfoy Manor

Feast and Dancing follows

She flipped it over to read: 

~ Please specify ~

My party and I will be arriving via Floo Network

My party and I would like a Portkey sent to us

My party and I will be arranging our own transportation

My party and I will be unable to attend. 

"Maybe I should write Ron. Before getting one of these gives him a heart attack."

Draco bit his lip. "Should I be concerned?"

"For, or about him?"

Draco shrugged. "Either."

"Draco, dear?" said Narcissa's musical voice, from the other room. "This should be the last of them."

"There's just one last post office I haven't visited," said Draco. "Turns out we're using just about every last owl in Wiltshire."

Hermione had to stifle a giggle. This whole thing was just so preposterous. The idea that her wedding was going to be such an event. One would think she was marrying into the Royal Family.

Narcissa followed behind him Draco and the giant stationary box he was holding. Smiled when she saw Hermione. "I hope you don't mind that I have made some of the smaller decisions for you."

"Oh I don't mind!" Just thinking about thinking about how many little choices there were was overwhelming.

“Have you decided what you will wear?”

"Ah – yes. A bit. I was talking to Draco about wizard and muggle wedding traditions, and I think it would provide a clear message to muggleborn and half-blood wizards if we dressed according to muggle tradition. With me wearing white, and him in black." Hermione could feel herself slipping back into the tone she used to explain things to Dumbledore's Army. But she was right. This wasn’t just because she wanted her wedding to look like the one she had in her head.

Draco and his mother made a long moment of eye contact.

"Would not the symbolism be the other way around?" Narcissa said, eventually. "White for masculine, dark for feminine?" 

Draco winced. "... I think that's only for Chinese muggles, Mother."

Narcissa might have gotten a slight flush of embarrassment on her high cheekbones. "As you can see, this is not my area of expertise. But… Draco will look very well in a dark suit.”

Then Draco did start to protest, but Narcissa put up a hand. “With Harry Potter in your wedding, no one will think you are disrespecting his claim. It may even be read as a gesture of solidarity to put you in black. Besides. Black and white is chic, darling. Imagine how it will look with the snow." She paused for a moment, in thought. "That will make a difference in how we decorate. Yes. Black and white might indeed work very well."

Hermione grinned at Draco, who was very obviously sulking.

"Draco has always been rather conventional-minded," said Narcissa, in explanation. "I think this will be good for him."

"Mother. Even if I don’t look like I’m usurping Potter’s claim, I’ll look half dead. I haven’t worn head-to-toe black in years for a reason.”

Now that it was two against one, Hermione couldn't help rubbing in the fact he'd lost. Just a little. "It doesn't have to be black. If there's another color in a very dark shade that you would prefer, that would work too." 

"Indeed,” said Narcissa. “Now Draco, stop making that face. And bring those to the post office, I don't have time to soothe the egos of everyone whose invitation arrived late." 

Hermione decided she liked Narcissa. They were going to get along well.

Draco made eye contact with Hermione, and then held out his arm. She took it, and he cracked them into a street that wasn't Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, and looked considerably smaller than both. But with the same general flavor. The houses looked old, crooked, and colorful in a way only magic could accomplish.

"Let's get this over with," he said.

"I hope I haven't upset you too terribly."

He wrapped a hand tight around her waist. "I'm absolutely besotted with you, remember?"

"Which means you'll go with my color scheme?"

He glared at her, in a way that absolutely did not manage to be the least bit intimidating. Shifted the box of invitations in his arms. "I suppose your color scheme isn't awful." 

"I knew you'd see it my way." She started dragging him towards the post office. "Come on. We have letters to mail and owls to meet." She would spare him Harry's habit of asking the name of every owl he used.

Draco got a bit of revenge at the post office, draping himself over her and being generally as distracting as humanly possible while she mailed the letters. As the owls stuck out their little legs in a professional manner, he complimented her knot tying technique until she accidentally almost tied two invitations together. That was when he was wrapping an arm around her waist, and trying to kiss her ear.

"You could help with this, you know,” said Hermione. “Then the process would go faster."

"But you're just so good at it."

"Surely your difficulty with hippogriffs can't extend to owls." The second she said it, Hemione wondered if maybe that was too pointed a comment.

"Mmm. It might," said Draco. "Surely you don't want me all scratched up and mauled for our wedding?" 

"Scars do have a certain rugged appeal, but I think you have enough already."

"But only where you can see them." 

"Don't tempt me. I'm not comfortable making the front page for getting caught snogging in a broom closet at the post office." 

Draco backed off, and pulled a stack of invitations towards him. Immediately got pecked by an owl.

Hermione laughed. She'd thought that he was joking.

 

---

 

When they got back to the manor, Bill’s letter was already waiting for them.

Dear Hermione,

I'd be happy to take a look at things if the Malfoys will let me. I'll need everyone the wards recognize as blood present, and willing to participate in the ceremony. There was some concern that doing this would violate Lucius Malfoy’s parole – but I’ve got that cleared up, so don’t worry. 

Does tomorrow afternoon work for you?

Your friend and ally, 

Bill Weasley

Draco's shoulders and body language stiffened. "News?" he said, neutral.

"Bill’s free tomorrow afternoon." Then, more delicately – "If it's not a good day for your father we can figure something else out."

Draco sighed. Looked down at his nails. "That's the kind of thing that's very hard to predict. I'll tell Mother, she'll – she'll – " he shrugged. "She'll accommodate. You are, after all, doing us an incredible favor." 

"I'll let him know it's a tentative yes." 

Draco fidgeted. Which was not behavior she had seen from him before.

"Is tomorrow too soon? We can pick a different day."

"No. No, sooner is – better. Better to get it over with. Know what damage we're dealing with. I'll just dwell on it until then..." Draco looked at her, and smiled. "You can distract me. Why don't we… find some more gowns for you to try?" 

She took a second to assess him before answering. Not sure if he was doing this to distract himself or to distract her. She was still figuring Draco out. 

"I'm very curious to see what you have hiding in the closets here."

Notes:

Huge thanks to HollowedWrites for beta-ing this fic!

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