Sooo sorry for taking two weeks to publish this, guys! I experienced some mild writer's block before I wrote this, but I swear, you won't have to wait so long for the next one.

As always, I've got to shout out to my fantastic beta, Maloreiy for adding her polish and shine to this chapter.

Also, for those of you who have not done so you should check out SaintDionysus's BEAUTIFUL art she made for the prequel to this story, "Hot for Teacher." You can find it on her Facebook page, or in the first chapter of the story on this site.

Happy reading!

Her mouth tasted like the cherry tart they had for pudding that evening, and she was especially frisky tonight. Albus wondered what had brought this on.

"Mmm-nnnn," he said between pulls of lips. "Mon, can we stop for a second?"

She widened her already enormous green eyes at him. "What's wrong?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Albus shook his head. "Nothing's wrong. I just thought…you realize this is all we do?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You wanted to do something else?"

"Well, yeah, maybe," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He wasn't used to feeling this laid open. But Scorpius was right. If he didn't like seeing her flirt with other blokes, he should bloody well talk to her about it.

Monica smirked. "I was hoping you'd say that," she said, moving in to capture his lips again as she snuck a deft hand down to undo his belt buckle.

Somewhere in the depths of Albus's big, beautiful brain, a circuit sparked. She was trying to touch him there! And if he let her, she would know just how much their snogging had affected him. He gripped her wrist to stop her movement and pulled back from her lips. "What are you doing?"

Although she stared at him with a neutral face, he could tell she was confused. "You said you wanted to do something else."

Albus exhaled raggedly. "While I am certainly not opposed to letting you continue what you were about to do, that's not exactly what I was talking about."

"Did you want to do something to me?"

Duuuuhh…what were we talking about? The horny-boy part of his usually logical brain was taking over like a twin consuming its counterpart in the womb. He had been a fool to think only blokes were this stupidly single-minded when it came to sex.

Her impossibly verdant eyes softened. "It's alright," she whispered. "I've never done anything before, either," she said in a timid, kind voice.

The sides of his lips quirked up at hearing that. Not that he was some sort of sexist brute, but he liked hearing that he was the only one. "We don't have to."

"I want to," she said without hesitation. She quickly realized how eager she sounded and retracted slightly so as not to seem like such a hussy. "That is…if you want to."

He smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Of course I want to."

She blushed, breaking her cool-girl veneer and betraying the inexperienced teen that she was. Biting her lip bashfully, she continued undoing his trousers.

Scorpius furrowed his brow in frustration as he stared at what he had written on the parchment. "Merlin, I sound like I should be doing marketing for Pepper-Up Potion in this essay. Listen to this shit, 'Pepper-Up is among the most useful of potions that a wizard should store in his mental arsenal. Its uses include, but are not limited to, curing hangovers, headaches, nausea, and fatigue, as well as alleviating the effects of the Cruciatus Curse and recovery after proximity with Dementors.' I should be on their fucking payroll," he said with a smirk.

Albus didn't respond, continuing to stare at the same paragraph he had been pretending to read in his Potions book for the past half hour.

"Al?"

Nothing.

"Al!"

"What?" he dumbly snapped to attention.

Scorpius shook his head at his friend. "What is with you today?"

Albus shrugged. "Nothing."

Scorpius, who knew when his friend was lying, wasn't having any of it. "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Something about peppers," Albus mumbled.

Scorpius gaped at him. "Are you fucking unwell?"

Albus sighed. "I'm perfectly fine. Keep reading your thing. I swear I'm listening." His expression over the past couple of days was hard to pin down. He seemed to regard the world with new eyes, taking extra time to chew his food and observe his environment. His eyes danced with almost newborn wonderment, but the rest of his face was fixed with its usual flavor of stoicism.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "You really should get a start on Sluggy's essay. You know he's sobered up a bit this year so he actually pays atten—"

"Monica gave me a hand job," Albus abruptly interrupted him.

Scorpius's hand, which was currently scribbling on the parchment, stilled. "Mon did what now?"

"A hand job. I got one. From her."

Scorpius's jaw dropped. He didn't move his hand from its spot on the parchment and a noticeable ink blob was beginning to form. "That's…wow. That would certainly explain your lack of focus."

Albus nodded. "I'm sort of still processing that it actually happened."

"I don't blame you." The ink blob was roughly the size of a Galleon at this point. "So…how was it?"

Albus raised an eyebrow. "You know orgasms?"

Scorpius snorted. "I'm familiar."

"Well, I had one of those, but instead of doing it myself, a pretty girl did it for me. How do you think it was?"

Scorpius released the sort of odd laugh people sometimes do when they don't know how else to respond. "Congratulations?" The ink blob had now invaded the body of the text of Scorpius's forgotten essay.

"Thanks." Albus stared contemplatively at the paragraph in his Potions book which had become a sort of neutral territory for when he couldn't make eye contact with anything else. "Am I an arsehole for telling you?"

Scorpius looked at his friend curiously. "No. Why would you be?"

Albus shrugged. "You never tell me about the stuff you do with Rose."

Oh. That. The truth was, Rose and Scorpius hadn't gone very far. Some heavy snogging and petting over the clothes was the current extent of their physical relationship. Scorpius was beyond ready for more, but he didn't want to pressure her. "Honestly, there's not really anything to tell, mate."

Albus raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a luxurious moment of smugness. "So…that makes me the first of us to do something sexual. How did that happen?"

Scorpius grinned and rolled his eyes. "Don't ask me. It's not like I want to remain pure as the driven snow."

Albus smirked and leaned back in his chair. "Well, well, well. I, Albus Severus Potter, am the first of my friends to have a bird touch his cock."

It was downright disgraceful how much of that parchment the blob of ink had usurped. "Do you have to put it like that?"

"No, no, this is interesting," Albus said, rubbing his chin. "Truth be told, I always assumed you'd be the first to do anything."

Scorpius quirked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. You're rich and socially competent and you've kind of got a…" Albus made a circular motion with his hands at Scorpius's visage, "…tragic fairy prince thing going on with the blond hair and the silver eyes and the pretty bone structure—"

"I'd hardly call it pretty—"

"—I mean, girls go for that, right?"

Scorpius shrugged. "One does. That's enough for me."

Albus smirked privately and returned his gaze to that incomprehensible paragraph in his Potions book. "She said I was the first she'd ever done anything with," he said in a smallish voice.

Scorpius smiled. He knew that probably meant more to his friend than any sexual acts he and Monica committed together. "She likes you, Al. Any idiot can see that."

At those words, Albus Potter blushed for the first time in his life. He felt temporarily taken aback by the warmth that flooded his face, not quite understanding what the sensation meant.

"And you like her too," Scorpius said, observing his friend as he struggled through his first blush.

Albus knew Scorpius was right. He liked her. He'd have to do something about that if he wanted to keep mouth breathers like Padraig from getting their hands on her.

But he wasn't ready to address that little gem just yet. Labels—girlfriend, boyfriend, monogamous relationships—they just weren't natural or logical. Not when there was a whole sea of girls out there just waiting to be creeped out by Albus Severus Potter.

And yet here he was, feeling like a possessive caveman wanting to rip Padraig McPhearson's face off because he was after a girl who he, Albus, saw as his own. It wasn't logical…but there it was. And Albus would have to face the fact that, unusual and precocious though he may be, he was a human being, not a Vulcan. And humans were fucked up.

He shrugged. "Whatever, mate. By the way, your parchment is covered in ink."

Scorpius's eyes widened as he noticed the pool of ink that had expanded across much of his (now ruined) essay. "Bollocks!"

As Albus watched Scorpius scramble for his wand in a vain attempt to salvage as much of his essay as he could, he grinned.

I'm coming for you, Monica Flint.

At Ginny's insistence, Hermione and Draco allowed her to throw them an informal get-together (Hermione was very adamant that the word 'party' not be used, as it came with the connotation that many people would be in attendance) at her and Harry's house to celebrate the engagement. To prevent Draco from grumbling about having to hang out with what he called 'more Gryffindors than should be allowed in a single room for health reasons,' she even invited Blaise.

"You realize you owe me for this, right?" Draco asked.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Don't even try to pretend that at this point they're not your friends, too."

Draco flinched. "I will concede that we are friendly, but I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends. Besides, just last night we had dinner with your parents. My weekend's been perfectly tied up with attending dinners and parties for your people." He stiffened haughtily beside the Floo. "A weekend which we could have spent doing far more enjoyable things."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine. What do you want?"

Draco pretended to consider her offer, although it was clear he already knew what he wanted. "Hmmm. I'm thinking a good smothering is called for. Yes. Yes, the more I think about it the more I think I'd like you to sit on my face for me when we get back."

Hermione's eyes flashed with lust. This here…this was why she loved this man. She pretended to be put out by his suggestion. "Again? Merlin, why do you constantly feel the need to pleasure me? It's exhausting."

He smirked. "I know. I'm a monster."

When they arrived through the Floo, they were immediately greeted by Ginny bearing a glass of wine for them each. "Thank Merlin you two are here! I feel like I'm about to crawl out of my skin with…never mind." She poured herself some wine into a glass labelled 'Mommy Medicine.'

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's in his 'studio.'"

Hermione noted the way she highlighted the word with air quotes, barely managing not to spill her drink. "Dare I ask?"

Ginny snorted. "No need. Once he comes down he won't shut up about his new 'career' anyway," she said, once again nearly spilling her wine while using air quotes.

"Career?" Hermione asked brightly. "That was fast. What is he doing?"

"Creation. Breathing life into the mundane. What am I not doing?" an airy, pretentious voice said. It was Harry, standing precariously in the middle of the staircase, slouching slightly with one foot tucked behind the other, as if in a pose.

"Huh?" Hermione asked. She took in Harry's appearance. His usually unmanageable hair was unrulier than ever, and it was evident that he had given up all attempts to comb it. While he typically dressed in neat, bland, professional-looking clothes (Ginny dubbed his style 'Dad Chic'), he was now wearing a loose-fitting, breezy pair of white linen trousers that were clasped at the hip by a drawstring. His shirt appeared to be of the same breed of clothing. It was several sizes too big for him, and was in a purple color so garish Hermione was immediately reminded of Gilderoy Lockhart. To top off the look, he was barefoot.

"New clothes?" she asked, not missing Ginny's face contort into a snarl at the sight of Harry's new wardrobe.

"You like? It's so much more comfortable to just create when you're not encumbered by heavy fabrics."

Draco scowled at the sight. "Where the bloody hell did you purchase that get-up, Potter? You look like a homeless fortune-teller."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're just jealous that you don't have the confidence to pull this off yourself."

Draco snorted. "One, don't kid yourself into thinking that you're actually pulling that off. Two, I am many things, but jealous is most certainly not one of them." Draco drew himself up taller, tugging on the lapels of his expensive blazer.

Hermione's eyes diverted from her fiancée to Harry. The two of them couldn't possibly have looked more different. Somehow, standing next to the disheveled mess that was Harry, Draco looked even more impeccably cut. Hermione sighed internally. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to Draco's modelish looks.

She turned her attention back to Harry, who was impervious to Draco's biting critique of his new look. "So…you're some sort of artist now? Is that what you're doing?"

"Photography mostly. Although, I'm getting into painting. I find it so much more freeing than other media. The opportunities to create are just boundless."

At this new revelation, Hermione noticed several areas on Harry's trousers that were stained with various colors of paint. "That's great." Hermione had no idea what else to say. It was obvious Harry was smitten with his new pursuit and she had no wish to discourage him. On the other hand…those clothes…his newfound ability to inject the word "create" into any sentence…it was all pretty bizarre.

"So, you're a bohemian now," Draco said, with even-toned severity in a way similar to how one might say 'So, you've decided to stop washing your armpits.' He turned to Ginny, who was refilling her Mommy Medicine all the way up to the top of the glass. "How do you feel about this?"

She took a healthy swallow from her glass, releasing a grateful "Ahhh" to welcome the feel of alcohol entering her system. "Oh, I'm simply ecstatic that Harry's doing what he loves. I mean I'm the one who bullied him into quitting his job. So really, this is all my faul—I mean my doing, right?"

Draco smirked at Ginny's near admission. "Are you any good, Potter, or are you one of those 'arteests' who just closes his eyes and goes to town on a canvas?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I like to think of myself as a post-emotional expressionist artist who incorporates pre-modern elements into his work."

Draco rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Well, that's a load of bollocks if ever I heard one."

Hermione pinched Draco's bum in retribution for his rudeness, ignoring the prissy "Owwww" that accompanied the action.

"We'd love to see your work, Harry." She spoke to him in that voice she reserved for the slower first years.

Harry preened as he signaled for them to follow him up the stairs. They passed a door labeled 'Do Not Enter. Life and Death Within.'

"My darkroom," he said, casually.

Draco bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing at the pretentiousness of it all. Hermione pinched him on the bum again in warning. If she couldn't laugh, no one could.

"And this is my studio," Harry said, with the weight of a proud papa presenting his child to the world.

Hermione could hardly see her hands in front of her face through the incense fumes. She fought down a cough. The air was pure patchouli. Once her burning eyes adjusted, she found herself surrounded by terrifying, almost violent, riots of color contained within neat canvases. Upon closer inspection, Hermione could make out bodies—the sophistication level of which could only be described as 'slightly more advanced than stick figures'—appearing in groups of three throughout most of the canvases. Upon even closer inspection, the pattern was unmistakable. In every canvas, the middle figure possessed an excess of black hair and a lightning scar, while the figure to his right was painted with orangey-red hair, and the one to his left…

"Bloody hell, Potter. Is this supposed to be Hermione?" Draco asked, indignant.

The figure to the left had a large amount of spiraled dark brown hair and a rather large set of breasts. Oddly enough, though the figures themselves were restrained to a primitive lack of detail, her breasts were drawn quite well.

"I don't know how I feel about you drawing my fiancée's breasts in every single one of your 'paintings,'" Draco said, employing Ginny's use of air quotes.

Harry waived off the comment. "It's art, Malfoy. Don't be so uptight about it. Hermione understands, don't you?"

Draco turned to see Hermione's reaction. He had never before seen her make the particular expression she had on her face right now. One of her eyes was significantly larger than the other, and her mouth was fixed in a sort of upside-down smirk. "So…you painted…us?"

"In our school years. You see this one here," he signaled to a 'painting' composed of uncontrollable black and green blobs of paint with a single dark green squiggle running through the middle with the figures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, standing atop the squiggle. Hermione's breasts in this painting were much smaller. "This is us in the Chamber of Secrets second year. I know you were petrified for this particular part, Hermione, but you were there in spirit. None of it would have been possible without you. And this one," he signaled to another painting of brown and yellow blobs of paint, with straight vertical lines of brown running through the canvas and the three figures standing in the middle under a large red triangle. Hermione's breasts were significantly larger in this painting. "This is us in the Forest of Dean."

Draco rolled his eyes. "For your information, Potter, you got the breasts all wrong. Her nipples are more center than that and they're bigger than you'd thin—owww, what was that for?"

Hermione had pinched his bum again. Frankly, the least of Harry's concerns with these paintings was the accuracy of her breasts.

Draco recovered from the minor injury and scowled as he gazed around the room. "You know the absolute most unbelievable thing about all of this is that these paintings will fucking sell. And they'll sell for a ridiculous amount of money because the Famous Harry Potter painted them."

Harry smiled serenely. "I'm not in this for the money, Malfoy. It's enough that my work will appeal to people's sensibilities."

Draco's eyes widened as he examined a painting depicting light blue versions of Harry and Hermione erupting out of what appeared to be a necklace, while the Ron-figure was thrown on the ground. The Hermione-figure's breasts were painted with astonishing detail in this one. "Right. It's their 'sensibilities' this will appeal to," Draco drawled, pushing away all thoughts of some rich tosser purchasing the vile thing just so he could wank to the naked image of his fiancée.

Harry ignored Draco's pointed tone. "I should go help Ginny in the dining room. You two, stay. Peruse. Explore. Enjoy." He sauntered lightly out of the room.

Draco wasted no time in turning to Hermione with a disgusted expression on his face. "He cannot be serious."

She sighed, her ability to laugh escaping her. "Don't look at me. I certainly had no idea he harbored any…artistic inclinations."

"He doesn't harbor any artistic inclinations. He's just bored and he's making a bunch of rubbish to compensate for that fact. I mean look at this," he said, pointing to the light blue Hermione and Harry painting in the Forest of Dean. Draco narrowed his eyes. "When you two were on your little camping trip seventh year…nothing ever happened between you two, did it?"

Hermione immediately grimaced. "Why would you ever suggest that? I'm not even fully convinced Harry has genitalia. He's that much of a brother to me."

"Then what's with the tits all over the place?"

"He's a guy, Draco. Believe me, I confiscate enough doodles to know that boys like drawing boobs."

"I never went through that phase. I was too busy actually getting laid to draw imaginary boobs on everything." Draco flinched, reflexively protecting his bum at the sight of Hermione's eyes narrowing. "Joking. I was a virgin before I met you. You are the only woman who has ever existed. Everyone else are just blokes pretending to be women."

Hermione smirked. "That's what I thought you said." She lightly draped her arms around Draco's middle and kissed him chastely on the lips. Draco deepened the kiss, turning it into something naughty and full of dark promise. He brought his hands up to cup her breasts, flicking her nipples through the fabric of her dress. "Draco," she said, pulling away. "What are you doing?"

"He said to explore and enjoy," he said, peppering her throat with kisses.

"I doubt this is what he meant." Although she admonished him, she was feeling a tad delirious at his attentions.

Draco responded by placing a sucking kiss under her ear. "You can't expect me to spend any significant amount of time in a room full of images of your breasts—"

"Terrible images."

"Terrible and inaccurate images, but images nonetheless, and expect me to keep it in my pants."

She giggled. "Draco," she said breathily.

"Mmmm," his hands snaked up the backs of her thighs as his lips left searing trails across her jawline. "Say my name again, but this time, with feeling."

"Behave yourself."

"Or, you could just misbehave with me."

"YOU TWO HAVE BEEN UP THERE LONG ENOUGH! DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT SNEAKING A SHAG IN MY HOUSE, MALFOY!" Harry's Sonorus-enhanced voice rang through the house. Draco sighed.

"Fine. But later tonight, I'm going to get you, Granger."

She bit back a giggle, refusing to let him see how amused and giddy he made her feel. "Enjoy calling me 'Granger' while you can, Malfoy, because soon, I'll be a Malfoy too."

He growled, pulling her closer to him and burying his face in her hair. "So you've decided to take my name, then." He nipped her ear.

"Maybe. I haven't decided for certain yet, but if I do, it will be my decision that I will make after much deliberation. Don't think it means you own me," she said, teasingly.

"Of course not," he all but whispered in her ear, sending shivers up her spine. "But that doesn't mean the idea of you having my name doesn't make me want to take you—"

"I FUCKING MEAN IT, YOU TWO! GET OUT OF MY STUDIO BEFORE I SIC MY WIFE ON YOU."

Soon after Hermione convinced Draco to rejoin Harry and Ginny downstairs (the promise that they would exchange oral later that evening might have been involved), Ron and Susan joined them.

"Congratulations, you two," Susan said, hugging them both. "I knew this would happen soon."

Ron narrowed his eyes and stalked over to Draco. "Malfoy, I know you don't need to hear this a hundredth time, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. If I hurt her, you'll get Potter to beat the shit out of me."

"Just so long as we're clear," Ron mumbled, folding his arms. He bit his lip and looked around the room, trying to adopt an air of casual indifference. "So how's that son of yours doing?"

Draco smirked. "You just want to know if he's told me how far he's gone with your daughter."

Ron snarled. "My Rose is an angel, and your son is lucky to be with her! She's far too young to be thinking of doing anything with boys."

Draco casually inspected his fingernails. "Yes, of course. But, as you well remember, Weasel, fourteen-year-old boys are not too young to be thinking of doing anything with girls."

Ron rounded on him. "What do you know?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Nothing, Ron. He's just trying to get a rise out of you." She pinched Draco's bum again, sparking a girly-sounding yowl from the man. "Behave yourself, for the thousandth time."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "You're a walking personality disorder, Malfoy."

"And you, Weasley, are the world's largest single-celled organism."

Hermione broke up the love fest between the two fully-grown adult men, by handing Draco another drink to shut him up. "Thanks, love." Draco glanced at the Floo. "Blaise is late."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Typical Blaise." Harry knew him from work, as Blaise's company supplied the Aurors with gear. "He's always doing this. I mentioned how annoying it was once, and he said something about 'establishing power' or some rot. Sounds like a way to justify being a dick."

"You don't like Blaise?" Hermione asked.

"I like him just fine," Harry said. "But you can't deny that he's kind of an arsehole. I mean…he doesn't bless people when they sneeze. Have you ever noticed that?"

"I'm not sure I even do that every time, Harry," Hermione said.

"Sure, but he never does it. And I'm not saying I necessarily need that. But even a friendly 'gesundheit' would be appreciated."

Draco rolled his eyes and sipped his overly acidic Beaujolais. He didn't necessarily disagree with Harry. Blaise could, at times, be a bit of a douchebag. But he was his best mate, and, although he would never admit it, Blaise could out-loyal even the staunchest Hufflepuff. "By the way, Potter, I blame you indirectly for Scorpius's language, which has grown rather crass of late. You need to watch how you talk around that sneaky son of yours," Draco said.

Harry snorted. "Me? This from the guy who basically reinvented the word 'fuck.' If anything, you're the one to blame for Albus's language."

"I'm hardly that bad."

"Malfoy, you have actually referred to 'fuck' as the 'tofu of words.' So unbunch your knickers from your arse, will you?"

Draco smirked. "I knew this whole cool, easy-going, artsy thing you were doing was just a bit. You see how easy you are to rattle, Potter?"

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy," Harry said, sipping his beer.

The deep roar of the Floo announced the presence of Blaise Zabini and his much-too-young-for-him date—a wispy, dirty-blonde wearing a tight magenta dress that might not have looked out of place at a night club, but was entirely inappropriate for a low-key cocktail party.

Ginny fixed a plastic smile on her face and brought two glasses of wine over to them. "Blaise, so nice you could make it. And it's a pleasure to meet you…?"

"Angela," the girl answered, accepting the wine. "I work for Mr. Zab—I mean—Blaise." She giggled. "Sorry. I'm just not used to calling him that."

Ginny shot Blaise an 'Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me-She's-A-Child' look. He responded with an 'I-Know-It's-Embarrassing-But-What-Can-I-Say-Women-My-Age-Don't-Like-Me' look.

Draco just rolled his eyes. He was used to Blaise's empty-headed, half-his-age tarts. What worried him the most was the fact that this one worked for Blaise, which meant that his friend was probably too overworked to go out and meet new people. It was one thing to be dedicated to your career. It was another entirely to stop trying with the other parts of your life.

"Oh, my gosh! Professor Granger?" Angela shrieked.

Hermione nearly dropped her wine. "Oh. Bugger," she muttered under her breathe, vaguely remembering the girl's face from her first year of teaching.

"I doubt you'd remember me," Angela said. "I didn't get the grades to take your N.E.W.T. course, but two of my friends did. I remember you were like the hot new teacher all the boys wanted to bone."

Draco narrowed his eyes and put an arm possessively around Hermione. He didn't enjoy being reminded that his fiancée was constantly surrounded by a bunch of horny boys, many of them seventeen-year-old young men who would probably climb over each other to fuck a hot teacher.

Hermione's face flushed. "You were in Hufflepuff, right?"

"Yes! Oh, my god. I can't believe you remember me! But you're supposed to be, like, really smart, right?"

Blaise, Draco, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Susan all stifled their snorts. Angela remained oblivious to their amusement. "You know who you look like? You look like my friend, Lisa. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Lisa?"

This time, Ginny failed to suppress her snort. Hermione averted her eyes to the floor, praying for some sort of natural disaster to strike so she could end this conversation. "No, I'm afraid they haven't."

"Well, you do," Angela said, handing her wine to Blaise. "Mrs. Potter, is it alright if I use your loo?"

Ginny, who did not enjoy being addressed as 'Mrs. Potter' by this teenaged person with whom she was forced to socialize, nodded her head curtly and motioned down the hall. Once Angela disappeared around the corner, Draco slapped Blaise on the back of the head.

"Hey, watch it, Draco. I'm holding two beverages here and if I spill them, the Potterette is coming after you."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "No, I'm coming after you. What the fuck, Zabini?"

"Yeah. What the fuck, Blaise," Draco said.

"She's nice," Blaise said dully, realizing what a poor excuse this was.

"She's your employee," Draco said. "You can't possibly be serious bringing her here. I mean, she was Hermione's student, for fuck's sake."

"Technically, she wasn't her student," Blaise said.

"Only because she was too dense to get the requisite grade to take my class," Hermione said.

Blaise shrugged. "I mean…she's not so bad. She's—"

"Nuh-uh. Nice try, but there's not enough lipstick in the world to make this pig look enticing," Ginny said.

Blaise sighed. "Okay, I'll admit it. This one's too young. I guess I just didn't realize how young she was."

"Look, mate," Draco said, leaning in privately while the rest of the group carried on talking about other things. "Nobody really cares that you date young women. That's your business. But as your friend, I have to ask…does it actually make you happy?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Not everyone's like you, Draco. You accidentally reconnect with the girl you bullied in school and she turns out to be the woman of your dreams. I'm not that lucky. I have my work, and it keeps me occupied. I don't have time to dedicate to serious relationships."

"Fine," Draco shrugged. "I won't bring it up again. But you realize that I could count the number of years that this one is older than my son, on one hand, right?"

Blaise groaned. "Please don't remind me how ridiculous I am right now."

The Floo roared once again. "Oh my god, Luna?" Hermione said. "I haven't seen you in ages!" She strolled over to her blonde friend to give her a hug.

"I heard you were marrying Draco Malfoy and I thought, 'That makes sense.'"

Hermione smiled fondly at her friend. Only Luna would ever think 'That makes sense' at hearing that she and Draco were getting married. "Come on, I'll introduce you," she dragged her over to Draco.

Luna extended her hand. "Hello, Draco. I haven't properly met you. Really, we haven't been around each other at all except for that time your father kept me in your dungeons. You seem much happier now. That's good. It's wonderful to meet you."

Draco had absolutely no idea how to respond to this. Should he laugh awkwardly, or was she being serious? He shook her hand. "Um…nice to meet you too."

Luna turned to Blaise. "And you're Blaise Zabini. I don't know anything about you except that you were a Slytherin in school. You were rather quiet and didn't draw much attention to yourself." Her eyes flickered over to his blond friend. "Unlike Draco."

Draco's jaw dropped. He simply could not figure out this person at all. Did she hate him? Or were they already best friends and he just missed it?

To his great surprise, Blaise laughed.

It wasn't often that Blaise Zabini laughed. When he found something funny, he usually just smirked and released a little puff of air that was meant to be a laugh. A true laugh, one that came from his body and not just his face…that was rare.

"Yes, I kept mostly to myself in school," Blaise said, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And I remember you. You were the girl with the appalling fashion sense."

Luna's serene expression remained unbroken. "That's what people said. Although I never understood it myself. I rather liked the way I looked." Her eyes widened slightly as they fixed on Blaise's hands. "Why are you holding two glasses of wine? Do you normally drink this much?"

Blaise realized he was holding his date's drink. "Waiting for you, Lovegood," he said, handing her one of the glasses.

"Thank you. And you don't have to lie to me, Blaise. You didn't know I was coming, so you couldn't have been waiting for me. But thank you, anyway, for the drink," she said, graciously accepting the wine.

Draco looked wide-eyed at Hermione, begging for some sort of translation of how to socialize with this woman. Hermione smirked and dragged him by the arm over to the rest of the group.

Ron craned his head over Draco's shoulder to watch the scene. "Oi, is Blaise hitting on Luna?"

Draco scoffed. "Of course not. He's just never met anyone like her before."

"He'd better not toy with her," Ron said darkly.

"You know, Weasel," Draco said, swirling the mediocre wine around in his glass.,"believe it or not, you don't need to protect all the women in your life from big, bad Slytherin boys. They can make their own decisions about who they want to flirt with, or date, or, in Hermione's case, marry."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're giving me advice on how to treat people? Do you remember the first words you ever spoke to me?"

"'Don't touch me, you're poor'?"

"Exactly. And I'm pretty sure I've heard you make the noise, 'muhahaha,' unironically. You're the arsehole. Not me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're both lovely. And you know, Ron, he's not wrong."

Ron's beer paused on its way to his mouth. "What?"

"With Rose. You don't need to protect her from Scorpius. I see the two of them every day and I can say with absolute conviction that you couldn't possibly hand-pick a better boyfriend for your daughter than him."

Draco preened. He always loved receiving compliments on behalf of his son, but he loved getting them from Hermione even more. His heart fluttered at seeing this protective, maternal side of her.

"You sure you're not biased because he's going to be your stepson?" Ron asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe a bit. But you really should just try to sit down and have a conversation with him, Ron. You'll see for yourself what a lovely boy he is."

Ron took a swig of his beer. "He's a boy. I know what boys are like. I don't need to have a conversation with him to know that."

"Oi, that's my kid you're talking about," Draco said.

Ron looked indignantly at Draco, as if daring him to state another obvious, yet inconsequential fact. "I know."

Ginny sauntered over to them, visibly tipsy. "You two enjoying your 'get-together'? Of course you're not. Between Harry's paintings, Blaise's date, and Ron's mouth, I am declaring this evening officially Tits Up."

"Hush," Hermione said, waiving off Ginny's comment. "You always put together a fun party. And you got Luna to show up. How did you manage that?"

Ginny shrugged. "I honestly just found her wandering around Diagon Alley one day by herself. I think she was lost. We spent nearly six hours catching up."

"Where was she this time?"

"Belarus. Apparently, there are these special ley lines that run through Minsk and only there can this specific type of fairy horse survive. Something about energies or vibrations or some shit." Ginny took a healthy swig of her wine. Draco was quite sure she could be drinking boxed wine and it would taste the same to her as an 1865 Chateau Lafite.

"So how do you really feel about Potter's new hobby?" Draco asked.

Ginny brought a finger to her lips in a frantic shushing gesture. "Do not let him hear you calling it a 'hobby.' I made that mistake one day and I had to listen to him rant for hours about how it was a serious pursuit for truth. And he takes pictures of everything. Every time I turn around, he's just…there…with that fucking camera. I fall asleep—click. I do the dishes—click. I change my bra—click, click, click. It's exhausting and he's become an absolute tit the way he talks about himself now. Merlin, you'd think he invented the concept of art. And you've seen his paintings, right? They're…how can I put this?"

"Shite? Crap? Utter fucking garbage?" Draco suggested helpfully.

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, yeah. All the above. But he's convinced that he's got some sort of calling to 'create.' What can I do? I made him quit his job. And now he's here all the time! I never get a moment's peace between that goddamned camera and him being all, 'Ginny, can you come here and tell me if you think this needs more purple?' 'Ginny, can you be objective and tell me if you think this is derivative of de Kooning?' 'Ginny, could you take your blouse off and sit for me so I have a model for these breasts?"

Draco laughed. "So those were your tits on the canvas. I knew they didn't look like Hermione's." Pinch to bum. "Ow, love. What's with the pinching tonight? Yours are better, anyway."

Ginny sniggered. "You know…you two are gonna make it."

The forgotten Angela suddenly reappeared, looking a little worse for wear, her hair starting to frizz, her mascara bunching at the corners of her eyes. "Whew. I got lost. Your house is huge, Mrs. Potter," she said. "Wait…who's that?" She pointed to Luna, who seemed to be deep in conversation with Blaise, and who was happily drinking her wine.

"Sweetheart," Ginny said, putting her hand on Angela's shoulder. "Lesson one in navigating the grown-up world…know when to go home."