Why? Did they ask?

by haydenly16

Summary:

There was no way Draco Malfoy feared his wife and mother… Why? Did they ask?

Ya girl got carried away. That's pretty much it.

Notes:

Someone in a social media group online was looking for Hermione/Narcissa scheming that was frightening to Draco/Lucius.
I got carried away.
REALLY carried away.
But here it is anyway.
Good luck.

You can listen to "Do It Like A Girl" by Morgan St. Jean. It gave a little inspiration.

The only one that edited this was me. I only have myself to blame.
I'm sure there will be mistakes. Ignore them.

I am American, don't come for me.

I do not own anything Harry Potter.
I also vehemently oppose some thoughts she has.

There was no way Draco Malfoy feared his wife and mother… Why? Did they ask?

 

***

 

The horrific Marriage Law of 2009. Birth rates, even 11 years post war, remained low. Low enough that the Ministry decided if they didn’t “intervene for the better of magical society” there may not be any witches or wizards left in only a few generations. (As if Britain was the only place on Earth that had magical folk.) All matches were required to create a child within the first 2 years, with a second to be on the way within 4 years into the marriage. Divorce could be discussed after 10 years… maybe.

All unmarried between the ages of 20 and 50 had their names thrown into a hat to be matched. The Ministry claimed it was some long buried, obscure soul magic, but Draco remained doubtful. It was either be matched or have your wand snapped and time in Azkaban. And three years had been plenty for Draco, thank you.

In a crazy turn of events, Draco Malfoy, reluctant Master of House of Malfoy and Death Eater, had been matched with none other than the Golden Girl herself. Brightest Witch Of Her Age and Gryffindor’s Princess. Draco was pretty sure that the match had been purposeful, sure they thought Hermione Granger was the only one that may be able to kill him and get away with it.

Hermione and Draco had long since come to an understanding of sorts; after his release from Azkaban, Draco had gone to her and spent almost a solid two hours apologizing for everything. The war, the bullying, his ridiculous beliefs, how he had treated her. Hermione had smiled softly and told him that she had forgiven him a long time ago. “We were just children,” she had said, patting his hand gently. Their social circles intertwined quickly when her best friend, The-Git-Who-Lived, had married Draco’s best friend Theodore Nott, Jr. So, it wasn’t as if they didn’t see each other. Pub nights, game nights, dinners out, dinners in. They saw more of each other than either really wanted.

At the time of the match announcement, they had been in a place of long-fought “friendship”. Which simply meant that they tolerated each other’s presence but spent most of their time avoiding each other. If they did speak, they spent most of their time “debating’. Which was really bickering. But to the point where they would both end up red faced and near panting. Theo frequently told them that if they got it over with and kissed, they’d stop all that arguing. They both vehemently disagreed.

 

***

 

The friend group of nine – Draco, Hermione, Potter, the Weasel, Theo, Blaise, Pansy, the Weaselette, and the still-alive Weasley twin – gathered at Theo and Potter’s flat to open their letters together, which was actually pretty morbid if you thought about it too much. No one could decide who to go first so they all just opened them at the same time while Theo/Scarhead and Weaselette/Blaise watched from the couch holding each other’s hands.

 

"Draco Lucius Malfoy,

                Under the Marriage Law of 2009, Law C092394, voted by the Wizengamot to become effective immediately, you have been soul matched to a partner. The Law states...

 

Blah, blah, blah…

 

We at the Ministry are honoured to announce your new match:  

                Hermione Jean Granger

We wish you all the best and will see you within three months from today to complete your match.

 

Ferris B. Janson

Head of the Department of Marriage and Family Planning

Ministry of Magic"

 

Draco froze in place, his eyes rereading the letter five times. The rest of the group talking around him turned into background noise as he lifted his face in her direction. He swallowed heavily, her eyes already on him. Her face was blank, eyes focused on him but not giving any emotion away. He imagined his face was near the same. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to help soften the blow she had just received. But she hopped to her feet too quickly, exiting the room and heading towards the bathroom down the hall, letter crumpled in her fist.

He jumped to his feet, dropping the letter from his lap as he did so, walking quickly after her. He watched her disappear into the bathroom before she shut the door behind her. Draco followed her anyway, knocking on the door. He’d never heard him sound like he did as he spoke to her, practically pleading. Maybe three glasses of Fire Whisky was too many to deal with this kind of thing if he sounded so sad. “Merlin, Hermione…” He lowered his voice while leaning toward the door. “I’m so, so sorry.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry it’s me,” he repeated, unable to find anything else to say. What else was there? “We will figure something out. I promise. Whatever you want, Granger.”

Draco slid down the wall next to the door. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t notice when the rest of the group left. He waited over an hour, studiously ignoring Potter and Theo’s pitying gazes. Hermione never came out.

 

***

 

Draco had always known his mother was a little bit scary: he was seven when he and Theo broke a priceless family heirloom, he was thirteen when he, Blaise, and Theo got caught drinking, he was fifteen when he was caught sneaking witches into his room, he was seventeen (and under just a little bit of pressure) when he was caught smoking. Even into adulthood and becoming Master of the House of Malfoy, he tried to be cautious so as not to invoke her wrath. Narcissa Malfoy: only surviving member of the House of Black-except for him, of course-, former Mistress of the House of Malfoy, liar to the Dark Lord. (Really that last one was her most fitting title.)

Draco had seen her emasculate Masters of Houses with a few choice words. Had seen her literally eviscerate Death Eaters with a wordless swish of her wand. (People tended to forget that the war at Hogwarts hadn’t suddenly ended when the Dark Lord had finally been killed by Scarhead.) Narcissa Malfoy had slain Death Eater after Death Eater to protect her teenage son.

This knowledge meant that Draco was only a little surprised to find out that his father, the ever “charming” Lucius Malfoy, had not created his political career. Narcissa had played puppeteer for years. “My dragon, surely you didn’t think your father did all that on his own,” she had said, a teasing frown on her face before she kissed his cheek. “Men are rarely that smart.” Followed by a wink. This should have alerted him to the problem that would follow.

The House of Malfoy had never seen a witch quite like Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black.

And neither had The Daily Prophet.

 

***

 

War Heroine to Marry Cursed Malfoy Heir?

I hate to be the one to say it, readers, but today is a sad day in Wizarding Britain. Matches for the Marriage Law of 2009 went out just last night and we are already lamenting some of the matches. Matches were made using old soul magic through the Ministry so that every single person in Wizarding Britain got their perfect soul match. The goal was to match up everyone with their soulmates. And I know there are plenty out there that did.

 

But we know of one match that is questionable already. In a shocking match, our favorite War Heroine, Hermione Granger, is set to marry Death Eater and Malfoy Heir, Draco Malfoy. We know that the two have been at least friendly for some time now after The Boy Who Lived - our very own Harry Potter, war hero who defeated He Who Must Not Be Named almost 11 years ago – married another popular Death Eater surname Theodore Nott, Jr. They look happy as one couple can be. But how do they feel about their friends’ match? Neither were available for comment.

 

Our war heroine currently works as head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with the Ministry and has been there for some time. Coworkers of Miss Granger say that she is lovely to work with and does good work. But will she keep her job, and continue to do good for magical creatures, once she has married into the cursed blood money wealth that is the House of Malfoy?

 

Mr. Malfoy, winner of Witch Weekly’s Hottest Eligible Bachelor 4 years in a row, however, is responsible for running his family company, Malfoy Enterprises. His subordinates say that he is a good boss, but they don’t see him very much. One said it was because he trusts them to do their jobs; others are skeptical. They say he is friendly, but stoic. Is he hiding something from them? Will they see even less of him once he’s married to the Golden Girl?

 

And, my dear readers, it begs the question, is this soul magic really what it says it is? And if it is, does that mean the Brightest Witch Of Her Age is hiding something dark and twisted? Or is it all fake?

(see page 5 for other important matches)

 

***

 

Draco didn’t think he had ever seen his mother so mad, even when he had been forced to take the Dark Mark to make up for his father’s failures at the Department of Mysteries. And he thought she had been beyond infuriated then.

Draco came through the floo from his flat straight into his office. He had just barely dusted the powder off his three-piece suit before there was a loud and insistent knocking at the door. Draco strode across the room to let Kippy, his house elf, know that he would appreciate a cup of coffee, but only when convenient for Kippy. Draco was unsure why Kippy was knocking and why she was knocking so much.

Pulling open the door, mouth open to voice his request to the house elf, already looking down to knee height, he was taken aback when his gaze landed on actual knees.  

Narcissa was dressed in a set of jade robes tailored to fit her perfectly and a pair of black heels. Her hair was perfectly coiffed into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore the same minimal jewelry she wore every day. Only two quickly things alerted Draco to her distress: she was breathing quickly and she had a single hair out of place. Her deep blue eyes were slightly widened and her face was flushed a soft pink. “Mother,” Draco said, immediately on alert, “What’s the matter? What’s happened?” Draco looked her up and down quickly for injury.

She lifted his hand to show him that she was holding The Daily Prophet and his eyebrows furrowed. “Normally,” she said, voice tight, “I would have waited for you to come to me, because you should always greet your mother when you arrive, but the paper got here first and I cannot believe you.” Draco tilted his head. “When did you plan on telling me that you got matched with Miss Granger?” Her voice belied her tightly controlled emotions, but only someone that knew her well would be able to tell. And Draco knew her very well.

“How do you know that already? We just got the matches last night. I was going to come tell you after breakfast.” Draco took a step back from the door as his mother strode past him into the office.

Narcissa gave a dainty scoff. “Well, The Prophet already knows,” she answered.

“How does that bloody paper know?” Draco asked, holding his hand out for the paper.

“They called you cursed, Draco.” She laid the paper in his outstretched hand. Draco paused before looking.

“Ah. That’s why you’re so upset.” He looked down at the headline and sighed. He didn’t care at all what that paper thought of him. He didn’t really care what anybody thought about him. He grew up with everything being fake anyway.

“Like you’re the villain come to steal the Princess away.” Narcissa’s voice was still under tight control. “How dare they speak about my son that way?”

“Mother,” he attempted to soothe her. “It’s okay. We will handle it.”

“Handle it?” Her voice rose about three octaves, enough for her to notice and take a deep breath to settle herself. “The Daily Prophet will pay for this.” Draco winced, already feeling bad for whoever was going to end up dealing with his mother.

“Mother-“Draco was going to try to pacify her again before he felt the wards shift. Narcissa obviously felt it too because she looked up in confusion. The shift was indicative of someone trying to get in. The presence felt merely curious, with some background anger. But not malevolent.

“Kippy,” Draco called. She appeared with a soft pop. The house else was even smaller than most, but a force to be reckoned with. Today, she wore a tiny blue dress and a bow on one ear.

“Good morning, Master Malfoy,” Kippy squeaked. “Miss Hermione Granger is being at the front gates, sir.” She looked between him and his mother. “Should Kippy be letting her in?”

“No, thank you, Kippy. I’ll take care of it. Would you mind getting some coffee and tea ready for me?”

“Yes, Master Malfoy.” Kippy popped away with another soft noise before his mother spoke again.

“We aren’t done talking about this, Draco.”

“I agree, Mother. But let me go get Granger and see what she says. I’m sure she’s here about the article.”

Narcissa frowned but nodded. Then she exited his office and Draco let out a breath of relief.

 

Draco strolled calmly down the front drive with his hands in his pockets, the pristine white stones shifting underneath his dragon leather loafers. It was beautifully fall in every direction. Bright swatches of red, orange, and yellow. Draco thought he didn’t spend much time outside anymore. When was the last time he took his broom out?

“Granger,” he greeted coolly, stepping through the wards on the inside of the large gates.

Granger jumped high, holding a hand over her chest. It took a second to remember that the wards made it appear as if he appeared out of thin air. “Malfoy,” she returned his greeting, just as coolly.

“I didn’t plan on seeing you quite yet-” Considering he waited outside the door for over an hour and she never made an appearance. Awkward greetings and hiding away from each other. Would this be how the rest of the marriage would go? He figured this was just the first of many conversations to start so awkwardly. Really, he should’ve known better when it came to Hermione Granger.

“What is this?” she interrupted, pointing to the design on the front of the gate. Her curiosity didn’t give either of them time to be awkward.

“I informed you already,” rang out a voice that was both ancient and timeless.

“That’s the Keeper of the Manor,” Draco answered, looking through the bars at Granger’s face. “Good morning, Keeper. You can let her in.”

“Very well,” the voice said after a moment of hesitation, Draco just knew it was because of her blood. And that made him a little angry. The gates slowly opened just enough to let her through.

“This is to be your new mistress, Keeper. It’d do you well to remember that,” Draco warned while he could see the little bugger.

He was pretty sure the Keeper rolled its green eyes. “Noted, Master Malfoy.” The gates closed with a clang. So annoyingly sassy.

“You have a talking decorative dragon?”

Draco gave a soft chuckle, gesturing for her to start up the long drive. “The Keeper guards access to everything within the Manor. They are all over the property. Malfoys were quite proud of their name and crest, so they show up frequently.” He shrugged. “If you enter a room with one, they will come alive or animate. You can talk to them but they’re pretty boring. At least I thought so when I was a child.” Granger nodded, obviously curious about the magic. “But be warned,” he continued. “If they think you’re up to something, they can, and will, trap you in a room until someone from the family comes to get you.” Granger shuddered. “Yes, it’s as horrifying as it sounds.”

She nodded, trying to keep pace with him, though his legs were significantly longer. He slowed his steps a bit. “I’m assuming you’re here about The Daily Prophet article.”

Granger seemed to puff up like a blowfish when she remembered why she was there. “Yes, I absolutely am! This paper has gone absolutely mad!” She pulled her copy from the messenger bag resting against her side. “How could they say those things about us?” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Did you really win Hottest Eligible Bachelor four years in a row?” It was both a careful tease and an honest question.

Draco chuckled. “I truly have no idea, Granger. Maybe.”

She looked more and more anxious as she got closer to the Manor. She was chewing her lip, wringing her hands, and popping the knuckles of her fingers. Her hesitancy was obvious as they got closer to the front doors. He imagined the last time she saw them she was being dragged in by her hair. Or had the Snatchers carried her over their shoulder? It didn’t matter. He didn’t think he’d like the doors very much either.

Draco cleared his throat softly. “Ah, uh, we will be staying on the east side of the Manor. The drawing room is on the west.” Granger missed a step at his words, causing her to stumble. Draco reached out a hand to help her. She nodded when she was stable again.

“Thank you.” The words were said almost too quietly to hear. Draco nodded.

 

They entered his mother’s favorite sitting room, finding her perched on a chaise with a teacup in her hand. She was startled to see the two of them but fixed herself and rose gracefully from her seat.

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa said as she approached. “I’m happy to see you in the Manor under better circumstances.” Draco, thankfully, knew that the two of them had worked on multiple projects through the Ministry. If they hadn’t seen each other since his trial where Granger spoke in his defense, he thought it would be significantly more difficult. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Lady Malfoy,” Granger said politely. “It’s nice to see you again. Your home is beautiful.” She paused as a small breeze swept across the two of them. Draco glanced at the closed windows curiously. Maybe he needed to get all the windows assessed for drafts.

“Narcissa is just fine, dear. Or Cissy if you’re feeling a bit feisty.”

Granger gave a surprised laugh, her whole face lighting up with the sound. “Then, please, call me Hermione.”

“Alright, ladies,” Draco interrupted. “Pleasantries over. I know you’re both chomping at the bit to start talking about the article.”

His mother frowned at him for his rudeness, but then gestured to the table for Granger to sit. “I’m hoping, Hermione, that you might be amenable to helping me destroy The Daily Prophet.” Granger gave another surprised laugh before following his mother to the table.

“I would love nothing more, Narcissa.”

 

Later, Draco watched as one of their gray eagle owls flew away carrying a thick letter and… an empty jar. How weird.

 

***

 

War Heroine to Marry Malfoy Heir

 

Correction: It has come to the attention of The Daily Prophet that a number of statements made in an article written by a freelance reporter are, or may be, considered false and/or inflammatory.

 

There is no evidence to support the Malfoy wealth being cursed or ‘blood money’ based on definitions of each.

There is nothing to suggest that Miss Hermione Granger will be leaving her job or that she is hiding a secret.

With that, there is nothing to suggest that Mr. Draco Malfoy will be unable to keep up with his job responsibilities or that he is keeping anything from his employees. He is a former Death Eater.

Soul magic has been studied and approved by the Ministry. There is nothing to suggest that it is fake or judges the soul of the people participating into Dark or Light.

 

***

 

Draco had never wanted to be Master of the House of Malfoy. Well, he didn’t want it yet. He knew that he eventually would have to take over the title, it was his birthright after all. Before the war, he had assumed that his father would have kept the Master title until he died. Draco had prepared to take over Malfoy Enterprises, but he thought he had more time before the estate would become his problem as well.

The magic decided something very different. While both Draco and Lucius were in Azkaban, Narcissa was technically the Head of House. But she was unable to make big changes to anything regarding the Manor and estate, not that she would’ve.

When Draco had been released after his three-year (horrible) sentence, the Master of House magic had transferred to him. He was old enough and was able to be present, so he had planned for it. But he had also planned on transferring the Magic back to Lucius once he had been released after his ten-year sentence. Draco convinced himself he only had to hold the “honour” for seven years before he could give it away.

When Lucius had been released, the three Malfoy’s had gone up to the strongest set of ley line crossings on the estate and had performed the necessary ritual to exchange the power. But much to both Lucius’ and Draco’s irritation, the Magic had refused. It would not transfer back to Lucius. They had tried it three times. It still recognized Lucius as a Malfoy, obviously, but the Magic decided he was unacceptable to return as Master of the House of Malfoy.

Lucius hadn’t spoken to Draco for three weeks after. Draco hadn’t been too upset about it.

 

The Law stated they were to “make a home together”. Which somehow included sharing a bed. How the magic would be able to tell, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t going back to Azkaban on a technicality.  

Draco had a rather large flat just outside of muggle London. Hermione had a flat as well, but neither were convinced that it was big enough, even for just the two of them. And both refused to live at the Manor:

“I won’t live in Malfoy Manor,” Granger had started.

“Okay.”

“I mean, it’s obviously saturated in dark mag- Wait.” Her honey brown eyes had been alight, ready for an argument, as they swung around to look at him. “What did you say?”

“I said ‘okay’. Whatever you want, Granger.”

She had stared for a moment before huffing, a hip popping out and a fist laying on said hip. “Well, then. Good… Thank you.” She had glanced around, looking a bit lost. “I had a whole argument planned. I really thought this was going to be a ‘my father will hear about this’ moment.”

Draco had snickered. “Sorry to ruin it. I’m sure you’ll find something else to soliloquy about.”

She had pursed her lips and shot him a look. “It was a good argument.”

“I have no doubt.”

A moment of complete silence passed. “I’m going to tell you my argument anyway.”

“Of course you are.”

“It is saturated in dark magic! I mean, I was tortured there!” Draco had winced. “A homicidal maniac lived there, for Merlin’s sake! Its just-“

Draco had gotten comfortable in his seat, sipping his Fire Whisky while Granger had really gotten herself worked up. He had wondered if maybe this was going to be a frequent occurrence. And he had realized he didn’t quite mind the thought.

 

***

 

Draco floo-ed between their flat and the Manor to handle the responsibilities of the Master of the house while also visiting the corporate building right on the line between wizard and muggle London as the CEO of Malfoy Enterprises. Hermione had no problem floo-ing or occasionally walking to the Ministry from their flat.

Narcissa and Lucius, however, lived in the Manor’s West Wing, with Lucius still recovering from his ten-year sentence in Azkaban and his decision that the Manor would be his home where he would complete his twelve wandless years of house arrest. Draco was happy that his mother was happy, but his father had gotten off too easy in his opinion. Not that it mattered what the youngest Death Eater in history had to say.

Draco and Hermione had agreed to one dinner every two weeks with his parents. That had been a hard fought war, with Hermione wanting to spend as little time in the Manor as possible and Draco wanting the same with his father - though they were trying to “work” on their relationship per his mother’s pleading. But his mother had eventually won out, frighteningly dedicated to get their agreement. 

To get her to agree, Hermione had one stipulation: before any dinner could occur, she wanted to spend some time alone within the drawing room where she had been tortured.

“Whatever you want, Granger.”

Draco had listened from the other side of the door, where he had heard sniffling at first and then sounds of an amount of destruction that he could not fathom (and he had been in a legitimate battle in a castle). Hermione had walked out of the room, sweating and nearly panting from the magical exertion, covered in dust and bleeding from several cuts. Most of them were small cuts but she also had three large wounds that had to be taken care of. But she had also had bright eyes the color of Draco’s favorite whisky and a look on her face that he would have said was relief mixed with happiness. She had grinned at him before turning to face the door, warding the entrance from anyone ever entering it again and marked it with cursed runes for anyone that might have tried.

 

***

 

As they started spending more time together, Draco quickly realized that Hermione had a habit of randomly asking the most bizarre and unnerving questions. And although they were bizarre and unnerving, he could never convince himself to ignore them or be upset about them. As long as she talked to him, he would listen.

While getting ready for work:

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it that much.”

“Do you wonder if we knew each other in our reincarnated lives? Like, is this weird old magic tying us together through all of our potential lives that come after this? Or is it just this life?”

“I’m not sure, Granger. Sounds like a question for an Unspeakable.”

He heard her gasp as he came from the closet into the room proper. “Do you think we were soul bonded in a past life so we were always destined to end up here?”

“Maybe. But if that was true, I could’ve gone without the war to bring us together. Just a regular first meeting would’ve been nice.”

She hummed. “Yes, it would’ve been nicer if we didn’t have to hate each other all that time.”

Draco gave a noise of acquiescence.

 

Sitting around the fireplace one night while both were reading in pleasant silence:

“Do you think all plants are sentient? Or just some magical plants?”

Draco furrowed his brows, closing his book around his finger to hold his page. He looked at her strangely.

“Is it similar to ripping a hand off when someone picks a rose? Should we be worried about that?” She shook her head without meeting his confused facial expression. “I’m just wondering. What if all plants are sentient? If magical plants crossbred with muggle plants, giving them the ability to do something with their sentience, we could have a plant uprising on our hands. I just don’t know I want my children to have to go through something like that.” She paused again, looking thoughtful. “I bet I could make a sentient plant army.”

“Granger, what the fuck?” After a moment of silence, he figured out she really was looking for some form of input, indicated by her “innocent” stare at him. “I don’t know, Granger. The Manor is semi-sentient. Maybe it’s from all the wood used mingling with the Malfoy magic.”

“The Manor is sentient?!” It bordered on a screech.

“Semi,” Draco corrected.

“But I destroyed the drawing room.” Continuing like he hadn’t said anything. “What if I hurt it? What if it hates me?!” The more she said, the more worked up she got. Draco sighed, cracking open his book to his page while she continued to talk.

 

While laying quietly in bed:

“Do you ever wonder if someone is stalking you? Like what if someone is standing right outside the window but we don’t know because its dark?”

“Granger, please, I’m trying to sleep.”

 

In a brief lull in conversation at the dinner table:

“Do you wonder if we know each other in all of the parallel universes? Like, what if we had fallen in love as kids? What if you were my gay best friend in another universe?”

“Don’t let Potter hear you say that,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“I mean there are universes where I never even met Harry! Are there universes where you have dark hair? One where I have blonde hair? What if there is one where you aren’t so pretty?”

“You think I’m pretty?” Draco teased, smirk present.

She rolled her eyes. “Think there is one where you aren’t such a prat?”

“Unlikely.”

 

***

 

His mother’s words hovered in his head. “It will have to be small.” Draco looked out over the sea of people all seated in the Malfoy Manor gardens. There had to be a little over a hundred witches and wizards out there. He wanted to ask what she considered small because to him, a hundred people was not it. After he asked, his mother had started going down her mental list and justifying every invitee to him.

Poor Jean and David Granger were obviously anxious around this many magical folk. But they remained polite and even kind to the human staff and those that had assisted both Granger and himself. The two of them had been separated, per a muggle tradition, and Draco was told, by both Jean and David that he wasn’t to see her before the wedding. He thought it was a silly tradition, but he did as told.

Right before the wedding started, Theo spun Draco around in a circle, checking his suit. “Merlin, Draco Malfoy, if you weren’t my best friend and straight I would be all over you like Bubotuber pus.” Draco reared back and made a disgusted face as Theo, Blaise, and Pansy all laughed. They were passing around Theo’s flask of Fire Whisky, all four drinking heavily from it.

All the Slytherins had grown into their looks. Well, except for Blaise remained “beautiful as ever”. Theo was still gangly and tall, but had filled out both with muscles and that strange growth spurt men always hit in their early 20s. Both Theo and Blaise wore suits similar to Draco’s in black with peach pockets squares. Though Theo had a flower to denote him as best man. Pansy wore a slinky purple-y dress that, Draco could admit, made the woman looking even more stunning than usual with very tall black heels (that he knew for a fact she could sprint in). She had grown her hair out a little so it swept along her collar bone and she wore simple makeup that flattered her. No longer pug-faced or quite as cruel.

 Blaise had escorted both Narcissa and Jean to their seats and, strangely enough, Pansy had let Lucius escort her to the front where she would stand with Theo and Blaise. Theo clapped Draco on the shoulder and said “I thought you’d be alone forever. Thank Merlin for the Marriage Law so I don’t have to deal with your grumpy, not-getting-any arse for too much longer.” Draco shot him an irritated look. Theo leaned in and quietly said “I’ve seen her. She looks so beautiful.” Draco shrugged.

“Of course she does.”

Together, Draco and Theo walked to the front where Draco stood near the officiant. He turned and clasped his hands together at his hips. He inhaled deeply and just waited. The Weasel in a suit exited the house first, wearing a navy suit and… carrying a bouquet of flowers. Granger’s side of the wedding thought it was hilarious, even got a few of Draco’s side to chuckle. The Weaselette was next, in a similar purple-y dress. Plum, he thought that was the color. Next entered the Git-Who-Lived himself, carrying a basket of flower petals. Once again, Granger’s side thought it was funny. Draco even cracked a smirk.

He held his breath as Hermione and her father finally stepped out into the sunshine. Her dress was white across the torso, body hugging and layers of lace. It flared at the hips where it started to color the further down you went, ending in a striking plum-ish color with some kind of silver threaded design that sparkled in the sunlight. Half of her hair was twisted into some kind of design while the rest of it fell in curls down her back. There was no veil and only the slightest of trains. She walked confidently to him, chin high and, unbelievingly to Draco, smiling softly at him.

When they finally reached the front, Draco shook hands with David before offering a hand to Hermione to help her up the few stairs to the dais. She gripped his hand, tightly trembling with nerves. Draco ran a thumb back and forth over her knuckles and she smiled just a bit wider at him in thanks. “You are stunning,” he whispered as she blushed.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she returned, breaking the rules and lacing their fingers together with one hand. He nodded his thanks and they both turned to the officiant.

The wedding itself was short; the officiant talked to those gathered for a short amount of time, speaking about love and all the nonsense that would go on in a typical wedding. Though this one was anything but typical. The said vows that they did not write themselves, thank you. And then it was time for the soul bonding.

Draco and Hermione held both hands, but Draco was too busy staring at her to hear the words the officiant was saying. He was explaining to the crowd what it meant and all of that nonsense. Then the officiant stepped towards them. With a wave of his wand, he murmured some words that led to a line of silver from Draco and a line of gold from Hermione to twine around their held hands all the way up their arms and down their chests. Draco only knew because he watched the silver line from him move over Hermione’s collar bone and down into the low neckline of her dress between her breasts. He wanted to follow that line with his tongue.

The two exchanged some words to complete the bond before they both gasped, eyes widening. A terrifying rush of magic from Hermione melded with his. Hers felt different than his own. He’d only felt magic like hers one time: a ritual that produced horrifying wild magic. Magic that was beautiful, but difficult to control and highly volatile. Draco felt like he had been dunked in hot water before the heat settled in his limbs and through his torso. They both sighed at the same time, blinking at each other. There were no feeling of the others’ emotions, no kind of crazy connection. Just a feeling of settling warmth.

The wedding ended shortly after which gave Hermione and Draco a second to breathe without everyone crowding them. “Did you-did you see the pattern on my dress?” Hermione asked quietly. Draco shook his head, looking down at the skirt. “Your mother suggested it. It’s the Draco constellation.” He looked at her and looked back down at her skirt. He quickly picked up a section of the skirt, causing Hermione to yelp and make sure she was covered. He spread it across his hand, in just a little bit of awe. The silver thread through the plum made the Draco stars. He looked up at her and she grinned shyly. He wanted to kiss her.

 

The reception. This was where his mother and now mother-in-law had gone wild. Sparkling decorations in peach, plum, white, and navy. A shining dance floor with a full orchestra in the corner. The guests were already mingling when Draco and Hermione entered, hands clasped loosely together. Both secret introverts, they were taking strength from each other to make it through.

The rest of the wedding party approached them quickly. “Draco, there are a bunch of old, prejudiced purebloods here. I have wanted to both throw my fruity punch and throw up on them.” Theo paused. “I meant the fruity punch that’s being served, not a gay assaulting someone.” The party all chuckled.

“The press is here and they are absolutely swarming. Getting quotes from everyone they can, trying to one-up each other with “behind the scene” photos. It’s a whole thing,” Pansy said to the two of them. “Expect them to approach you as soon as we walk away.” She leveled her dark green eyes on Hermione. They still made the strangest of friends in Draco’s mind. “They already don’t like him,” she gestured to Draco who furrowed his eyebrows. “But you? In their mind, you betrayed them. And if you don’t want them to tear you apart, you need to act like you know it.” Hermione stilled at Pansy’s words.

“Trust me, Parkinson. That won’t be a problem.” Her smile bordered of cruel. Draco was reminded that he should be at least a little fearful of his wife and the rush of magic he felt.

 

***

 

Nearly three weeks later, Draco felt the wards shiver as Hermione arrived through the Floo. Casting a Tempus, he saw that it was almost 7pm, just in time for dinner. He quickly straightened his desk, flicking his hand as he exited to blow out the candles and lock his office door. He assumed she was still waiting in the welcoming parlor, an incredibly ornate room with 5 giant fireplaces, a bar cart, and several chaise lounges. The Manor was difficult to navigate and it wouldn’t do for her to get lost. He’d had curse breakers come in to check everything after the Ministry raided the damn place, but he didn’t need, or want, her stumbling on anything that could hurt her.

He rounded the door frame into the parlor, finding Hermione with her back to him. She was speaking softly, although no one was in there with her. He approached quietly, trying to discern what she could’ve possibly be doing. He knew she wasn’t that crazy.

“So, like I said, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were alive.” Surely she wasn’t apologizing to the Manor. “I hope my destroying the drawing room didn’t hurt you. It held very bad memories for me. The rest of you is beyond lovely.”

“The Manor wouldn’t let anyone in that room anyway,” Draco interrupted. Hermione gasped and jumped, whirling around with one hand over her heart, the other clutching her wand and aiming it at him. He raised his hands in surrender slowly. Next to him, a piece of white cloth popped into existence midair and waved. Draco looked at the cloth in astonishment.

“Did you just make a joke?” Hermione asked the otherwise empty room. She giggled before focusing back on him. “Hello, Draco. We’re almost done.” She spun back around and placed her hand softly on the wall. “I’m sorry. And I promise I will never do anything like that again.” The air in the room grew warmer by several degrees and she giggled again, petting the wall gently. Draco jumped as the floor beneath him vibrated and let out a rumbling sound.

“Is the Manor-“ Draco looked around in amazement, quickly correcting himself at Hermione’s look of admonishment. He cleared his throat. “Are you purring?” he asked the air, tilting his face towards the ceiling. The rumbling stopped but a gentle breeze moved against his face. He closed his eyes with a small smile.

“Semi sentient, my arse,” Hermione said when Draco returned his face to hers. In his distraction, he hadn’t noticed that she had moved closer. “This Manor is very sentient.” She touched a hand to his forearm. “And has been waiting for you, I think.” The breeze blew again, ruffling his hair and the skirt of her dress. She smiled, eyes alight and happy. “I think we will have to spend more time here.” The sconces flared brighter in some kind of show of happiness or agreement. She nodded once. “I hear you,” she said to the air.

 

Hermione and Narcissa’s new relationship, the one of bride and mother-in-law, had started well. He was pretty sure Hermione talked to Narcissa more often than he did, and he was at the Manor almost every day. Narcissa had never really subscribed to the whole muggleborns were stealing magic and whatnot, but she did always think purebloods were superior. She was the perfect pureblood wife; but she was also a Slytherin. She had told Draco that Hermione was even more brilliant than she was given credit for. “And she’s ruthless. She would’ve made a fine Slytherin. I wonder what that old hat was thinking.”

It had started out innocently enough. Got some meetings to go how they wanted, “encouraged” conversations between certain people that ended in their favor, the like. But the longer it went on, the worse it got. And quickly. They got most of wizarding Britain to shun an entire old pureblood family that spoke poorly to Hermione at the wedding, to the point where very few shops would accept their money though they had a lot of it. From there they quickly moved up to getting three people fired to get them out of Hermione’s way (they had found those people new jobs – they were ruthless, but not completely heartless). Escalated to getting some of Hermione’s new bills approved by the Wizengamot: done by subtle threats, bribery, and blackmail. (He had never learned how his mother had so much dirt on other people.)

 Draco was reminded how scary his mother could be. But he was both frightened and astoundingly proud of his wife.

 

On a Thursday in the middle of October, they were sitting in the informal dining hall with house elves serving them a five course meal, much to Hermione’s chagrin (she had tried to free the house elves which had done nothing but make the elves wail and try to punish themselves; she had stopped trying after she learned that they accepted pay, days off, and they had the South Wing of the Manor to themselves, all which Draco had implemented long ago). No matter how much they begged, she still asked as little from them as she could.

Draco sat at the head of the table that sat 16 (instead of the 60 in the formal), which the sentient Manor insisted upon. By throwing him from any other chair he tried to sit in before he sighed and sat at the head. Typically, the Mistress sat to the left while the heir sat to the right. But there was no heir yet, Draco was left-handed, and he got to make the rules around here now. So Lucius sat to his left as former Master of the House with Narcissa beside him. Which meant that Hermione sat on his right side instead.

”Mother, did you know the house is sentient?”

“Semi,” Lucius corrected from his seat beside him.

“Fully,” Hermione corrected him.

Lucius looked at her, quiet for multiple minutes. “Ah, I think you will find that you, my dear, are wrong.” Lucius was taking longer to warm up to Draco’s new wife. Unbelievably, he was softening to the woman, but it was taking longer than Draco wanted it too.

Hermione smirked, an almost perfect Malfoy impression. “I’m usually not,” she said a bit smug. “But this time I’m definitely not. Maybe it was semi-sentient when you were Head of House. But that is no longer the case.” Lucius frowned. “I think maybe you should spend some time thanking the Manor for letting you live here still.” Now Lucius scowled.

“It’s a house,” he sneered. Only to have his chair pulled abruptly backwards from the table and over 3 yards away. Lucius looked shocked, glancing left and then right. The chair began to shake violently, obviously trying to shake Lucius from the chair. He jumped up, looking at the chair as it stilled. Lucius inhaled deeply, eyes narrowing on Hermione. Who was doing nothing but widely grinning at Lucius. Draco had never seen someone else mock his father to his face. Draco had, especially right after his release from Azkaban, which was partly why their relationship remained so strained.

Narcissa sighed. “Lucius,” she said sharply, “Apologize to the Manor and then sit down and behave appropriately.” Lucius eyes Draco’s mother with a bit of contempt. Draco watched as his mother’s eyebrow raised and her jaw tightened in an irritated you-better-do-what-I-say-and-you-better-do-it-now face that Draco unfortunately knew quite well.

Lucius’ face relaxed and he nodded. “Alright then, Cissy,” he sniffed. “I’m sorry I insulted you. I will take Miss Granger’s words to heart.” He went to grab the chair but it swiftly moved away from him. Lucius looked at Narcissa like see I didn’t do it.

“It’s because you addressed me incorrectly,” Hermione said, trying to hide her giggles behind her napkin.

“You speak house, now, do you?” Lucius sneered again, the words intended to be biting. Narcissa cleared her throat pointedly. Lucius tried again. “I will take Lady Malfoy-“

“Granger-Malfoy.”

Draco thought Lucius’ head was about to implode. “I will take Lady Granger-Malfoy’s words to heart. Please accept my apology.” The chair moved itself back to the table. Lucius approached and it let him sit down. Draco, Hermione, and Narcissa were all trying to hide their laughter behind their hands or napkins.

After the third course, Draco and Lucius had finally had enough stilted small talk to act sort of normally. Lucius had gained significant weight after his release, considering he came out near emaciated with his normally striking Malfoy hair limp and dirty. His clothes had hung off of him and he hadn’t been able to stand for very long before he exhausted himself. But since then the elves had washed and cut his hair since he hadn’t been able to do it himself and had made sure he ate at every meal.

Now, Lucius looked more like the family patriarch as he should. His face was still a bit sunken with very dark circles under his eyes. Anyone could tell with spending any time with him that Azkaban had ripped most of his spirit from him. Even though Dementors were no longer allowed near Azkaban that did not mean that the prison was any less horrible and soul sucking. Draco had been similar after his release, but his father had stayed longer.

His father had asked about an update with Malfoy Enterprises and it had become an fairly nice conversation between the two. Draco blindly reached for Hermione’s hand with his right. And grabbed nothing except air. He looked up and over to her seat to find her missing. Eyebrows furrowed, he found her instead sitting next to his mother, all the way on the other side of the table, with nothing but her glass of red wine. They hadn’t even made it through the fourth course yet and he couldn’t believe his mother wasn’t making a fuss about her being on the “incorrect” side. Even the elves served her fourth course on the incorrect side. Instead, she and his mother were leaning slightly towards each other, whispering while his wife grinned almost maniacally.

Draco just stared at her for a moment before she looked up. He tilted his head at her and glanced at her seat next to him. “You didn’t want to sit next to me?” he teased, giving her a smirk.

“I thought I might talk with your mother and I didn’t want everyone hearing our plans,” Granger teased back.

“Whatever you want, Granger. But maybe I can help.”

Hermione and Narcissa both giggled softly. “We’re trying to decide between two avenues to frame Cormac McLaggen for bribery of a political figure.”

Draco blinked at her. Once. Twice. “McLaggen? What did McLaggen do to be framed for bribery of a ministry official?”

“Ah, you know how he is. Said some nasty things about the Malfoy House. About me. About you. To me. Then couldn’t be bothered keep his nasty hands to himself.” Draco’s jaw tightened in a small bout of anger. “He’s slimy and I don’t like him. That’s reason enough for me.” She shrugged. “If he wants to play with the Malfoys, the Malfoys are going to play back. And you know as well as I do that Malfoys are rather good at the game.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, why didn’t you tell me about it?” He knew Hermione could protect herself. But he didn’t want her to have to.

Hermione raised a lone eyebrow, already perfecting her Malfoy facial expressions. She gestured between her and his mother. “Because obviously, darling, I am handling it.” She winked and then turned back to Narcissa before Draco could argue again.

 

***

 

 Draco entered her office the following Wednesday to find her sitting at her cluttered desk. “Granger,” he greeted, “Ready for lunch?”

Hermione put down the parchment she was reading over, looking up at him sheepishly. “I may or may not have ulterior motives for your being here.”

Draco sighed, unsurprised. “Of course, you do.”

Granger stood up, putting the parchment and memo piles on her desk to rights. “We are going to go see the Minister. Make him see some sense. Then while we’re there we will go ahead and get our marriage dissolved.”

Draco flinched, rearing back slightly like she had slapped him. He blinked once, settling back into his overly cool demeanor. “Right. Naturally.” His voice completely flat. He could understand: a Death Eater wife for a month and it was already too much for her. He knew people had to be cruel to her and someone like Granger? He knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She needed to be able to go out, live her life happily. She deserved nothing less. She couldn’t do that married to a Death Eater. He couldn’t blame her being ashamed of his name.

Granger noted his change in tone immediately. “Draco, you know it’s not personal, right?”

“Whatever you want.” He had never known those words would hurt so much. So different than any time he had said them before.    

“It’s only because they made us such a big spectacle. We’re the poster child. If we do divorce, then others can see that they can too.”

“I get it, Granger.” He turned his face away, unable to keep looking at her.

She approached him quickly, poking him in the chest with her finger before curling them around the lapel of his suit jacket. “Draco Malfoy, you listen to me. It. Is. Not. You.”

Draco gently grabbed her hand, uncurling her fingers from his coat and taking a step back. He immediately let go of her hand, leaving it hanging midair. He still couldn’t meet her gaze, staring over her shoulder at the wall. “I said it is whatever you want.”

“Draco,” Granger said his name softly, obviously wanting to move to him, her hand still outstretched towards him. “It’s only be-“

“Granger,” Draco interrupted, almost ruining his cool façade. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. He wasn’t fine. He cleared his throat. “Right then. Lead the way to the Minister.” He didn’t look at her as he turned to exit her office.

 

Draco was pretty sure the whole Minister’s office was about to explode. Granger’s hair was almost three times its normal size and he didn’t think he was imagining the sparks of magic coming off of the strands. He wondered, not for the first time, if her hair was sentient. She was standing, never having ever sat down beside Draco.

“I’m not to blame here,” Minister Jameson Avery was saying. Even he was staring at her hair, pushed away from her as far as his chair would allow him. Avery’s eyes briefly glanced in Draco’s direction; Draco only allowed himself to look overly bored.

“Like hell you’re not! You were the deciding vote, Minister.” Granger slammed her hands down on the edge of the Minister’s desk. She had ranted for ten minutes before giving the Minister his chance to defend himself. Which he did poorly, Draco might add. She had touched on certain points: 1) The law was unfair and forced her and others to get married before ready, 2) it was forcing marriage on couples who may have never met each other before its passing, and 3) the potential for danger for both parties, including domestic violence and rape. As usual, she was right.

“I understand what you’re saying, Miss Granger,” Avery said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“It’s Granger-Malfoy.” Draco glanced up at her, surprised by the correction. He was struck once again by her beauty in general, but especially when she was angry. Not that he’d ever tell her that. “And I’d thank you for addressing me by my proper title: Lady Malfoy. I did marry into a Sacred 28 family after all.” Oh, now she was just doing it to piss the Minister off. Though, she wasn’t wrong. Lady or Mistress Malfoy was her proper title.

“Mrs. Granger-Malfoy,” Avery said like the word tasted bad, mustering a glare. And ignoring her proper title. He obviously wasn’t scared enough but, he should be; he didn’t even know half of what the Brightest Witch of Her Age could do. “I understand your complaints. However, I can’t change the law. It would have to go in front of the Wizengamot and they would have to vote for a repeal.”

As Granger stopped her pacing, a glass shattered across the room, spilling water across the floor. A piece of parchment on the Minister’s desk caught fire as her hands curled into fists. Accidental magic was nearly unheard of in adults. But this was the Hermione Granger. She played by no rules. “This is not the end of this conversation, Avery.” She turned towards the door as Draco rose fluidly from his seat.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Avery mumbled under his breath. He gave Draco a look that said what are you gonna do about women, am I right?

Draco’s lip curled back off his teeth to answer. As he opened his mouth and leaned forward to tower over Avery, several other pieces of parchment let out plumes of smoke as they started to burn. The Minister yelped and jumped backwards at a flare of fire. “I expect you to watch your tone while talking to my wife.”

Draco followed, Granger already stomping down the hallway, hair bouncing with her steps. When he caught up, he hovered his hand at the small of her back without touching her. All he could think about now was escaping; packing a bag and finding somewhere else to stay for a few days while Granger calmed down. Maybe he’d just buy all new clothes so he didn’t even have to go by the flat.

“I’ll see you later, yeah,” Draco said, taking a step away from her and towards the lifts. She spun to face him.

“Oh, no, you don’t Draco Lucius Malfoy.” She quickly reached for his wrist. His seeker reflexes kicked in, immediately pulling his wrist out of her grab radius.

Granger slowly lifted her eyes up to his face. Her glare was about to set Draco on fire just like the parchment. When she moved again, he unconsciously leaned a little away from her. But this time all she did was hold her hand flat in the air between them. She looked down at her hand, looked pointedly at his hand, and then returned her glare to his face. The two just stared at each other for a moment, until Granger lifted both of her eyebrows.

Draco sighed, reaching to grab her hand. As soon as they made contact, Granger hummed. When he attempted to hold her hand, she instead wrapped her tiny bony fingers around his wrist. Hard. He grunted but could do nothing except let her march them back to her office.

“I think you may be the person that uses my real middle name the most. Usually it’s Draco sodding Malfoy. Or even better yet: Draco fucking Malfoy.”

“It is intentional, you insolent man.”

He scoffed. “Suddenly, I’m insolent. Why?  Because I wanted to leave when my wife failed to get us divorced during her half cocked plan?” Oops. Draco saw the tension ripple through her posture.

Granger was silent until she finally marched them into her office. With a casual flick of her hand, she warded the door and he could feel the Muffliato settle around him. When she let go of his wrist, he took to rubbing it, surprised she hadn’t crushed all the tiny bones. She walked calmly around her desk and sat, posture straight. She gestured, seemingly genial, for him to take the guest seat across the desk. He sat. What else was going to do? Say no? Absolutely not. Malfoy’s were nothing if not self-preserving.

She set her elbows on her desk, threading her fingers together and resting her chin on them. “Allow me to make something abundantly clear,” she started a little too calmly. “If I really wanted to get rid of you, I would not do it by divorcing you.”

Draco looked around the office briefly. “Are you – are you threatening me?” Only the Golden Girl could threaten the life of the House of Malfoy heir in the middle of the Ministry and get away with it.

Granger let out an obviously fake light laugh. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not threatening you!” Her faux smile fell quickly and she gave him another pointed look.

“You definitely are,” Draco argued, now pressing his back into the back of his chair as much as it would let him.

“Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do by continuing to be impertinent and absurd.”

“Granger, what the actual fuck?”

Suddenly, her face lit up with a smile. “Just kidding! Now stop being silly. I don’t want to divorce you to get rid of you, you should know that by now. It is the principle of forced marriage, not you.”

“Hang on! Hang on! I’m still stuck on your Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde moment just now,” Draco argued. She paused.

“How do you know about Jekyll and Hyde?”

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t insult me. I can, and do, read. This isn’t another Potter and Weasel situation.”

“Of course, it’s not,” she agreed. She gestured to the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must get back to work.” Draco stood, eyeing her warily.

“Are you going to curse me as soon as my back is turned?” he asked as he walked backwards toward the now unwarded door.

“Of course not,” she said, dismissing him by picking up a parchment from a pile. Draco opened the door and went to close it behind him. “I would miss your mother too much to do that.”

Draco did not think that meant very much.

 

***

 

It was a beautiful Saturday, a rarity in England. Draco and Hermione decided they should get some sunshine by spending some time in Diagon Alley. They also secretly hoped that if the reporters got some pictures of them together, they would stop hiding outside the building their flat was in. They almost never walked through the door anyway, but it was becoming suspicious to the muggles.

For a while, they drifted. Stopping at random stores just because they felt like it. They both planned to end their day at Flourish and Botts and Draco could tell Hermione was chomping at the bit to get there. But was also trying to appear nonchalant about it. It was actually adorable. He wasn’t sure when he started considering Granger as adorable instead of just salivating over her, but there it was. He knew that was incredibly sexist. But that’s why he kept it to himself.

As the two strolled down the cobblestone, Hermione tripped over a loose rock, catching herself on Draco’s arm. He stopped, assisting her to rights while holding onto her hand. Hermione laughed at herself a bit, looking up at him with a smile. He returned it with a soft smirk. They both jumped as the moment was wrecked by the flash and click of a camera.

Granger turned over her shoulder to smile at the photographer while Draco did no such thing. She glanced back up at him and threaded their fingers together before she began to pull him after her, leaving the photographer behind. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had had such a nice day. He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

Passing an apothecary, Hermione was talking and gesturing wildly with her free hand. Draco looked down at her, listening and nodding in all the right places. He never even saw the wizard walking toward them. Not until the wizard and Draco slammed chests. The man pushed at Draco’s chest, obviously aggressive, though it barely moved Draco. “Apologies,” Draco said, taking a step back on his own. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The man’s face curled up into a horrible expression, one Draco guessed was supposed to be a sneer but didn’t look quite right. “You think that just because you got off scott free, you can just walk around in the daylight like you didn’t murder people. Fucking Death Eaters. Always thinking they’re better than everyone else. Well, you’re not!”

The man’s voice raised at the end, causing Draco to drag Hermione behind him, though Hermione resisted and tried to step around him again. “I apologized. I’m not sure what else you want from me,” Draco said coolly, schooling his expression.

“I want you in Azkaban. Where you belong. You and your bitch of a wife.” The man’s eyes landed on Hermione. “Is that Death Eater cock good enough for your golden cunt? Do you spread your legs for his daddy too?” Draco let out a sound as close to a growl as a human could get.

“Do not talk to my wife like that,” he said, moving his arm to actively hold Hermione back. “Do not talk to or about my wife at all.” The man barked a rude laugh.

“There you go again, thinking you’re better than everyone else. Better than me. Better than her.” He made a disgusted face, talking faster as he went. “Everybody loved her once! How does it feel to have ruined her? Made her a Death Eater whore. Now we all know she’ll open her legs for any disgusting filth.” A glob of spit landed on Draco’s shirt with a wet thwap.

“I told you to stop talk-“

Hermione stepped forward quickly, around Draco’s arm, grabbing a handful of the wizard’s robes before slamming him up into the brick wall, carefully jabbing her wand into the soft underside of the man’s chin.

“Granger, let him go,” Draco murmured, looking around discreetly, trying to make sure no one was watching them too closely.

The man in Hermione’s grip whimpered, tough guy façade immediately broken. Her wand under his chin left a deep imprint as Hermione shook with barely controlled rage.  “No,” she barked. “He called you a… A… A Death Eater!”

“Granger…” Draco paused, placing a hand on her forearm, “I am a Death Eater.”

Hermione’s fiery glare turned on Draco. “Ex… Ex-Death Eater. You served your time.” Her voice was hard, a tone that brooked no argument. “Maybe this man just needed a reminder,” she said, her glare swiveling back to him. The man trembled under the Golden Girl on fire.

“Hermione, my darling,” Draco’s cool tone hid his rising panic, moving a gentle hand to her shoulder. “If they see me with you doing this right now, they will send me back to Azkaban.”

Hermione sucked in a breath, obviously not having considered the potential consequences for him. Even Gryffindor’s Princess wouldn’t be able to stop them. He knew the Ministry was just waiting for him to mess up; Draco felt like he was constantly holding his breath because of it looming. She let the man go immediately, narrowing her eyes at him before taking a step back; the threat was more than clear. The man bolted, straightening his robes as he practically ran away.

She turned towards him and put a hand on his cheek. “You can’t go back there. I won’t let them send you back there.”

Draco took her hand in his. He lightly kissed her palm before letting it go by her side. “I know you would do your best.” It was the truth. He knew she would try; he just didn’t think she’d succeed.

“I almost cursed that man in broad daylight,” she said after a moment, her voice incredulous.

“I know.”

“I mean, honestly, what would Narcissa say?!”

Draco’s eyes flicked to hers, noticing the borderline mania. He wasn’t sure why they were considering his mother right now. He blinked, deciding her question was purely rhetorical. Eyes briefly landing on someone watching them, he laced their fingers together to distract her.

“Well, that was fun!” Hermione laughed, just a little too happy for Draco to be comfortable. Well, until he realized that she was trembling with rage. He didn’t wait any longer to think about it, he pulled her into his arms and apparated them home. Her chest was heaving, deep breaths obviously trying to keep emotions in check. She opened her mouth but Draco spoke before she could. “It’s okay. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” She buried her face in his chest, nuzzling.

“It isn’t fair,” she choked out, words muffled by the cloth of Draco’s shirt.

“What’s not fair?” he asked, carefully smoothing a hand over her hair. Hermione pulled back sharply. Not pulling herself from his arms, but enough so she could see his face. She stared at him, searching his face. One traitor tear rolled down her cheek; Draco wiped it away with his thumb. She had closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head, sniffling once. Draco’s heart had broken for her right there in the middle of their living shared room. And he didn’t even understand why.

 “It’s horrible, Draco.”

“What is?”

“That!” She huffed, exasperated with him already. “Obviously, I’m talking about how you get treated!” She raised her arms to grab his elbows. “I can’t believe there are still people that treat you like that!”

Draco sighed, eyes roving over her face where she leaned into his palm still on her cheek. “Hermione, that’s a common reaction. It happens all the time. And it’s a normal reaction; I can’t say that I would react differently.” She made a noise of outrage, bristling.

“No, you wouldn’t do that,” she argued, indignant. “You’re a good man, Draco Malfoy. And good men don’t treat people that way. Innocent people! People that were just a bunch of kids trying to survive and protect their family! People that served their time that they didn’t deserve!”

Draco rubbed his thumb back and forth over her cheek bone. “It’s okay. I can’t blame them. I’m just so, so sorry that now it’s happening to you too. I’m sorry I, and my family name, ruined some of the goodness of your name.” She made another noise of outrage, but didn’t speak. He paused as they stared at each other. “What were they thinking?” he asked rhetorically, quietly. “The Death Eater and the Golden Girl. The most righteous, soft-hearted one of them all. Can’t help but want to defend those that she thinks can’t defend themselves.”

“Ex,” was all Hermione had said in the moment.

“Pardon?”

“Ex-Death Eater,” she corrected, opening her eyes. “And I never want to hear you call yourself anything else ever again.

Draco had huffed a single laugh.

“I mean it, Draco Lucius Malfoy.” She met his eyes. “I will assault as many people as I need to to get it through their thick skulls that you’re my husband. And I will not take disrespect lying down. I’m Hermione fucking Granger, my husband and my family will be respected.”

“I know, my darling. I know.” He paused, attempting to lighten the mood. “But Granger, you’re a Malfoy now,” Draco reminded. She pursed her lips and side-eyed him. “Isn’t ‘Granger’ your first name?” He asked.

“Surprisingly not.”

“Are you sure?” She just stared. “Pity. I think it’s quite fitting.”

 

At least this Daily Prophet was better.

 

***

 

The Heir Adores Our Heroine

Has she been fooled? Or has he changed?

Our favorite match made in soul magic was seen in Diagon Alley yesterday, enjoying the sun like most of Britain. Draco Malfoy, heir to the House of Malfoy, was seen strolling happily with Hermione Granger, war heroine, hand-in-hand. Dear readers, it has only been 6 weeks since their extravagant wedding was hosted in the Malfoy Manor gardens and they look absolutely in love.

Should we be expecting some happy news from the couple in the near future?

 

***

 

A rainy Sunday two weeks later had both Draco and Hermione camped out in the Manor library. The fire was keeping the chill that came from both the rain and the Manor at bay so both sat on the couch directly in front. They decided, in a strange agreement, that they both would read for fun today. Draco sat with his long legs spread in front of him while Hermione sat sideways, her toes tucked under his leg.

“Ugh,” she sighed, after almost an hour of silence between the two. “I should have known.”

“Should’ve known what?”

“That this book was going to raise my expectations.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, finally looking up at her. She was gripping some romance book the Weaselette had given her.

“Well, I’m already married, aren’t I?” she asked, flashing him the diamond and sapphire ring she wore now.

“Well, I mean… yes?”

“This man has tattoos. I mean, you can always get tattoos but this one already ha-“

”Granger, I have tattoos.”

“Ah, that doesn’t count,” she protested, waving a dismissive hand towards his left forearm. “That’s a brand given to you by a mad man.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. “No, I have- Have you never seen-“ he trailed off while undoing the cuff of his sleeve. As he rolled it up towards his elbow, he revealed more and more ink. Hermione turned toward him to see what he was doing, moving closer to him on the couch. Her eyes lighting up the more was revealed, a mixture of curiosity and just a little bit of heat.

The tattoos covering Draco’s left forearm consisted entirely of colorful flowers. From just above his wrist, looking like it continued far up his arm under his shirt sleeve. The ever-expected narcissus twining with pansies and decorating the outside of the gray mottled skull and snake. Hermione frowned, running a finger over it. Draco cleared his throat.

“Ah, it looked like that after he died.” He shrugged. “But the dark magic still exists within it, I guess. I can still feel it; it burns sometimes. It can’t be covered up; every time I’ve tried, it has sucked all of the ink out. Leaving the same disgusting look of it. So I tried to tattoo around it. Hide with something else as much as I could.”

Hermione was still dragging her fingers over the flowers. “What are all of these?” she asked, glancing up at him. “I only recognize some.”

“What do you recognize?”

“Well, obviously narcissus and pansies.” She trailed her finger over as she named them. “Bluebell. Gladiolus. This looks like rosemary.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I studied mostly magical plants.”

Draco grabbed her hand gently, moving it over each plant as he named them. “The greenery is aloe for grief, arborvitae for lasting friendship, rosemary for remembrance, and sage for wisdom.”

“Did you really use the language of flowers?” Her voice was both incredulous and teasing.

“Hush. It’s a pureblood thing.” He continued: “Bluebell for humility. Hyssop for sacrifice. Amaryllis - pride. Zinnia - lasting affection. Gladiolus – victory.” He cleared his throat, letting go of her hand.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have more?” Her curiosity was obviously piqued. Draco nodded.

“Up the rest of my arm, across my chest. And my back. Down one leg.”

“Can I see them?” She looked up at him, eyes excitedly pleading.

“I can’t believe you’re using puppy dog eyes on me right now.” He sighed. “I can’t believe I’m falling for them.” She laughed as he started to unbutton his shirt, twisting around to get it completely off his arms. He watched, smug, as Hermione’s eyes trailed over his torso, scanning down and down until– “I think I’ll leave my trousers on for now.”
                Hermione squeaked realizing she’d been caught, blushing a deep shade of red. She covered her flaming cheeks with her hands. This was the first time she had seen him shirtless. He was hoping it wouldn’t be the last. “It’s not like you don’t know that you’re fit,” she argued, shaking her head.

Draco chuckled. “Well, go on then. Take a look.” He expected Hermione to do just that: look. But it was obvious she was too excited. She pulled her legs under her, getting up onto her knees, and turning to face him more. She started her exploration on the rest revealed on his arm. The flowers continued until about mid-bicep until they blended into the next tattoo.

The only problem with her exploration was that it started on the arm away from her. Draco froze as he felt her sling one leg over the thigh closest to her; one knee on the outside of his leg and one knee resting between his legs. His eyes darted to her face, waiting for her to smirk at him because she had to know what she was doing. Right? But he was wrong. She wasn’t looking at his face, she wasn’t smirking, and she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was now straddling one of his thighs. Draco took a deep breath and hoped to Merlin his body behaved.

“Fire and water?” she asked, tracing the swirls of intertwining elements. The elements banded around the bicep before traveling up to twirl around the tail of the tattoo on the right side of his chest.

He cleared his throat, snapping himself back to attention. “Fire for Blaise, obviously,” he said a bit dryly. “The water is Theo. The three of them,” he murmured, gesturing to the pansies, “Are the only things that kept me alive 6^th year. Constants that wouldn’t go away no matter how far and hard I tried to push them.” He gestured to the thigh she wasn’t straddling, “Theo and I have matching tattoos also. Blaise does all the work.”

She looked up at him, seeming shocked at the Blaise aspect before her eyes moved back to his skin. As she moved on from his arm, she leaned back onto her heels but didn’t move away. He could feel the warmth of her. Even through his trousers and the things she called ‘leggings’ (which happened to be Draco’s favorite new piece of muggle clothing. Skin tight trousers that can barely say they’re trousers? Sign him up.) She was completely oblivious to the mental breakdown she was causing him.

Innocently, she followed the ink up and onto his chest. “A dragon,” she murmured, running her finger down the right side of his chest. “How original.” Her sarcasm was thick.

“It’s actually the Keeper,” he said, trying to distract himself and gesturing to the framed crest above the fireplace. The Keeper was floating mid frame and watching them with keen green eyes. “And to be fair, I was fifteen and I was still proud to be a Malfoy.” She glanced up at his face. “But I do have an Ukrainian Ironbelly on my back.”

Hermione hummed. “Like the one I rode,” she said distractedly.

“Like the one you… rode?”

“Yeah, out of Gringotts. It was the one guarding the Lestrange vault. When we went to get the Hufflepuff cup.” She spoke like she wasn’t talking about encountering a dragon. “It was barbaric. The poor thing was half-blind and treated so poorly.” She had rested her palm against the Keeper tattoo as she talked, eyes far away. “Conditioned to expect pain when you shook these… clankers or something at it. It was heartbreaking.” She shrugged. “Griphook had abandoned us. And so when the goblins were alerted, we had to make a quick escape and there was just no way I could leave the dragon there. So we set it free and it made quick work of the building.” She chuckled.

“You were the ones that destroyed the ceiling of Gringotts?” Draco was in awe.

“Yeah. The goblins still don’t like to see the three of us,” she said with another chuckle.

“Can’t imagine why,” he said dryly.

She gave a huff of a laugh again, then returned her attention to his tattoos. It was strange to see her so fascinated with something he thought was so trivial. He leaned his head back against the head rest of the couch, trying to keep himself calm. But she was suddenly, what felt like, wriggling against his thigh, trying to move back enough the see the tattoo across his stomach. Her hand still drifted down his abdomen.

One hand shot out to grab her traveling hand. “Hermione,” Draco groaned, his other hand flying to her hips as he lifted his head. “If you don’t stop wiggling, you’re going to get a lot more than just a view of my tattoos.”

She paused, looking up at him in curiosity until she seemed to realize all of the things that were occurring. She shifted again, her weight settling more firmly against his thigh. Her eyes flicked down to his lips before going back up to his eyes. She licked her lips, whether or not that was intentional was not to be seen. He watched her cheeks turn pink.

Draco tilted his head slowly, one side of his mouth lifting in his trademark smirk. “What’s wrong?” he teased, still just watching her. Her blush spread down her neck and across her decolletage. Heart racing, Draco leaned just forward enough to whisper next to her ear. “What that your plan all along, pet? Get us comfortable and then find a reason to sit on my lap?

She gasped. Her thighs tensed on either side of his. “What?! No!” She sounded affronted, but also breathy. Draco smirked against her skin as he laid a gentle kiss just behind her ear. Her free hand shot up to grip his shoulder.

“I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice dropping low. “Through those skimpy things you call trousers.” She gave a small laugh. “I can feel how hot you are.” He felt her shiver lightly. He didn’t think she could turn any more red, but here she was, proving him wrong again. “Can you feel it? How wet you are for your husband?” Her breathing sped up, puffing against his neck. She shifted again, nodding. He hummed against her ear.

They hadn’t even kissed yet, unless you counted the quick peck at the wedding. Which he didn’t. But here he was, whispering things he shouldn’t. He wanted to tell her all the things he wanted to do to her, but didn’t want to scare her off. But could he even scare The Hermione Granger off?

“The more I talk to you, the worse it gets, doesn’t it?” She gave a small hum in affirmation. She seemed a bit more settled, getting herself under control. “I could take such good care of. I bet if I slid those leggings down, let me get a feel of how wet you are, I could make you feel so good.” She shifted against his thigh again, a subtle rock that sent sparks right to his cock.

“I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck you. What you would look like underneath me. Or riding me. What you would feel like wrapped around my cock. How hot you would be, how I would fit just perfectly inside you. Merlin, you would feel amazing. I’d love to find out how you feel under my fingers, how you taste on my tongue.” He nuzzled against her lightly. “Because it’s not a ‘if I taste you’ it’s a ‘when I taste you’.” She made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded like a moan. “Tell me to stop, Granger. And I’ll stop.” Without hesitation, she shook her head, the grip on his shoulder tightening. “That’s it. You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?

“Do you think about it, too? How I’ll feel inside you. How deep I’ll get.” He rolled his hips against her lightly. “Merlin, I wish I could take you now. Right on this couch, in the middle of my library. Pull those leggings off and get my face between those creamy thighs. Eat my fill before I fuck you.”

She sighed. “You can,” she whispered. He shook his head with a groan.

                “Not today, Granger.” With both hands on her hips, he began to rock her against his thigh. One hand remained on his shoulder with a strong grip, her other hand covered his on her hips. “Could you get off on this? Take it, Granger.”

                Surprisingly, she nodded with a whimper. “Take what? Keep talking.” she asked, her voice husky.

                “Take what you want. Chase your high. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You can have it from me. Whatever you want, Granger.” She gave a soft moan, rocking her hips in earnest now. “You’re such a good girl.” She shuddered. “I knew praise was going to do it for you. You’re so good.” He backed away from her so he could look at her as she rode his thigh. She was rocking herself all on her own now. Her head tilted back on her neck as she panted. “Merlin, you are exquisite. I can’t wait to watch you ride another dragon.” They both gave a laugh, though both were breathy and soft. “This is yours. Take it, pet. Come for your husband.” She was now looking at him, her face completely flushed. Eyes bright but unfocused.

                She didn’t come on command, because honestly, how could people do that? But his words did cause her to shudder and move faster. Which was good enough for him. The breath caught in her throat as she bared down on him, rocking herself as he whispered more things to her. How perfect she looked. How good she already felt. How good she would feel when he was inside her. How good she was. It only took a few more minutes before her body tensed and she gasped as she trembled against him, her thighs shaking around his own, her head falling back on her neck again. She let out a quiet moan to the ceiling. He tangled his fingers in the ends of her hair as they both caught their breath. She rolled her head back up after a few moments of aftershocks. Brown eyes glassy and unfocused, mouth slack with satisfaction. Draco was immediately smug.

“Merlin, you are amazing.” He whispered, kissing her forehead, though she tried to kiss his lips. “I’ve never seen anything like you. I can’t believe you came just from riding my thigh. Such a fucking dirty girl, aren’t you, pet?.” She put both hands on the sides of his face to draw his lips to her. He avoided, kissing the underside of her jaw instead. “Not today, Granger. I want you to mean it the first time you kiss me.” She groaned an unhappy noise but stopped. She scrambled off him when she realized she still on his thigh. She pushed hair back from sweaty and flushed face, smiling shyly at him.

“Thank you?” she said as a question. He let out a real laugh and she joined in quickly. “I’m sorry!” she cried in between her laughter. “I don’t know what to say!” She lightly swatted his chest as they both themselves in order. She grabbed her book again and snuggled into his side.

And that was good enough for him.

 

***

 

“What are you two talking about now? You do a lot of whispering,” Draco teased.

They were once again seated in the informal dining room. Hermione was no longer sitting next to him, as per usual.

Hermione shrugged. “Just… ah, relieving the Minister of his position, who we should… assist to be elected until I’m ready to take the job, and how to make sure Mr. Kapernik gets the blame.”

Draco blinked, shocked not only at the plan itself, but also her laissez faire tone. Draco and Lucius exchanged a quick glance followed by two nervous chuckles. Surely they were joking. Narcissa and Hermione both furrowed their brows and frowned at their respective husbands. Draco looked contemplative, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he thought.

He looked at his father again. He and Lucius both knew they would do a lot to protect what’s theirs, but even they were a little concerned when murder was discussed so offhandedly.

 “Just kidding, of course.” Hermione gave a small giggle with a wave of her hand.

Draco and Lucius gave matching relieved laughs, though they were a bit forced. “Of course you are, my darling.”

Hermione rose gracefully from her seat, walking around the table to him. She leaned down to kiss Draco’s cheek, Draco offering it to her. “There’s no need to discuss that,” she murmured quietly to him. “That plan is already in action.” Draco froze, smile falling as Hermione leaned her face back just a little. She winked. “Please excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.” And at that, Hermione turned on her heel and strode from the room.

Narcissa merely dabbed her lips with a napkin and smiled.

 

Later in their living room, Draco sipped from a squat glass of Fire Whisky: “You’re very committed to framing people,” he said nonchalantly, like it was just an offhanded thought. Like his Ministry Official wife hadn’t been discussing murdering the Minister.

Hermione had her back to him, writing something on a piece of parchment. “Well, yeah. If you don’t attach a person to the… unfortunate situation, people get suspicious and won’t stop searching for answers.” She turned around to face him. “And then I would have to take much more,” she paused, obviously searching for the right word. “Drastic measures.”

“Do Potter and Weaselbee know that you’re this crazy?”

She laughed. “Obviously not. Harry is too pure and Ron is too oblivious.”

“Stupid,” Draco corrected. “I can’t wait to tell them all these things I’ve found out about you.”

Hermione’s smile turned just a little too happy for Draco’s comfort. “They’ll never believe you.”

Draco considered this thought. “Damnit!”

“They might be more likely to believe you if you hadn’t lied about being a Death Eater in year 6.”

Draco gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “No one asked me! I wasn’t even given the chance to lie!”

“A lie of omission is still a lie.”

“That’s just what people say when they learn they’ve been outsmarted. You could learn a thing or two from a real Slytherin.”

Hermione huffed a laugh before turning to walk away from him. “In your dreams, Malfoy!” He reached out to catch her wrist.

“Every night, Granger. I assure you. You’re the star of all my inappropriate thoughts.” Granger blushed, looking around to avoid making eye contact. “Oh, I see. You can be a homicidal maniac but a little flirting from your husband is too much.” Draco smirked. “I know my charm is irresistible. But, please, do try to control yourself.”

“Merlin, save me from the arrogance.”

“It’s not arrogance if it’s true.”

Hermione continued like she hadn’t been interrupted. “I’m not a maniac.”

“Yet.”

 

So, maybe, there was a way Draco Malfoy feared his wife and mother. Why? Did they ask?

Notes:

Hope it wasn't terrible!

I am a spicy person. Please remember that when leaving comments. *insert evil laughing emoji here*

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Domestic Murdery Fluff Time