Disclaimer: Not mine.
Taking another firewhiskey from the secluded bar bench, he drained the tumbler in one prolonged swig, the nagging migraine that had impeded him earlier stubbornly returning.
All he wanted to do was escape this- this shindig and crawl into bed with the fiancée who had recently agreed to end their very long engagement.
After all Draco had a keen suspicion that functions like these where there were too many Weasley to count accurately, that had every guest in attendance in some way connected to Potter's merry band of riffraff and good doers (himself included), where everyone was crammed into the backyard of the Hovel and then made eat off of twenty different style of dinnerware were the root of the premature thinning of his hair (not that he'd ever admit to his hair thinning).
He groaned when he caught sight of the Wanker-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die and his loyal rodent making their way towards him.
The last thing he wanted was to hold a conversation with Pothead and Weasel, especially since he knew the redhead hadn't moved on from the brief relationship he shared with the woman Draco now called his own.
Apparently (and unfortunately so) though, the key to Granger's happiness was her fiancée/father of her unborn child not hexing the men she thought of as brothers and since Granger's happiness effectively meant his happiness, it seemed civility was the only option for the thirty-year-old wizard.
But not too civil.
He filled his glass to the brim and threw a dirty look over each shoulder as the Aurors flanked his sides.
"Potter, Weasley," he said tensely.
By the looks of the Poverty King's red face they had heard the news, this would either be entertaining or hazardous to his health.
Potter grabbed himself a firewhiskey before speaking to him, "So, I hear that congratulations is in order."
His redheaded partner snorted, "We should be giving 'Mione our condolences."
"Ron-
"Piss off, Weasley, you're just angry that it isn't your ring on her finger and your baby in her belly."
The last syllable of Draco's sentence had just been spoken aloud before Ron had slammed his knuckles into the Slytherin's face, reminding the blond of a similar suppressed incident in his third year.
Granger packs a harder hit, he thought mockingly.
The youngest Weasley son must have made another punch and Draco felt the ring on his index finger imprint his otherwise unblemished cheek. Blood flooded his mouth and the tangy rust flavor coated his taste buds.
Potter caught Weasley before he could continue his assault; the raven-haired man's glass flying through the air forgotten while he wrapped his arm around the flailing fists of his friend all while whispering -what Draco assumed disdainfully to be- sweet nothings in his ear.
Ever the pureblood gentlemen, Draco discreetly spat blood into a napkin, folded it and politely disposed of it.
"She doesn't love you, Malfoy. Her greatest fault is being too honourable. She's marrying you because she's pregnant," Weasley taunted from his spot in Potter's arms.
Ouch
There was pain in his chest, pain that threatened to consume him. He had struck a nerve in Draco and the Wesel knew it from his smirk.
Draco's deep-seated belief that someone like Hermione Granger couldn't really love a cowardly, evil, murdering, deatheater that Draco Malfoy thought himself as let alone want to spend the rest of her life with him and bare his children was an issue hazardous to his relationship.
It couldn't be helped, he defended himself. Granger was a highly sought after witch. Her beauty, her brains and her influence made her a suitors dream and she had a lot of those. Granger choosing a disgraced Malfoy was a fluke. Draco knew that it was common opinion that she could have done better, found someone with a little less past.
His witch denied it. Hermione would swear until she was blue in the face that she truly loved him if she was sure it would work. She had sworn until she was blue in the face. But nothing could soothe his worry. Now she refused to even dignify his anxieties, believing wholeheartedly that her acceptable of his grandmother's ring and a promise of forever should be enough to quell his insecurities.
Except it wasn't.
Draco knew how lucky he was. It should've been enough. To anyone, even to their dismay her closest friends, it was obvious how devoted she was to him, anyone that is except the one she needed to know more than anything. But he knew nothing was certain, tomorrow she could chose to cast his grandmother's ring away and break her promise and walk away. She could, and there would be nothing he could do about it. He spent hours trying to bury his instinct deep, trying to be happy with what he already had.
The image of her walking out of his door was just too vivid. The need to tie her to him permanently was just too strong.
It was a snap decision, completely unpremeditated.
He was preparing pancakes when he spotted the bottle. He suspected Potteress had left it after tea with Granger one day, he knew they were preparing.
A few drops in the batter would do it.
Soon half a bottle found itself being poured.
When he had served breakfast in bed that morning his witch eyed his cooking appreciatively. Taking a bite she looked at him, a funny expression clouding her features. His heart skipped a beat before given the chance to return to a steady pace when her face cleared and Hermione began eating in earnest.
A month later he found herr sprawled in front of their toilet and soon she'd set a date for their wedding.
Draco stepped in front of the still-smirking Ron and smacked him in the nose.
The Wesel for his part bemoaned and cupped both hands below his nose where pooling blood resided, "Shite! Harry, I think he broke my nose."
Draco felt euphoric, the feeling of satisfaction coursed through his veins.
"Settle down, Ron. Hermione will have us if you have another go at him," Potter, the voice of reason spoke.
"He broke my nose!"
"You hit him first!"
"Harry!"
Ignoring the bickering wives in favour of skimming his fingers across his wand, Draco must've have set alight Potter's ferret-senses since the Boy-Who-Lived stopped mid-sentence and snapped his head towards Malfoy.
Potter's face was exasperated. "Just sod off, Malfoy."
"Your boyfriend threw the first punch."
"You antagonized him. If hexes are thrown you'll be gone."
Draco unsheathed his wand painfully slow- stopping halfway.
"That's right!" Weasley shouted, escaping Potter's grip, blood flowing everywhere. "Curse us like the deatheater you are!"
The youngest of the three wizards stepped forward. Eying the redhead, his face was stoic.
"Ex. Death. Eater. And remember, pauper," Draco said darkly, his gaze flickered in the direction she was sure to be. "She's my soon-to-be wife. That's my unborn child. They are my family. Mine," Draco sneered, his confidence returning the more indignant the man in front of him became.
He retrieved his glass, drank and then sent both dumb and dumber a sardonic smile and sauntered off on his merry way, feeling quite good about himself.
The wizard found her in the heart of the room. Her back was to him, but he could tell that she glowed whilst smiling and chatting away to friends oblivious to her quarrelling loved ones.
Feeling eyes on her, she turned and spotted him and beckoned him over. He obeyed, reaching her in seconds. His arms went around her middle, automatically seeking out her swelling stomach. Draco caught a sulking twiddle dee and twiddle dum in his sights and he purposely tightened his hold on his witch, placed a quick kiss to her temple and enjoyed their furious reactions.
"Have you been playing nice, Draco?" a soft voice reminded Draco that his fiancée was much too observant for his own good.
Her hands rubbed his arms and she pivoted in her spot, ignoring the rest of her company.
Hermione's whiskey eyes glistened with amusement and then disbelief when she discovered his bruising cheek.
"What-
He hushed her, not wanting to get into this in public.
"It doesn't matter, Granger."
"Later then," she suggested, her voice promises him that there would be no snaking out of it. "And don't call me Granger. I'll be a Malfoy soon," Hermione added as an after thought, bristling at Draco's refusal to call her anything but her surname.
"Later," he agreed smirking, taking no notice of her name request.
Hermione only sighed and kissed him.
"Draco," she mumbled against his lips.
"Mmm?"
"Don't punch my friends," Draco opened his mouth to argue until Hermione covered his mouth with her hand. "Ron started it yes, but violent retaliation is never the answer. Regardless it wouldn't seem right after all for you to put so much effort to ensure the conception of this child only to missed out because of something like an Azkaban sentence for assaulting aurors."
He was speechless, definitely too observant for his own good.
"I love you, Draco."
Relishing in the warmth of her body, Draco was completely content. Maybe it mattered that her brothers –he sneered at the thought- would never approve, that she would always have a trail of men willing to seduce her form him, that she may not love him as much as he loved her. It mattered a lot.
For now though what mattered most was that she had just told him that she loved him and for once he believed her.
So my internet's been a bit off so I find myself writing fanfiction rather than reading it. This is my last one-shot for awhile since I'm now finally going to devote my time to the multichapter story I haven't bothered to update since Christmas. I'm a little behind on my schoolwork though and I'm having my wisdom surgically removed later on in the week so if I get my stuff done by Wednesday I won't have to worry about school and depending on the pain I'll hopefully make a little headway on Punishable Heritage. I've probably already have approximately 10,000 words for it, only 2,000 is chapter three and then some are for chapters miles down the track, I've even written the alternative ending before I've finished finalizing chapter two so I'm a little muddled but I'm hoping to get on track relatively soon.