Author's Note: I own no person, no place, no thing – except the plot! If you recognize it, it probably belongs to Ms. Rowling or some other awesome super-human.
This is the Second part of a three part series of one-shots. I am endeavoring to make them stand-alone pieces that you can put together, should you choose to.
Number Two: Black
It was early, probably only four in the morning, when he stole out of the bed he shared with his wife, and quickly dressed in the clothing he'd set aside for today. Even after more than four years of sleeping by her side as her husband, he knew of only three occasions where Hermione had been awake this early, and each of those times had been because she was sick. Those three times had happened between three and four months ago, when her pregnancy was just getting under way. Now, in her fifth month, the nausea was long gone, and sleep was her master.
Draco hadn't meant to knock her up, obviously. It was an accident, and they both took the blame for it. Everyone in the Order was disgusted with them though, and in the end a mandatory house-wide contraception spell had been cast over Grimauld Place. No one regretted the baby, it wasn't as if she wasn't going to be the most spoiled and beloved little Princess in all of London, but the timing was God-awful. Hermione didn't need to be incapacitated by pregnancy right now, of all times. Draco didn't need to be distracted by her incapacitation. But here they were, preparing for the grand, final battle, and Hermione was good and stuffed.
He picked up his boots and cloak, and his satchel of armor, and quietly exited the bedroom on the fourth floor of Number Twelve Grimauld Place to sneak down into the kitchens on the main level. It really was a good thing this house had so many stories, because there were a damned lot of people that had to live here now. Of the five bedrooms on this floor alone, Draco could count three other couples besides himself and Hermione, plus Molly Weasley. And that was just on this floor.
Draco imagined, after all the extensions and additions they'd made over the past three years, Grimauld Place looked much like the Burrow. Topsy turvy and a little uneven on some sides, but it served its purpose well; as time had gone on and the members of the Order had dwindled and found themselves with no better living options, Grimauld Place had grown. Fred and George, Ginny, Blaise, Seamus and Neville. Draco and Severus, Harry and Ron. Between them and their spouses, as well as their many associates and operatives, there were no less than twenty-five souls living and breathing in this house.
Twenty-six if you counted the baby. And Draco definitely counted her.
And at the center of them all was Draco's violent, creative, and well-read wife. Hermione was the Leader of their terrorist organization. That's what the Order of the Phoenix was now, when it came down to it. They were fighting to overthrow an unstable, dangerous and corrupt government that had come in and swept up the Ministry and half of the British Isles. But one thing that Hermione had shown them examples of over and over again, was that whether in distant or recent Muggle history, or even in today's newspapers for that matter, that if you cut off the head of an evil Totalitarian regime, the entire structure weakens and collapses on itself.
Finally, after four years of searching, sneaking, spying, and ultimately, discovering, the Order had rooted out and destroyed the last of Voldemort's cursed Horcruxes. Today they would attack their enemy in what Draco hoped would be the Final Battle. For better or for worse, the Order was as ready as they could ever be, and Voldemort was only going to remain this weak for a limited amount of time before he came up with some new horror to prolong his life and amplify his perverted powers.
That damned snake, Nagini, was far more slippery to catch than a simple teacup, and bit a damned lot harder than any tiara. Neville had nearly died twice after being bitten by her, but the third time had done the trick. Now the cursed snake's head was floating in a rather large jar of ether in Fred and George's Weapons R&D room down in the basement. This was where the Order stored all of their 'spoils of war', as Hermione called them. Neville's trophy currently sat on the corner of Fred's worktable, surrounded by bits of copper wire and metal casings.
Draco passed down the hallway and down the winding stairs, finally pushing open the heavy wooden kitchen door. He didn't have to bother being quiet anymore, the main floor had been reinforced with silencio charms so many times that the spell had eventually stuck, creating a sound-proof barrier that separated the sleeping and working quarters from this level, which housed most of the activities and common areas. Here was the kitchen and dining room, the music room, the Order's conference room, a small living area with a Muggle television, and a large playroom for the young children that had the misfortune of coming through here with their Order member parents. The study and Hermione's library had been moved to the second floor, along with Draco and Severus's Potions Lab. Fred and George's Weapons Research and Development Room took up most of the basement that wasn't used for training space.
Fred and George had devoted much time, energy, and most of all, creativity in the development of hybrid Muggle bombs and other projectile weaponry that would help win this War. After so many years, going down into the Weapons R&D room was a little like venturing onto the surface of the Moon. The walls were pocked and scarred from explosions, and the floor was pitted and rutted down into the bedrock of London from the scale-model dungeon-detector missiles they'd developed. These hand-sized missiles could be dropped onto rooftops by the Order's assassins, Ginny, Blaise, Seamus and Neville, as they flew overhead on their brooms. Silently, the bombs would drill their way down through the path of least resistance until they reached a certain temperature/moisture/chemical composition of rock or masonry that meant it had reached either a dungeon or bedrock, then…
BOOM.
No more Death Eater hideout.
No more torture chamber.
The bombs destabilized the entire structures so badly that they quickly crumbled in on themselves, leaving nothing but dust and debris, and many, many dead Death Eaters.
In the midst of all the chaos and stress and plans of war, there were few things the members of the Order managed to maintain to keep the craziness at bay. Being cooped up in the house for days and weeks on end left them with very few diversions, until Hermione and Draco had come up with the brilliant idea of Mandatory Music.
Two years ago, Draco had been ready to tear his hair out after spending one month of too long days and nights bent over the beakers and cauldrons in the Lab working on a variation of camouflage face paint. Hermione had hopes that if they infused the paint with hybrid shielding potions, it would deflect even the most deadly of curses. Draco had finally given up after spending fourteen hours bent over a particularly noxious black paint that had eventually burnt its way through his worktable – definitely not suitable for application to the skin - and had found himself instead in the long disused music room, strumming idly on an old acoustic guitar.
By the time Hermione, Fred and George found him in there that evening, he'd been joined by Severus, Ron, Neville, Blaise, and Molly. Hermione and the twins walked in on a crazy collection of half-mad musicians of all talents, banging away in a hideous and rollicking jam session that sounded like Gaelic folk-music being butchered by an American rock band. A clumsy, rabid one, at that. While the twins dropped to the ground, laughing, Hermione slid onto the piano bench next to Molly, examined the sheet music, and took up singing the song Molly was playing.
Draco already knew that she had a lovely voice. He'd known for years, since the day he'd caught her in the Head's Common Room singing love songs and painting her toenails. In the eight years he'd loved her, and in the four years he'd been married to her, nothing yet sent a thrill spiking through his body like hearing her sweet, husky voice raised in song.
And so, Hermione and the twins took up the singing, and at Fred's request, the tambourine playing. Draco thought it was bloody hilarious how much Fred liked the tambourine. George even seemed a little embarrassed by his brother's flagrant enthusiasm, and refused to touch the instrument himself.
By the time Harry and Dumbledore had returned from their most recent Horcrux quest, the Grimauld Place Mandatory Music Decree had been set in place. Dumbledore had been thrilled of course, and actually produced a tin whistle from his pocket as soon as he'd heard the news.
And so they played. Collaborations for holidays, for funerals, for stress-relief, and for fun, all varying in number of players and musical theme, but the main rule was this: You had to play something or you'd have to sing, and you had to play for and with others.
The Mandatory Music Decree did more than just offer a distraction and keep the stress of War at bay. It brought them closer together, more like a family than mere allies. Seamus and Hermione had their families well and hidden halfway around the world, so besides the Weasley's, Draco's entire generation was essentially orphans and blood-traitors. So, Draco, Severus, Ginny and Harry formed a string quartet that delved widely into baroque and bluegrass; Ron, Neville, and Blaise played backup for Fred and George's rock and swing ventures, and Hermione and Molly interwove into everyone's interests. Duets, solo's, acapella or with a full band, Dumbledore's tin whistle or no, at least once every month the House would host a Music night in which all Order members were invited to come listen. On those nights, unless it was of utmost emergency, Order business was not discussed. They'd share a meal and music, swap stories, and let the weight of this damned War fade from their shoulders for the night.
It was, in truth a lifesaver. Despite the fear and stress of War and death that hovered in their periphery, Draco had laughed more in this house than he'd ever done in his life. The music brought lightness, the light gave way to comedy, the comedy brought the laughter that healed the hurt and inspired hope where it had lay dying. More than one person had thanked Hermione and Draco for keeping Mandatory Music in effect for so long. Tonks had asked Draco recently if he'd teach five year old Teddy the acoustic guitar, and so last month Teddy had joined the family band.
This morning, Draco set the tea kettle to boil. His guitar was fetched up against the hearth just like he'd left it the night before. He'd been working on an old Foo Fighters song, one with a lot of repetitive, rapid finger work. It was very classical, in a way, and very soothing, as it required him to pay attention to the music and not to the chaos in his head. The potions he and Severus had been working on, the agitation at misplacing a piece of his dragon-hide armor, his fear for and deep love of Hermione and the baby… these things faded into the background of his mind as he ran his fingers up and down the frets and plucked at the strings with his fingertips.
"Wake up, it's time
We need to find a better place to hide"
Draco knew no one could actually hear him, but he still felt like he was singing a wake-up call to his compatriots. Today was THE day. The Order of the Phoenix was not going to give Voldemort a chance to regroup and recover from his final lost Horcrux, they were going to strike while the old snake's headless body was still cooling in the front lawn of Malfoy Manor. His family's home was an abomination, but it was still one of the most hard-to-access magical sites in all of Britain, second only to Hogwarts, Voldemort's other stronghold. One of the greatest things that Draco was looking forward to with the conclusion of this day – outside of the great possibility of ridding the world of the most evil and cruel human to exist in this century – was the idea of scourgifying every speck of blackness from the walls and halls of the Manor and from the Castle. He wanted these things for his daughter. He wanted the glory of the Manor and the beauty of the Castle to stand in her mind as the scions of magical wealth and wonder that they had been in his childhood.
His fingers ran up and down the frets. Up down, up down, as he quietly sang along his mourning song at the start of this day.
"Sweet and divine
Razor of mine
Sweet and divine
Razorblade shine"
Draco loved blood. He loved his enemy's blood, more accurately. He loved watching it swirl and spill in rivers around his feet. He loved seeing it splashed across his wife's face as she ripped one of their enemies apart. One of his favorite memories in this War was from just last month, when Hermione had ripped his Uncle Rodolphus limb from limb. That sadistic bastard's black blood had burst from his body in great rushing torrents, irreversible, and irreplaceable. He'd loved seeing his Aunt Bellatrix wail in despair as her husband was torn apart. The anguish and madness in her eyes when she saw that it was her own nephew's mudblood wife had been priceless to behold.
It hadn't been like this in the beginning. For the first year or so, the Order had tried to stun, capture, and interrogate. But the losses on their side kept piling up, and over time the Enemy made the fight more and more personal as they targeted specific members of the Order. Having red hair was common among the members of the Order, mostly because of the many, many Weasley's that were committed to the cause. Draco's platinum hair, Blaise's dark skin, Harry's glasses, Hermione's chaotic curls, these details that distinguished them from each other also made them recognizable to the Death Eaters. Case in point, Ginny's sterilization at the hands of Draco's sadistic father. Lucius Malfoy knew exactly what he was doing when he aimed that curse at the midsection of the only female Weasley of child-bearing age, who was also the known wife of his Master's nemesis. And so, when Hermione pointed out that Muggle soldiers all shaved their heads, which made them all rather indistinguishable on the battlefield, Dumbledore and Potter were first in the line to get their heads shaved.
Draco and Blaise had the hardest time with it, not purely because of their own vanity, which was considerable, but because as the two greatest blood-traitors in the Order, they were the most proud to let their enemies know who was bringing them down. They didn't want to hide in the crowd.
Draco was also disturbed to see his wife's scalp without her mad curls around her. Ginny's new look suited her, really. It echoed her anger nicely, made her look more savage, and naturally made her indistinguishable from her fellow male Assassins. But Draco's wife was… smaller. She looked unbelievably tiny and innocent without her wild mane, like a woodland pixie.
A woodland pixie with dragon-hide armor and a baby bump. Gods, they were so screwed up.
"Day after day
Cutting away
Day after day"
Draco heard the kitchen door swing open as his compatriots started marching in. Their camouflage cloaks and dragon-hide armor swished and creaked as they all took their positions in their attack groups. Ginny and the Assassins took up Draco's song as they opened up pots of shield paint and colored each other's faces. Harry and Ron stood close to the fire, warming their hands and speaking quietly to each other. Fred and George assisted Hermione in pulling down cups, grinding coffee, and setting out packed tea balls.
Draco almost lost track of his fingers when he caught sight of Dumbledore bent over speaking quietly to Kreacher. He knew Kreacher wouldn't give his secret away, but still, Dumbledore was a very astute and shrewd individual. Draco cut his eyes over to Hermione, but she was busy attending to the tea. He needed to keep her attention away from the house-elf and the old wizard. The last thing Draco needed this morning was for Hermione to get distracted sniffing out Draco's alternate plans.
Running his fingers hurriedly up and down the chords of the last refrain of his song, Draco let his own voice drift off as Ginny and her painted assassins drowned him out. Ginny had painted her entire head black, except for a long gray line that extended low across her cheeks and across her lips from ear to ear, like a vile, split open, decayed mouth. Neville and the other men had great gray ovals, like empty eye sockets, painted over their eyes, along with the long gray mouth to match Ginny's. Next to her companions, she looked like a sightless, cave-dwelling undead thing, which seemed unbelievably creepy to Draco.
But despite the unbelievable creepiness, the shield paint did work. And the black color did the double duty of hiding their faces in the dark, and obscuring their individuality even more. Looking at the Assassins, Draco could hardly tell the difference between them. They were androgynous, dark, and infinitely lethal creatures. Perfect, really.
Draco finished the last chords of the song just as his wife came to stand in front of him, holding two mugs. Her eyes were bright with excitement and bloodlust, but she also looked sallow, stretched, and moderately unhealthy. The pregnancy and stress of War was taking too great a toll on her, and Draco shuddered to think that it might last beyond today. No matter what, Hermione needed to be done with this War soon, for the sake of her life as much as the sake of the baby's life.
That's why Draco had an alternate plan, which he'd acted on just last night.
/…../
Draco snuck into the kitchen and locked and silenced the door before heading off to the corner cupboard that Kreacher used as his private sleeping chamber. He tapped on it, and Kreacher's wrinkled head eventually popped out, followed by his equally wrinkled body.
"What can Kreacher do for Master?"
Draco knelt down on the floor so that he was eye level with the house-elf. "Kreacher, do you agree that I am your last true remaining Black Master?"
"Yes, Master."
"And that my word as your Master has more hold than Master Potter's?"
"Yes, Master."
"And do you believe that I will do everything in my power to shelter and keep you in the Black Family as long as I am able?"
"Oh, yes, Master. Kreacher must stay with the Black Family. It is Kreacher's only wish to stay with the Black Family!"
"Kreacher, are there any other Black descendants alive today?"
"No, Master. The Tonks witch comes from the banished one's line, she and her child have no sway…"
"What about my wife, Kreacher?" Draco knew full well that Kreacher couldn't stand Hermione. He'd spent too many years under the corrupt teachings of his former Mistress to abandon his old blood-prejudice. But as Draco's wife, Hermione could still order Kreacher to do things if she needed to, and so the two had learned to avoid each other. Kreacher avoided Hermione to spare himself the humiliation of serving a Muggle-born Mistress, and Hermione avoided Kreacher to spare herself from being forced to order him to behave.
Kreacher bowed his head. "Yes, Master's wife is a Black as well."
Draco chose to ignore the mumblings and muttering that came along after that sentence dropped from Kreacher's lips like a brick to the cold tiles. The little bugger might not be willing, but he was still bound.
'Kreacher, what about my heir?"
"Master's heir?" Kreacher blinked.
Draco frowned. "Kreacher, you know Hermione is pregnant."
"Yes, Master."
"And she's my wife."
"Yes, Mas-" Kreacher cut himself off as the obvious implication hit him. He turned his wizened face up to peer disgustedly at Draco.
"Master's Heir is growing in the mud-" Draco slapped his hand over Kreacher's mouth.
"Kreacher! If you say that word again in your life I will put you in a dress and throw you out the front door!"
Kreacher's face turned bright red, and he nodded unhappily. Draco removed his hand.
"Now, Kreacher, my heir, the last Black remaining in this world besides my wife and I, is still small and weak, too weak to survive on her own. She needs her Mother to stay alive, healthy and strong, if she is to make it. You don't want the Black line to die out now do you?"
Kreacher shook his head violently as his eyes grew wide and took on a glassy, far away look.
"Master's heir is female?" Kreacher asked softly, almost wistfully.
"Yes, and she will be named Lyra, in keeping with Black family tradition. But I need your help, Kreacher. Tomorrow we will go fight, and there is nothing I have been able to say or do to keep Hermione from joining. And so I come to you, Kreacher. I want you to follow us in secret tomorrow, and keep Hermione from harm. She will be hidden from the actual battle tending the wounded, but she still needs to be defended. Will you go? Will you protect the last of my line?"
Kreacher burst into tears and threw himself at Draco's feet.
"Kreacher will, Master! Oh, Kreacher has waited so long for a new Mistress Black! Anything the tiny Mistress needs, Kreacher will be happy to serve! So happy!" Kreacher wailed and cried and clutched Draco's shoelaces, covering them in elf tears. Draco reached down and awkwardly patted the ancient house-elf's head, then kindly pulled him back up to his feet. Kreacher sniffled, and loudly blew his nose on his scruffy toga.
"I'll be counting on you, Kreacher. I have to fight with Master Potter and the others. You alone will guard Mistress and the baby."
"No, not alone, Master. Winky will come with Kreacher to protect the Young Mistress Black."
"Winky? Won't she be with Molly and the Order children here during the battle?" Winky's turn-around had been something to behold. Her long-standing battle with butterbeer had finally been overcome the first time Tonks brought little Teddy into Order Headquarters four years ago.
Winky loved babies.
As soon as she saw Baby Teddy she threw off her drunkenness and devoted herself as the Order Nanny. No one except Molly Weasley could take care of their children the way Winky could.
"The Mother Weasley will stay with the children, as well as Master Severus. Winky will come with Kreacher to protect the Young Mistress Black."
"But, will she be willing to leave the children? I don't want to force her to-"
"Winky is Kreacher's grand-daughter. Winky will do as Kreacher asks," Kreacher gave Draco an appraising look. Draco was shocked. Kreacher had a family of his own? Draco grinned down at the house-elf.
"Well, now, Kreacher. I see you have it all in hand then. Carry on. Oh, and Kreacher. If Master Potter gives you a similar command concerning his own wife, don't disregard it because of my request. Try to work with Winky to keep both of our wives safe, as needed."
"Yes, Master."
/…../
Draco propped his guitar against the table and reached out to take the mugs from his wife's hands. He set them on the table as well, then reached out and ran his hands across Hermione's dragon armor breastplate. It had a wider, flanged bottom hem that covered her growing bump, and Draco's hands dipped under the leather hem and un-tucked her shirt to caress her bare belly. Hermione scooted closer to him, standing between his legs as his arms curved around her belly to her back, tugging her into him. He rested his forehead on her armored bump.
"She's kicking you, you know," Hermione said quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear.
Draco's head popped up to look at his wife.
"Is she really?" His hands came back around to her belly and waited patiently for the telltale thumps. Lyra was still tiny enough that he had to pay careful attention, but he'd reveled in every bump and flutter that he'd felt since she first started to noticeably stir in her mother's womb. He ran his fingers along Hermione's warm flesh, tickling as he waited.
"There! Stop there," Hermione whispered as Lyra got started again.
Thump. Thump-thump. Thump.
Draco beamed. Then he remembered where he was and what they were about to do and his face clouded up. He dropped his forehead back down to rest against Hermione again.
"Please stay here, Princess. Stay with Molly and the children, please?"
"Draco, we're not doing this again. You know you can't change my mind, and besides, where will we be if the battle goes badly today? Lyra and I will be safe, we'll be helping, and we'll have an advance heads-up if our side fails today. Which we won't, of course. So stop whining and save your energy for the real fight. Do you have all of your armor and your weapons bag?"
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Mum. I brushed my teeth too, in case you were wondering."
Hermione slapped his shoulder playfully. "Well, that's good. Proper dental care is very important," she said teasingly. Hermione had been quite vigilant in teaching everyone the ways and why's of proper Muggle-style tooth care, from flossing and rinsing to allowing her to prod around in their mouths with her wand and a mirror looking for weak spots that needed tending. Her parents would be proud.
Draco was about to snap off a witty reply when Harry brought them to attention with a loud "Oi!" from in front of the fireplace. There were so many people crowded in the room that Draco could barely see him until everyone started settling down at the table or leaning against the walls and counters. Hermione squeezed Draco's shoulder, then disengaged her body from his and worked her way through the crowd to stand at Harry's side.
"All right, I just wanted to say a few words before we head out today. This is it, right? And we all know not one of us would have ever lived this long or gotten so much accomplished if it wasn't for the determination and sacrifice of everyone in this room, plus all the people that didn't make it to be here with us. I want you all to know how much it means to me that you left your regular lives behind, and threw away your chances on escaping to some far-flung safe corner of the world to help me bring Him down. I want you all to know that I'd have given anything to have ended this War years ago, and I'm so very sorry it's taken so long to bring us to this moment." Harry shifted and looked around at the people crammed into the room. Then he blushed and continued in a quieter voice.
"I want you all to know that I pray for you, every night. All of you. I pray for your safety and your sanity, and I pray that when this war comes to an end that we will all live in peace for the rest of our lives. I think that's what I would like the most for every one of you, a nice, peaceful, quiet life after we win." Harry smiled a little, then raised his mug.
"A quiet life." He said. Mugs were lifted, and voices repeated, "A quiet life!"
Fred and George lifted their mugs, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders.
"We just want to let you all know,"
"Unless we both drop dead today,"
"That's never going,"
"To happen!"
They spoke in unison then, "To the Grand Re-Opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"
Everyone laughed and clapped. Fred and George toasted each other and the people around them as Hermione put her hand on Harry's shoulder and hoisted herself up on the table top.
"I think the thing that I'm looking forward to the most is watching our children running across the grounds at Hogwarts. Playing Quidditch, teasing the giant squid, playing hide and seek in Hagrid's pumpkin patch. I want to believe that the damage He has done can be repaired quickly and easily, and that these past several years will be nothing but an unpleasant memory in no time at all. I want to re-make our world into the place of wonder and joy it used to be when we were children. I want to grow old with my husband and my family all around me, and I want each and every one of you to be there the whole way."
There were murmurs of affirmation and a few chuckles in remembrance of fun times long past.
"I don't figure I need to go through your assignments and positions for today, I just want to remind you where I plan to be, and that all casualties should be brought to me. You all have your bag of Portkeys for this. Use them, and don't waste your own energy trying to help the wounded yourselves. That's my job, understood? All right, once we head into the backyard, I want the First wave to leave immediately and assume a wait-and-see position in the Forbidden Forest at the West side of Black Lake until the rest of us arrive. Second wave, Ginny and the boys, will take position at the tree tops above the First wave, and the Third and Fourth waves of reinforcements will take places to the left and right flanks of the First. I will be on the left flank at the backside of the hanging rock towards the North end of the Lake. Are we all clear?"
Draco looked over at Kreacher again, and was pleased to find him watching and listening intently to Hermione's words.
"One more thing before we go. I want you all to know, no matter what happens today, whether we win or all die trying, you are all my family, and I love you. We aren't fighting this fight because we have to, are we? We aren't giving up these years of our lives because we were forced to, it's not our duty to be here. All this time, all of our efforts, are for our love. It's that one little thing that He never understood, and it's going to win our victory today. Remember who you are fighting to save. Remember who you want to spend your life with, and what your hopes are for their futures. Use every weapon at your disposal, crush our enemies under your feet, and destroy the darkness that has polluted our world!"
Hermione's eyes were bright and eager, ready for battle. Ready to rip and tear, eager to unravel the black fabric of their world and remake it in a kaleidoscope of white and light and laughter.
Draco watched her, his woodland pixie with her dragon-armor and baby-bump, and felt, for the thousandth time, the great ocean of love and hope and longing for this whimsical creature. He stood to help her down from the table, and sat her down so they could paint each other's faces with the shield paint, much like the Assassins had. Draco covered Hermione's entire head in black, then painted a solid white circle around each eye and in the middle of her forehead, just above and between her eyes.
"There you go, Princess. Now you have a Third Eye for looking inwards AND for looking disgustingly creepy to our enemies. I may never shag you again." Draco said teasingly as he put the cap back on the white shield paint.
"You know you shouldn't have told me what you painted, because now it's my turn, you arrogant arse," Hermione said primly as she opened the gray paint and smeared it through his hair and down his ears. Once his face was thoroughly covered, she painted his eyes and mouth black, then sat back to assess her masterpiece.
"Ugh, you look like a zombie. You're right, no sex ever again. Sorry, my darling husband, but you are hideous."
"Oh, Princess, your Third Eye deceives you. I could never be anything but the devilishly handsome rogue you fell madly in love with so many years ago. No amount of face paint could take that away." Draco grinned at her.
Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Hmm, maybe if you were wearing your old Slytherin tie, I'd consider it…"
"Ah, but the last time I saw my old Slytherin tie, it was around your neck, my dear," Draco winked at her as she flushed.
Dumbledore's tin whistle sounded, and everyone turned to look at the old man. With barely any beard and no long white hair, he hardly looked like the same person Draco had first seen when he was a boy. But appearances were deceiving, and Dumbledore was still the same brilliant Wizard he'd always been.
"I just wanted to make you all aware before we leave today that once we leave this house, Grimauld Place will fall under a new Fidelius charm. No one but Hermione and myself will be able to get back in without Kreacher or Winky, who will be here with the children. Nothing against you all, of course, but we do have quite a few children to protect here. And in case we all fail, Molly and Severus have an emergency escape plan for themselves and the children that even I do not know. Again, nothing against you all. Now, off we go, pip pip!"
Draco immediately felt a familiar pressing on his mind, and reluctantly allowed Dumbledore access.
'Not to worry, Master Black, your plan with Kreacher still stands. I have no intention of denying you your family's survival,' Dumbledore's voice filtered through his mind, and then Draco felt the pressure leave him as Dumbledore exited. Draco sagged with relief.
Hermione gazed at her husband. "You're not mad at me, are you?" she asked quietly.
"Princess, I have a hard time being anything but highly amused with you with all that paint on your face." Then Draco held up his hands defensively as she battered at him.
"Oi, Malfoy, stop snogging your wife and get your arse over here!" Ron bellowed from next to Harry.
"I'm not snogging my wife, I'm fending off her tiny fists of fury, Weasel! Why don't you get your arse over here and help?" Draco called back.
Hermione giggled, then leaned in to kiss her husband. The black paint smeared a little, but it tasted like wax and licorice and promises.
"Go on then, Love. Do your worst. Break them all. And come back to me when you're done." Hermione rubbed her thumb against his lower lip.
"Hermione?" Draco's voice was so quiet, even though his mouth was right next to her ear she could barely hear him.
"If something happens, and I don't make it, will you sing for me? Sing for me so I don't lose my way back to you. I don't-"
Hermione gasped as if in pain, and her eyes flew to his as she grabbed his face.
"Don't do this now, Draco! It's just another day, just another fight like any other. Teddy has a guitar lesson with you tomorrow night, and Tonks and I are going to build an Exploding Snap card house in Ron's room for his birthday this weekend. Lyra will be here in seventeen weeks, we need to start decorating before I get too big to help. Tonight is your turn to cook dinner. I have loved you since I was sixteen. I will always love you." She said this fiercely, tugging at his ears, which made him yowl in pain.
"Merlin's balls, Princess, stop yanking my ears!"
"Oh, sorry, Love!" She immediately let go as he leapt up, pulling his head away from her attacking hands. Draco grabbed her hands and spun her around, tugging her backwards into his chest as he leaned down and growled in her ear, "If you weren't knocked up I'd take you over my knee for doing that, Hermione."
"How about we meet up back here this evening and I let you do it anyway, husband mine? I'll even wear your old Slytherin tie again," she said in a low, husky voice only he could hear.
"Damn it, how do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Completely distract me with sex," Draco whispered as he pressed his hips into hers.
"It's a natural defense mechanism. All women instinctively know how to do it," Hermione said primly as she discreetly swayed her hips from side to side, rubbing against him in just the right way.
"Bullshit." Draco said.
"Ginny!" Hermione called across the room.
"Yeh?" Ginny called back.
"What's the fastest and easiest way to distract Harry and get him to do whatever you want?"
"Do not answer that!" Harry said to his wife. Ginny just rolled her eyes and snorted, giving Draco and Hermione all the answer they needed.
"Malfoy!" Harry barked.
"What?" Hermione and Draco yelled in union.
"Ugh, cut it out you two! Draco get over here or we're leaving your arse behind. Then our mission will fail and the world will end all because you can't stop groping your wife!" Harry's irritated voice floated across the room. Everyone was ready to leave, and the kitchen door had already opened as people filed out to the backyard. Draco reluctantly let go of his wife, who turned around to look at him.
"See you tonight?" she said hopefully.
Draco smirked. "Absolutely, Princess." Then he pecked her on the cheek and moved towards Harry, Ron and Dumbledore as she turned to meet up with the twins.
"I don't know how you stand it mate. That's like rubbing up on a younger version of McGonagall," Ron complained to Draco as they made down the hallway and back steps together. Draco punched him good-naturedly in the arm, and Ron laughed.
"Hey, I need an extra guitarist to work on this old Beatles song for this weekend. You in?" Ron asked as they wandered into the yard behind Harry and Dumbledore.
"Yeh all right, I've got a lesson with Teddy tomorrow before dinner, but I'm free other than that," Draco replied. And as soon as he said it, it hit him. This was just another day, and just another fight, if he just kept his feelings in perspective. They still had Mandatory Music, he still had kitchen duty tonight, and Ron would turn twenty-three in just a few days. They'd all be fine, and life would go on.
He looked over at his wife on the other side of the yard, standing between the twins, who were each holding a duffel bag full of explosives. Behind her, hiding where she couldn't see them, Draco saw Kreacher and Winky leaning in, ready to touch her cloak as her Portkey went off.
Harry was holding out a stained tea towel, upon which sat a bent fork. Draco, Ron, and Dumbledore gathered in close to the object, and all four reached a finger in to touch the Portkey.
"Draco!" Hermione called with only seconds to spare.
"Princess?" He whipped his head up to look at her. She'd pulled the collar of her dragon-armor away from her neck and was snaking something black out from underneath.
His old Slytherin House tie. She'd been wearing it all morning.
Damn that girl. She pulled one end out and waved it at him, and that was the last thing he saw before the Portkey went off and tugged him towards their uncertain future.
The End