Today (31 December) is my birthday, so if you're feeling inclined, reviews make great presents. :)

Chapter 04: The Relentless Struggle Between Good & Muggle

She'd promised Harry and Luna she'd watch Portentia today, Hermione remembered quite suddenly. She jerked up, already half out of the bed and into the shower before she scented the extra occupant in her bedroom. Slowly, Hermione turned back to the bed.

Malfoy stared back at her, eyes alert despite the early time and their late night.

Their late night.

Everything came back to her in a rush, and she flushed from head to toe. Heavens, she was naked. Had they really—?

Yes, she remembered. Yes, they had. And it had been...well, rather good, actually. She bit her lip to keep from smirking, or worse—grinning—at the memory.

'Morning, Draco,' she said with what she hoped was a steady voice. It was a struggle not to try to cover herself, but Malfoys were always looking for weaknesses, and he'd be more likely to tease her if she seemed uncomfortable.

He quirked a single blond eyebrow. His hair was so mussed and just-shagged that it destroyed the effect. The laugh Hermione had been trying to avoid came out in full force. Merlin, she'd seen his hair mussed up a hundred times before, but never after they'd shagged. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was no use: her wide eyes gave away her nervousness, and she'd have to admit that Draco won this round.

'Morning, Hermione,' he said, just as gravely. There was a moment of weird silence. He started to pull himself up from the bed, and in doing so lost the cover of her bed sheets. 'Shall I just go, then?'

Hermione squeaked. He had a morning erection. Nocturnal penile tumescence, she thought, as academically as she could. He noticed her gaze and reached for the sheet again, but she really couldn't have that at all. No, if she was going to be awkward, then so was he. She came 'round the bed and tugged at the sheet until he let it fall away.

Seeing him here in the morning light, scenting his second-day hair and their sex all over him was doing irrational things to her body. Merlin, but he was fit. She felt hot and decidedly bothered.

'Let's not be awkward,' she said suddenly. 'It doesn't have to be awkward, does it? We've been friends so long, you know, and we're together all the time—Merlin I haven't even changed without you in years—and, well, I suppose it's only natural for sexual attraction to develop over time when two people are otherwise compatible and physically agreeable to the other party, and plenty of people have sex with their friends and don't let it ruin things between them, like, well, like me and R—'

'I'm going to stop you there,' Draco said quickly.

She chanced a look at his face. He was smiling wryly. 'I don't want things to be awkward between us,' she said again.

He was giving her that intense look again, the one she only saw when he was working on a new lycanthropy-related potion. 'What do you want then?'

Her eyes slid downwards again, quite without her permission. Heavens. She swallowed again. I have no idea, she thought. 'I think I want to perform fellatio on you.'

Draco burst out laughing. Hermione went hot all over, and turned to run for the bathroom. A strong hand caught her bicep and tugged her back. She fell against his chest, and his arms came around to hold her in place. She felt his erection against her bum and barely refrained from wiggling against it.

'Let me go,' she said instead.

'I think not,' said Malfoy, still chuckling. 'I'd like to hear more about this fellatio and you performing it.'

'You're mocking me.'

'Yes,' he said, his hand rubbing up and down her belly. 'But I like your overly-academic defence mechanisms. It's...'

'Don't say cute,' Hermione warned.

He scoffed. 'I've never said the word in my life. I certainly won't start now. It's...pleasing to me,' he decided.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but did turn around in his arms to look up at him. She ran her fingers over his chest, and attempted a sultry look. 'Shall I, then?'

He waved a hand magnanimously. 'Please.'

She sunk to her knees. Harry and Luna could wait. There were academic endeavours to explore—things like, what did Draco taste like, and would it still be good in the morning, and would Draco ever be interested in making this a more...permanent thing?

-x-

'Alice Dumbledore,' Harry said, exasperated. He lowered his voice, craning his neck to look out into the hallway of a very strangely decorated Grimmauld Place, beyond which Luna was getting Portentia ready for an outing with Auntie Hermione. 'Alice. Fucking. Dumbledore.'

'Oh, honestly, Harry,' said Hermione. 'It's just a name. If that's what Luna wants to name it, then let her name it that. She had your baby; you give her whatever she wants.'

'I have,' said Harry. 'That's why we have a Kneazle kitten now instead of a Crup puppy. A Kneazle kitten named Alice Dumbledore.'

The Kneazle in question hopped up onto the kitchen table, nosing at Hermione's bacon. She batted it away, and Alice Dumbledore caught a whiff of her scent. She meowed warningly, and then used Hermione's distraction to steal the bacon. Hermione, now without breakfast, was at least grateful Luna'd had the foresight to get a Kneazle instead of a normal cat. Werewolves and cats didn't mix so well.

Draco snorted. 'Can you imagine having to yell for it when it gets out of the house?'

Harry groaned. He levitated the skillet to the sink and set a washing spell going. 'That's my point. No self-respecting Auror has a kitten named Alice Dumbledore.'

'She's white,' Luna said, coming in with Portentia on her hip. 'Albus means white.'

Harry threw his head back, sighing in exasperation. 'But what does Alice mean?' he asked, with the air of a man who'd asked the same question a thousand times before. 'Since she's not, in fact, named Albus.'

'It means noble,' said Luna. 'Like a Gryffindor.'

Harry narrowed his eyes, although he didn't look nearly as fierce as Draco did when he did it. Hermione and Draco shifted uncomfortably as the smell of arousal filled the air. Harry was so weird. 'We are not done with this conversation, dear.'

Luna pecked him on the cheek as she passed. 'I know, love. I do enjoy having conversations with you about things that have already happened in the past.' She passed Portentia to Hermione. 'Thank you so much for taking Ten today, Hermione. And you as well, Draco. I didn't expect to get two babysitters. This is a lovely surprise.'

'Yeah, about that,' said Harry, now narrowing his eyes suspiciously in their direction. Hermione shrank back, attempting to melt through the floor, or, failing that, to wandlessly Disillusion herself. 'It's a bit early for you, Malfoy. Rarely see you before noon at the weekend.'

Draco shrugged, sipping his tea. 'I was feeling roused.'

'Roused,' Harry repeated.

'It's a werewolf thing,' Hermione said quickly.

Harry didn't look like he was going to let it go, but the Floo roared to life and Ron's voice called out urgently. He rushed off to answer it. Portentia took that moment to spill Hermione's tea all over her, and the Kneazle stole the last of Draco's bacon. In the clusterfuck that followed, the two of them plus Portentia managed to escape the Potter household without further interrogation.

Although not without Hermione overhearing Ron say "werewolf" twice in the Floo. She pursed her lips and refused to worry. She had an outing with her goddaughter planned. And she'd had two rather nice shags in as many days. Werewolf or not, things were looking pretty good to her at the moment.

'I've just got to do a quick interview with that vampire who's opening the modern art gallery and then pop into the office to pick up this month's galleys. I'll pick her up at three,' Luna called to them as they were stepping outside to Apparate. The door shut behind her, leaving the three of them alone on the Potters' front steps.

Hermione was suddenly feeling nervous again, which was ridiculous. Draco was one of her very best friends, right up there with Harry and Ron. So they'd had sex. So they'd had sex twice, actually. It didn't mean she suddenly had to feel like he was undressing her with his eyes.

Although…She glanced at him again. Although, he might actually have been doing that. She shifted Portentia on her hip. 'It occurred to me that I didn't tell you what I had planned when I roped you into coming with today. We're going to go to Diagon to see the holiday lights.'

Malfoys didn't celebrate Christmas or any other spirit-of-giving holidays. Hermione suspected it was because they had too much stuff to warrant buying presents for one another. It made him easy to buy for (nothing) but difficult to decide how to approach with holiday-related activities like looking at fairy lights.

He shrugged. 'Alright.'

She gave him a brilliant smile, relieved. 'Wonderful. Ready then?'

He took her free hand, and with a step and a twist, she Apparated them to Diagon.

-x-

Diagon Alley was lovely in December, Hermione thought. The Diagon Alley Shop Owners Association put up fairy lights, garlands, and sparkling charms all over the neighbourhood. Even better, all the shops competed for the best window display, and it was always fun to see how creative they got. London didn't get much snow, but the residents sometimes even came together to put up a weather charm over the main street so that snow flurries would constantly fall, but never pile up into dirty slush. There was one going now, and Hermione couldn't help but sigh happily at the scene.

She dropped Draco's hand to set Portentia on the ground and looked around, trying to decide which way to go first. Portentia decided for her, as it turned out.

'I wanna see Uncle George's window.' She swiped irritably at her nose, where a number of charmed snowflakes were gathering, and turned beseeching eyes upon Hermione and Draco.

Hermione bit her lip. George's displays often featured a number of questionable accents, but Portentia was still only four, so with any luck she wouldn't even notice them.

'Alright,' said Hermione. 'After you.'

Portentia grabbed her hand and took off, weaving expertly through the crowd with Hermione and Draco following behind. They were well-known as werewolves, having been outed by the Daily Prophet the very morning after the final battle, and they got a few sneers by passing wizards, but had seven years' experience in ignoring that sort of thing. It also helped that Hermione and Ron were war heroes—many in the wizarding world had a hard time reconciling "war heroes" and "dangerous beasts", so they pretended their inconvenient lycanthropy didn't exist.

'Are your parents going to Greece again for the twenty-fifth?' asked Hermione. She was very aware that they were Not Talking About the night before, and wondered how long the two of them could keep it up.

Draco shrugged while returning a sneer to a frumpy witch giving them a rude stare. 'Probably not after that report Mum got yesterday. She'll be hard at work with damage control through the New Year. Even the blasted gala will be a job for her.'

They passed through a beautifully intricate garland arch, replete with dancing fairies and peppermint humbug-shaped decorations. Hermione quirked a grin. 'It's apparent where your work ethic comes from, Malfoy.'

He glanced at her sideways. 'I've really no idea what my mother would do if she didn't have a thousand different projects going at once. She's always been that way.'

'And your father seems to like it.'

Draco smirked. 'He hates dealing with the estate management; it gives her something to do when she's bored. She doesn't like choosing entertainment for parties; he...apparently doesn't realise he likes Muggle music. They have a very symbiotic relationship.'

Hermione laughed. 'Kind of like us. I keep your mother off your back about supporting the werewolf campaigns, and you keep Harry and Ron entertained when I'm exhausted.'

He looked at her sharply, and she realised too late what she'd implied by her statement. She opened her mouth, not sure if she wanted to say she meant nothing by it or confirm that she did. Portentia came to an abrupt stop in front of George's shop, and she was saved from doing either.

'Look!'

They did. Hermione winced. There were fake house elves dressed as St. Nicholas' elves in the WWW window. And one house elf was getting a spanking for being naughty. It had a pile of wheezes in front of it. The banner read: Being on the Naughty List is More Fun! Buy Wheezes for Your Loved Ones This Christmas!

'It's not subtle,' Draco offered, head tilted sideways.

'No,' Hermione agreed.

'I want to be an elf!' said Portentia. 'Mummy says I can only be an elf if I'm good, but these elves have been bad, and they're still elves.'

Hermione's face scrunched in a universal expression of "what the actual fuck?". She did not say this, however. What she said was, 'That's lovely, Ten. Do you want to look at the display at the Build-a-Bugbear Factory?'

'No, I like this one.'

'There are more to see,' Hermione said.

'This one's best.' Portentia was firm on this. 'Daddy says Mummy looks like an elf.'

Hermione wondered, not for the first time, if Harry had gone a bit mad after the final battle. She supposed he had to regularly pass a mental stability test to remain on the Auror force, and yet...

Anyway.

It was then that an owl landed on her shoulder, talons digging into the soft skin there as it balanced. It held out its foot, thrusting a letter in her face. The seal on the letter had the initials NBM.

'Shi—zzle,' Hermione said, correcting herself before little ears could pick up a new word. Portentia was rather too canny for Hermione's liking sometimes. 'It's from Narcissa.'

Draco frowned. 'What does my mother want with you now? You just saw her yesterday.'

Hermione passed Ten's hand to him to hold onto and took the letter. She skimmed it quickly, her frown growing. She paled. 'That article yesterday? It's going to look like a love letter after today.'

'Auntie Hermy!' Portentia said, reaching out her hands. 'Please!'

They swapped. Hermione picked Portentia up and hugged her close, feeling anxious as she hadn't felt in years. Draco read through the letter once, twice, and folded it up with sharp, jerky movements. Draco's mouth was pressed into a firm line. He looked all around, as if there was an answer in the holiday crowds, or maybe someone would jump out and tell them it was all a big joke.

People jostled them from all directions. Hermione chewed her lip, feeling the distinct urge to say words she reserved for potions explosions, but unable to do so in front of Harry's child. She wanted to scream. For two years, things had been going well. Two whole years. And now everything was going to shit all at once.

Draco exhaled in a rush. Wordlessly, he took Hermione's free hand and Apparated the three of them to the front steps of Malfoy Manor. The grounds were stark and silent, as if the jubilant crowds in Diagon were merely a dream. Maybe they had been.

Hermione took a deep breath. She was going to need it after today.

Because all those victimless werewolf incidents now had victims. Lots of them.

-x-

Hermione handled his mother better than he did, Draco thought with some amount of irritation. Although, maybe the irritation stemmed from his father playing his Arctic Kneazles record too loudly only a few doors down. Or maybe he was just putting off thinking about the contents of his mother's letter.

Anyway, Draco liked to watch her at it. It was easy to forget himself, to forget that whatever-last-night-was might have only been a one-night stand in Hermione's eyes, and as long as they didn't get awkward, they could carry on just as they had before.

Which was torture for Draco, really, but he was a werewolf, and therefore used to that sort of thing on the monthly, at least.

There was a certain amount of give and take between his mum and Granger, but unlike his father—and, really, anyone else—Hermione exacted equal payment for every demand she gave up to Narcissa. Hermione was currently yelling at his mother in French, most likely because she was not using entirely child-friendly words, and little Potter was in the room playing with some of Draco's old toys. Draco shifted in his chair, attempting to subtly adjust himself before two overly observant women. Merlin, who knew he'd one day find himself so bloody aroused by such a dominant woman?

He'd let her be his Alpha any day…

Good heavens, that's taking it a bit far, he thought to himself. He'd let her be Alpha with him any day. As she already was. Don't get weird, Draco, he told himself.

Granger leaned forward, eyes narrowed, as she discussed the fallout with his mother. Merlin, that fierce gaze. She was like a wolf even when she was human. Draco could smell her anger and anxiety. He adjusted himself again. Fortunately, they were too absorbed in retaining PR control to give him and his inconvenient halfie much notice.

'How could this happen?' Hermione said, in impeccable French. 'How could twenty people go missing for a fortnight and the Auror office is only finding out about it now, two weeks after the last full moon?'

Narcissa sipped a cup of tea recently provided by their head house elf, Bertram. 'Hermione darling, you seem to be under the misapprehension that I am your secretary.'

Hermione flopped back in her chair. 'How did you come by this information anyway?'

'Not your secretary,' Narcissa repeated, slipping her reading glasses on and flipping through a stack of parchments.

Draco loved a good political scandal as much as the next aristocrat, but the lycanthropy fight hit too close to home for him to play the game as objectively as Hermione and his mother did. He helped where he could, but had long since realised that it was better to leave them to it. The bite, after all, had only worsened his temper. And that was no good for their platform when he was having to field questions from discourteous, poorly-clothed, bourgeois reporters. And also, he hated the way people looked at him—he was both ex-Death Eater and werewolf. There was no "war hero" label to offset their disgust for him, so he was happy to remain in the wings while Hermione gave brilliant, stirring speeches and argued their rights before the Wizengamot.

Hermione pushed her wild hair behind her ear with one hand and turned to glare at him, as if he had the answers to dealing with his mother. He shrugged, and it seemed to calm her a little. She gave him a small, tired smile. 'What should we do, Draco?' she asked.

'Kill them before the news gets out and then blackmail all the Aurors into falsifying the report.'

His mother gave him a look. 'Draco.'

He shrugged. 'It's what Father would've done.'

Hermione grimaced, and he guiltily realised he'd probably gone too far. Portentia looked at him solemnly. He probably should've said the part about murder and blackmail in a language an Auror's daughter didn't understand, too.

'We aren't interested in Lucius' solutions at this point in time,' Narcissa said, rather politically, if Draco was asked. She'd put up with a great deal of shit from his father over the years and Lucius knew it, which was the only reason he didn't put up more of a fight for dominance in the Manor any longer. That and the fact that Narcissa was better at Arithmancy and therefore managed the estate well enough without his input.

'Fine,' he said. 'Have they taken the werewolves into custody—protective or otherwise?'

'No,' said Narcissa. 'The Ministry just received the communiqué this morning; they're still looking for the werewolves.'

This was getting very complicated. And strange. 'Then I suggest we find them and get them on our side before the Auror force does.'

Hermione bit her lip, considering. 'What other information do we have?'

'Very little,' Narcissa admitted. 'My sources have traced the owl's origin to Scotland. The writer claimed that he or she had created twenty werewolves.'

'For what purpose?' Draco couldn't help asking.

Narcissa shook her head. 'There was no explanation given—but we can all imagine the result it will have. At this point, the perpetrator's motive is unimportant to us; we must now handle the fallout of this and the Dutch article.'

She sighed, rubbing her temples, and Draco's stomach did a little flip. He'd never seen his mother so out of sorts. Well, not since His Lordship was in residence, anyway.

'Okay,' said Hermione. 'I'll see what I can get out of Harry and Ron. That is, if they haven't been pulled off the case because of conflict of interest.'

Hermione stood up again to pace back and forth as she and Narcissa returned to rapid-fire French brainstorming, neatly sidestepping little Potter and her building blocks. She was calmer now, but Draco could still smell the residual anger rolling off her in waves of heady pheromones. And bugger, but Draco wanted. He wanted her fully and wholly and without the excuse of a disappointment at the lab between them.

Narcissa's office door opened after a quick knock, and his father stuck his head in. He scanned the scene before him, quickly noting Hermione and Narcissa's intense discussion, the stacks of newspapers, blackmail folders, background information on various Ministry personnel, and Potter's daughter playing with Draco's old snap-and-build blocks on the floor. He then turned to Draco and lifted one eyebrow.

Draco did not need further incentive. He stood, holding out his hand for little Potter. 'Come on then, Potterette,' he said. 'Bring your blocks and we'll go play somewhere more fun.'

Neither of the women even noticed him leaving; such was life. Portentia did collect her things and take his hand, and they followed Lucius out of Narcissa's very modern office and down the hall into Lucius's more traditional one. Where his mother's office was all light grey walls, black leather furniture, and—Draco shuddered—silver accents everywhere, his father's was warm wood and cosy leather. And it had scotch.

'Shall I assume it understood between us that babysitting Potters is beneath Malfoys?' his father asked, as he summoned an elf to bring Potterette a warm pumpkin juice and a plate of choco bikkies. The Arctic Kneazles were still playing in the background, more softly now at least.

'Thank you, Mr Mawfoy,' Portentia said around a biscuit. 'Daddy doesn't let me have choco bikkies before dinner, but Mummy says his head's infested.' She then returned to ignoring them in favour of her blocks.

Lucius smirked.

Draco shrugged and accepted the scotch, taking a seat on the well-worn leather couch opposite the fire. His mother didn't have a fireplace in her office. She liked to keep visitors cold and uncomfortable so they'd be more likely to acquiesce to her demands just to escape her frigid office.

'Probably for the best,' Draco agreed.

The music changed, and Draco was certain the gramophone was now playing Kate Bush. He knew her only because Granger had her albums, and she looked almost exactly like her—and Hermione's voice got just as high-pitched when she was especially hacked-off. He was not convinced, however, that his father realised she was a Muggle.

'Who's that playing?' he asked, to be certain.

'Kate Banshee,' said Lucius. 'A witch from Welling. Your mother bought me the record for my fiftieth. Delightful lyrical coloratura soprano. I've no idea why she isn't more popular.'

Riiiight, Draco thought. It would be a cold day before he was the one to clue his father in on the fact that all these "wizarding" musicians' records Narcissa bought for him were actually Muggles, or, at best, wizards who happily performed in the Muggle world.

'Nice,' he said instead.

Lucius smiled and nodded. He bent forward, making a fair attempt at playing with little Potter for a moment before he straightened up again and regarded Draco over the rim of his scotch glass. 'Your mother refuses to listen to reason about the werewolf gala.'

Draco grimaced. Here we go again. 'Yes, unfortunately. A disaster waiting to happen.'

His father sighed. 'I am not the only sane person in this family, I see. Thank Merlin for small miracles.'

'We're going anyway,' Draco added. 'Hermione and I.'

Lucius pulled a face he certainly would not have had he been in the company of anyone but his immediate family. 'Bollocks. Draco, I had hoped you would talk your mother around. I really cannot afford to have Aurors on the grounds again. I've only just had the parquet floors in the ballroom refinished after the last time. Do they not take their boots off for any occasion? One wonders if they're able to even see to their wives without—' He broke off abruptly, remembering Portentia. Draco smirked.

'What exactly is going on between you and Ms Granger?' his father asked then. 'I've long since resigned myself to having her in my home, but of late I get the unsettling feeling that she is more than your colleague and your mother's campaign manager.'

Draco's stomach flipped. As of last night, he had no idea what was going on between them himself. He certainly hoped it was the beginning of something more...permanent. However, it was difficult to tell with Hermione. She was rather flighty when it came to non-academic affairs. He'd have to prod her along, Draco suspected.

And prod her along he would.

'She's my friend,' he said.

Lucius sat back against the couch, elegantly crossing one ankle over his knee. 'I suspect that both of you being werewolves lends a certain camaraderie to a relationship, one that would certainly not exist otherwise.'

Well, Lucius could think that if he wanted to, but the truth was Draco'd thought Granger fit ever since she slapped him in third year, and becoming friends with her after the bite had only turned his attraction into something worse—love.

'Whatever the reason,' said Draco, neatly sidestepping, 'she's here to stay. You might as well make friends with her now before Mother decides to adopt her.'

'Do you not see enough of her at the full moon?' Lucius asked. He waved a hand about, a vague gesture that could've meant anything from "as if" to "fuck this blasted fly". 'And of course at work.'

Draco shrugged, and sipped his scotch. 'We get along well, both in and out of work.'

'I cannot imagine wanting to spend so much time with one person,' said Lucius. 'I'm certain your mother would disembowel me if we had to share an office space. In fact, it occurs to me that I'm not entirely certain what you and Ms Granger do for the Ministry?' Lucius prodded.

'Consulting,' said Draco. 'On potions analysis.'

'Ah,' said Lucius, but he was frowning, as if he couldn't recall ever seeing any potions consultants at the Ministry before. He hadn't. They didn't exist. Draco went through this same conversation with his family every few years whenever they remembered that he and Hermione had jobs, but that they weren't sure what those jobs were.

'My daddy works for the Ministry,' Portentia offered, looking up at them with big, grey, Lovegood-esque eyes.

They stared down at her. She blinked, and returned the stare. Lucius looked away first. 'How delightful, my dear,' he said. She nodded and returned to her blocks.

'Well, at any rate,' Lucius continued, remembering his new favourite topic, 'this entire thing is madness. You must convince your mother to cancel this gala, especially after the news today.'

Draco blinked at the sudden return to their old topic. That was most unlike his father; he was usually much subtler. The party must really be worrying him. Instead he said, 'Have you ever known me to be able to convince Mother of anything? Anything at all?'

Lucius frowned, then stood to prod at the logs in the hearth with the poker. He regarded the family portrait above the mantelpiece, staring balefully back at Narcissa, who was smirking down at him.

'I suppose not,' he admitted. 'And she has been less inclined to entertain my...fancies after the business with our houseguest.' By which he meant the Dark Lord, rest his seven souls (in misery).

'You did rather bugger that one up,' Draco said, eyebrows raised. Lucius turned to sneer at him over his shoulder, and poked at the fire one last time before returning to his seat.

'When you have a wife and children, you are free to make your own mistakes, Draco,' Lucius said.

Draco smirked. Point for him. He felt a little daring now. Daring enough to rile Lucius up a bit. 'Even if they're half-bloods?'

His father sucked in a startled breath. 'Draco, you can't be serious.'

'And if I am?'

Lucius' eyes narrowed. 'Are we talking a half-blood wife and acceptably-pureblood children, or a mu—muggleborn wife and half-blood children?'

Draco shrugged. 'Who knows? Could be either, really. The political climate is really very well suited for that sort of thing now. Imagine the social capital Malfoys could gain by allying with a well-liked muggleborn?'

'Draco, if you're suggesting an arranged marriage between yourself and Ms Granger, I really must insist that you consider Astoria Greengrass instead. Her family was distinctly neutral during the scuffle and would be social capital enough.'

'I'd rather marry for love,' Draco said.

Lucius seemed relieved. Draco held back a smirk.

'Good,' said his father. Then, again: 'Good.' He gave a little shudder. 'Imagine having to adjust all the wards to make the Manor safe for Muggle in-laws at holidays. I simply could not bear it. I'm entirely too old for that kind of thing. Tolerance is something I will leave for the young. I've done my part by consenting not to kill them.'

Draco had never even met the Grangers, but it brought up interesting ideas. He wondered what they were like. He always Disapparated as soon as Hermione's parents yelled through the Floo, having no desire whatsoever to make small talk about automobiles and electricity, or whatever it was Muggles talked about when they had nothing in common with other people. But for this, it might be worth it. Maybe he could ask them to recommend more Muggle musicians for his father.

'Very big of you, Father,' Draco said.

'I rather thought so,' Lucius agreed. Then, 'If your mother is determined to see this ridiculous farce through to the bitter end, which it does appear she is, then it falls to you and me, my son, to ensure that none of us ends up in Azkaban for it.'

'How do you suggest we do such a thing?' Draco asked, one eyebrow raised. 'Potter and Weasley are coming, so at least we'll have two witnesses on our side. That's really all we can hope for.'

Lucius grimaced, as if physically pained by the threat of having a Potter and a Weasley in the Manor again. It was, Draco suspected, more agonising than having Hermione there on a semi-regular basis.

Fortunately, there was a knock at the door before an elf led Hermione in. She had a stack of folders hovering behind her and a harassed look on her face. She caught sight of Portentia and sighed in relief.

'There you are, darling,' she said, crouching down to help Portentia collect the snap-and-build blocks. Then, absently, 'Hello, Mr Malfoy.'

'Ms Granger.'

'You didn't even notice me taking her out?' Draco said.

She exhaled heavily. 'Goodness, Draco, don't tease me so. You knew Narcissa and I were distracted. This is serious.'

'I know,' he said. She looked up from little Potter and gave him a grateful smile. And maybe it was just him, but he thought there was something deeper in it this time, something secret and seductive, just for him. He couldn't help smiling back.

She settled Portentia on her hip, even though the child was entirely too heavy for that now, and set her blocks hovering with the files. 'Are we ready? Or are you staying here? We could grab lunch if you'd like. Ron said there's a new sushi place in Hoxton, and I need to buy a new pair of shoes for the gala—I'll let you pick them out.'

Sushi and shopping? Merlin, it was like she was made for him.

He was out of his chair before she could even finish the last word. 'I'll come,' he said.

'Can I have shoes, too, Auntie Hermy?'

'Of course, darling,' said Hermione. 'What kind of shoes does your daddy like the least?'

Portentia considered this. 'The ones with sparkles 'cos he says they're barmy. But Mummy likes those, and me, too.'

'Then sparkle shoes we shall get for you, Ten. And be sure to wear them around Daddy all the time.'

Portentia beamed. Draco did, too. Hermione really was the perfect woman. Fuck, he was so in love. Too in love, in fact, to notice the considering look Lucius was giving him as they left.

-x-

'Daddy doesn't like sushi,' Portentia, who had no such problems herself, declared.

'Daddy is a bourgeois, cretan-ish philistine,' Draco offered.

Portentia nodded, as if she knew what this meant. With Lovegood for a mother, Draco suspected it quite possible that she did. 'He's infested with nargles.'

And there was the Lovegood half showing its arse again.

Hermione kicked Draco beneath the table. 'Don't listen to him, darling. All of those things are mutually exclusive.'

Somehow they managed to get through lunch without any further crises falling onto Hermione's head, but the day was young yet. Draco wouldn't be surprised if she got an owl telling them that some half-crazed witch had resurrected Fenrir Greyback in order to seduce him into impregnating her and continuing his line of batshit crazy, lyncathropic—

Actually, that was taking it a bit far. He was spending too much time around his father if he was starting to be so melodramatic in his own head. Draco's hand settled on Hermione's thigh beneath the table. She twitched, startled, and he saw her face heat up. He bit his lip to hold back the smirk that she certainly wouldn't appreciate.

Draco took care of the bill for lunch and they headed over to Hogsmeade for Granger's shoes, as Draco was unimpressed with the quality of those sold at Madam Malkin's and the cobbler in London was one of the shops who still didn't serve werewolves. Fortunately, Gladrags had no such compunctions, and while they specialised in clothing, not shoes, they at least were willing to sell to him.

'What the hell is with all this ecru?' Draco said, upon seeing their selection. 'Who wears ecru to a winter ball? For the love of Merlin, please bring the woman a fucking white stiletto.'

Hermione quite agreed, if her expression was anything to go by. The shop witch, on the other hand, seemed distressed. Little Potter blinked up at him with huge eyes. Draco froze, realising his mistake about two swear words too late.

Hermione scowled at him, then turned to Potterette to say, 'Oh, Ten, that's such a bad word. Proper witches don't say such naughty words, and you're a proper witch, aren't you?'

Portentia considered. 'Is Daddy a proper witch? He says those words all the time, 'specially when Uncle Ron's football team plays his. When he's winning, he says, "Who the fuck are Man United, who the fu—"'

'That,' Hermione quickly interrupted, 'is not a proper witch word, remember, Ten?'

She nodded. 'But then Uncle Ron gets really happy when Arsenal scores and he sings a song that goes like, "Oh Manchester is full of—"'

'That'll do, Portentia,' Draco said sternly. His stern voice was much better than Hermione's, so she actually listened.

Portentia frowned. 'So Daddy and Uncle Ron aren't proper then?'

'Good heavens, no,' Hermione said, absently, frowning at the newest selection of heels offered to her by the shop witch. 'But they're grownups, so they don't have to be proper.'

She frowned, seeming to realise the mistake she'd set herself up for when Portentia turned seventeen, then appeared to dismiss it, unimportant. Potter could deal with that when it happened. 'It occurs to me,' whispered Hermione to Draco, 'that it's a really good thing female werewolves can't carry to term. Imagine the horror of me as a mother.'

Draco rather thought it was saying something when Luna Lovegood turned out to be more Mum-ish than Hermione Granger, but he was smart enough not to say anything.

'I suppose,' he said. Then, to the shop witch: 'These are all ivory. Her dress is white. I want white shoes. Can you do that for me, or would you rather we convert our galleons to pounds and have a looksee at Harrod's?'

The shop witch narrowed her eyes at him, and pointedly tapped the latest shoe with her wand. It brightened into shiny white patent leather.

'All of Gladrags' "Festive and Fun" line is colour charm-able, sir. The spell will last for four hours before reverting to the original colour.'

'Ah, perfect,' he said, turning the shoe about for a better look. 'That wasn't so hard, was it? Granger, try this one on.' Little Potter had, in the meantime, selected her own pair of sparkle shoes for purchase, and Draco was impressed with the level of ostentation the Gladrags designers were able to fit onto one small shoe. Potter would be horrified by them, and so Draco was therefore in full support.

They were a bit late getting back to Hermione's flat, and by the time they'd set her bags down, the Floo was flaring to life. Lovegood's head poked through, looking as batty in flames as it did normally. 'Hello, Hermione, Draco,' she said. 'Is my monster about?'

'I'm heeeeeere,' Portentia sang, bounding in from the kitchen in her new shoes. She still had her winter hat on, and it was sinking down to cover her eyes. Draco adjusted it as she ran past, and then scowled at Granger when she noticed. 'I'm a monster!'

'A very scary one,' Luna agreed. 'Does this monster want to come home and have spaghetti frogs and marshmallows for tea?'

'Yes!'

Draco and Hermione shared a horrified look. Potterette was duly ushered through the fireplace, and Draco sank onto Hermione's couch, sighing in relief. His relaxation didn't last for long, though, as the Floo flared green yet again. Mother of Merlin, could he not get a break today? It was a Saturday, for Merlin's sake. He should not have been required to do so much work.

A woman who looked remarkably like Hermione was peering out at them, and he realised, with some horror, that it was her mother. Her Muggle mother. She'd want to talk about computers and laser pointers with him, and he was really not prepared for that, even after four years of Muggle Studies. And yet, the conversation with his father came to mind, and he was...intrigued. What exactly was a Muggle Granger like?

'Hello, sweetheart!'

Draco could hear the Exuberant Muggle in every syllable. Buggering hell, how did these people produce Granger?

'Hi Mum,' said Hermione, walking over to kneel in front of the hearth. She shot Draco a look over her shoulder as if she could tell what he was thinking. She probably could.

'You've a gentleman there with you?' Granger's mother asked.

Draco could imagine the grimace Hermione wore, even if he could only see the back of her bushy head right now. 'Yes, it's just Draco.'

Just Draco, indeed! he thought.

'Oh, your werewolf? How lovely! You can bring him to Christmas dinner with you. I'd like to finally meet this young man.'

'I really don't think—'

'I'll come,' Draco said, before Hermione could make his excuses for him.

Christmas itself was a novel idea to him. Christmas with Muggles even more novel. But Christmas with Granger's Muggles? That was quite the interesting prospect indeed. Meeting her parents had to be a good idea if he was going to convince her to pursue this new thing between them. If he made the acquaintance of her parents, then he'd be that much closer to getting them to sign a betrothal contract with him, or whatever it was Muggles did when a strapping young wizard came to court their daughter.

Hermione turned back to him, an apologetic look on her face. 'You really don't have to.'

He scowled, feeling extremely wrong-footed. 'Maybe I want to. What else will I be doing that day? The Department stopped letting me come into work on the twenty-fifth three years ago. Now I just sit in your flat watching your telly.'

She rolled her eyes and returned to the Floo. 'All right, Mum. We'll be there next week. What time?'

'Three, sweetheart. Bring a red wine, if you don't mind.'

Mrs Granger departed the grate with a cheery wave in Draco's general direction. He would have waved back, but Hermione's head was mostly blocking the view, and he did not wave. Hermione warded the Floo from new callers, and came to came to sit down next to him, and he just knew they were about to talk about it.

She eyed him. 'So.'

Draco let his head fall back against the cushions. 'I swear to you Granger, if you've spent this whole day thinking of a way to politely say, "Last night—and this morning—was a mistake," I will throttle you.'

She looked doubtful. Her words proved it. 'I doubt you could, really...'

He glared at her from one eye. 'You were going to say it, weren't you?'

'I just don't want to ruin our friendship,' she said quietly.

He grimaced. What utter Gryffindorish nonsense. 'You know we can't go back to that.'

She looked away, and he could hear her heartbeat speeding up again. 'I know.'

'Then.' He paused, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. 'Then let's give it a try instead. We're good together.'

'Sex?' she said.

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. 'If you want.' But, Merlin did he want more than that.

She seemed to deflate. 'Draco, we'd ruin everything. We've both got...very demanding personalities. Can you really see us working out?'

Yes. 'Maybe.'

'Maybe won't help us if we begin to hate one another, but still have to share the same lab, the same friends, and your mother.'

'It's already happened, Granger,' he said. 'Whatever damage that might be done is done. Stop using your rational human side for half a second and use your irrational werewolf side. I smell right to you. Admit it. I smell like your mate. I always have done, just like you've always smelled like mine.'

Her eyes widened, and he knew he was right. He could smell her, too, after all. And all these years, she'd smelled like the only good thing in the room, no matter where they were. Their werewolf sides had chosen one another, that was true. But that didn't mean that their human sides had to choose one another, too. And that's what he was afraid of, that, when it came down to it, Hermione would be the one to ignore the werewolf in her.

And wouldn't that be hilarious? She was the one who felt perfectly fine about her lycanthropy, and he was the one who rather hated it. Yet, now, it seemed, he would be the one embracing it, while she tried to distance herself.

Draco would not have it. 'Just—don't say no yet. Think about it, if you have to. Just don't say no.'

Hermione frowned. But after a moment of tense silence, she did nod, and Draco let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. 'Okay,' she said. 'I won't say no.'

That was the best he was going to get right now. And as his father would say, 'The best one is going to get is much less than what a Malfoy will get,' so that rather settled things. He'd just have to get more. It was time, he supposed, to take up his own political campaign. He'd leave the werewolf ones to Hermione.

His campaign was one for her heart—and because it was Hermione, her head, too.