Dusk had fallen over the snow-covered plains of Wiltshire when Draco and Hermione finally emerged from their suite and made their way, hand-in-hand, downstairs. After a quick glance into the dining hall and finding it darkened and empty, they headed for the conservatory instead. Reaching the closed doors, Draco stopped and pulled Hermione aside. She gave him a bemused smile to which he replied with a roguish smirk of his own. Dropping a tender kiss on her upturned cheek, he tugged her into his arms.
Laughing softly, Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and rubbed her cheek against his chest. "If someone had told me a year ago that I would be spending the rest of my life loving you, I'd have hexed them senseless." Her smile faded, only to be replaced by another so lusty Draco was hard-pressed to not carry her right back upstairs and the bloody hell with her wedding night virginity. With a heartfelt groan, he crushed her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck, nipping lightly at the soft, fragrant flesh.
"Seven days and you are mine, Granger," he breathed against her throat, aware of how petulant and needy he sounded but completely powerless to stop. He bit again at her skin, just above her pulse, and she shivered deliciously in his arms.
"Draco, we should go inside," she whispered in that breathy, bossy voice that once upon a time had infuriated him beyond belief and now only made him ache desperately for her. There was no doubt in his mind that she was a powerful witch indeed if she could subjugate him with nothing more dangerous than the sound of her voice.
Tearing himself away from her warmth, Draco smiled at her. Clasping her hand in his, he opened the door to the conservatory.
Lucius was sitting in his favorite chair by the fire and Narcissa was stretched out on one of the loveseats, her feet propped on a pillow and a light throw tossed over her legs. She smiled brightly when Draco and Hermione entered the room. "There you are, darlings! You've missed dinner; I'll just ring for Cook..." She started to sit up but Lucius leaned forward, laying one hand on her shoulder and gently pushing her back.
"Don't strain yourself, Narcissa," he murmured with solicitous pride. His wife rolled her eyes heavenward, but obeyed. Draco frowned a bit at his mother's uncharacteristic acquiescence, but said nothing as he fell back onto the facing loveseat, pulling Hermione down to snuggle close to his side.
"No need, Mum...I think we're going to Diagon Alley for dinner and I'd like to stop in Quality Quidditch Supply and take a look at the new Firebolt 5000. Have you seen it yet, Father?" Draco said, turning to look at Lucius. As they began debating the features of the newest broom models, Hermione smiled warmly at her future mother-in-law.
"Would you and Lucius like to join us? Perhaps for dessert and a glass of wine?" she asked, reaching over to thread her fingers through Draco's. Although deep in conversation, he squeezed her hand gently in reciprocation, the act so sweet and familiar that it brought tears to Hermione's eyes. She smiled at Narcissa, who watched the tender moment with ill-concealed joy. She looked ethereally beautiful reclined against the deep blue velvet loveseat, so unlike the cold and haughty woman Hermione had met at the Quidditch World Cup, the summer before fourth year. Narcissa had changed for the better and she wore it well.
"No, darling...you and Draco go and have a wonderful time. I think I'd like to just spend time with my husband." Stretching lithely under her blanket, Narcissa glanced at Lucius, who had taken his gaze off Draco long enough to send her an ardent look. "We have important things to discuss, so you go and have a wonderful time."
Draco gave his mother a suspicious look. "What things?" he asked. Narcissa gave him an indulgent smile.
"Never you mind, young man. That's between your father and I."
"But, Mum! Why can't you tell me? You always tell me..."
"Draco," Lucius rumbled warningly.
With a huff, Draco slumped back against the cushions, trying not to pout. Hermione drew her fingers along his palm, feather-light, and his attention was immediately drawn to her.
"May we stop in Flourish and Blotts too? There's a new book on counter-jinxes that Bill suggested I pick up and I think it will be especially helpful when I begin working for your father."
Lucius smiled as he watched her deft handling of his prickly son. And no doubt, the hand she was curving around his upper thigh, fingertips rubbing tiny circles on the wool fabric, helped soothe Draco's quick temper.
"Fine. I hate secrets," Draco finally grumbled. He gave Narcissa a snotty smirk. "You know that drives me mad."
"That's why I do it, darling boy, to send you right 'round the bend," Narcissa mocked gently.
"Now, shoo! Perhaps I want some quality time with your father." The blatantly sensual emphasis in her voice and Lucius's burning gaze on her was enough to cause Draco to haul Hermione up off the loveseat and with hurried goodbyes, they left them to their own devices.
After the distant crack of Disapparation faded from the foyer, Narcissa turned onto her side and gazed fondly at Lucius. "You didn't tell them about the pictures in the Prophet."
Lucius sighed and rubbed one long-fingered hand over his face. "It's rubbish, Narcissa. That Skeeter woman is nothing but a self-serving troublemaker and I don't want them to worry needlessly about her lies when the wedding is so close."
Sitting up, Narcissa yawned delicately. "They'll see it if they go into Flourish and Blotts, you know."
He nodded slowly, his shining silver hair glowing in the light of the crackling fire. "They will always be in the spotlight, darling. They're Malfoys. It's best that they learn now, rather than later, how to manage negative publicity. God knows they'll have their share of it."
Gathering her robe closer around her slender form, Narcissa slipped onto Lucius's lap, laying her head on his shoulder. "Haven't they had enough of that in their young lives? Especially Hermione, losing her parents in that awful, awful War?"
Lucius nuzzled the top of Narcissa's fair head, breathing in her sweet scent. "They're strong and committed to each other. They'll be fine. We'll be fine."
Tipping her head back, Narcissa pressed a soft kiss to Lucius's jaw, then another and another until her lips molded to his. "Take me to bed, Master Malfoy. I find I'm ravenous for you," she whispered, turning in his arms until she straddled his lap.
With a grin, Lucius gathered her close and stood up. Narcissa wrapped her legs around his waist, giggling infectiously, as he carried her upstairs.
"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger. Table for two?"
"Please." Draco pressed two Galleons into the maître d's hand. "My fiancée prefers to sit near the fountain."
"Indeed. This way, please," the man murmured obsequiously, taking two menus from the podium and indicating for them to follow. Every pair of eyes in the restaurant was on Draco and Hermione as they moved towards their favorite table, set in a lush, greenhouse-like alcove, a marble fountain bubbling merrily nearby.
Hermione clutched Draco's arm a little tighter, quickly becoming aware of the whispers that followed them. "Everyone's staring," she whispered as the maître d' seated them. As she glanced around, the other diners returned to their meals and conversations, but she could still see the sidelong looks they were shooting their way.
Draco smiled at her reassuringly, but tiny frown lines had gathered between his brows. "Don't worry about it, Granger. They're just jealous that you're with such a rich, handsome man. Not to mention, you're the most beautiful woman in the room." He took her hand in his, stroking her fingers softly. She rolled her eyes playfully.
"The wine list, sir." The wine steward had joined them, holding the list out to Draco, who gave it a cursory look.
"Champagne, please. Your finest vintage."
"Draco, honestly!" Hermione protested, but he grinned saucily at her and she caught her breath as a shiver of pleasure danced along her skin. The steward inclined his head in agreement and hurried off to fetch their champagne. "You're too extravagant."
"I want only the best for you, Granger. The best, the finest, the ultimate of everything should be yours. Plus, I like the way you get all huffy when I pamper you." To emphasize his words, knowing that every eye was upon them, he lifted her hand to his lips and bestowed a gentle kiss on the tips of each finger in turn. The witch at the nearest table sighed audibly in appreciation of his romantic gesture.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, blushing at the other woman's blatant attention. "Oh, is that what you're doing? I've never been the type of girl men want to pamper..."
"You are now. In case you haven't noticed, Hermione, we're the richest young couple in Great Britain." He scooted his chair closer, so that he could drape his arm around her shoulders and smirk defiantly at the rest of the room.
Hermione leaned into his touch, quietly amused at his arrogance. At one time, she'd found him utterly insufferable; a bigoted, unctuous prat at school who had grown up to become undeniably attractive their last couple of years at Hogwarts, but his personality had made him very ugly indeed. Now, however...she gazed up at him, aware that her expression was most likely one of bald adoration.
Draco had changed so significantly; he had become the kind of man she felt fortunate to have found. The kind that only comes along once in a lifetime. That he was wealthy was incidental. That he was gorgeous, at least in her eyes, was minor. That he loved her...well, that was what mattered and she loved him with all her heart.
Draco looked down at her, brow furrowing at the shimmer of tears in her eyes. "Hey...what's wrong?" he whispered, his lips scarcely touching the curve of her ear. He moved lower, placing light, butterfly kisses along her temple and over her flushed cheeks.
"I'm so happy, Draco. I don't remember a time I was ever this happy. If only..." she faltered, choking up as he caressed her arm soothingly. "If only my parents were here...my life would be perfect."
Earlier in their betrothal, Draco would nearly choke on the guilt that would rise in him at any mention of Hermione's murdered parents. He knew his father carried a similar shame, even though neither Malfoy was responsible for their deaths. Still, their ties to Voldemort and his Death Eaters were enough to fill both with self-hatred and miserable recrimination.
But now, Draco was secure in Hermione's love and desire for him, knowing that she considered their life together above and apart from his and his family's past. He nuzzled her cheek with his and hugged her close. "I wish they were here for you, Hermione. If I could give you anything at all, it would be that."
Turning in her chair, she flung her arms around his neck, uncaring that the collective attention of the entire restaurant was on them. "I love you," she breathed against his cheek.
Draco slid one hand over the enticing curve of her bum and was rewarded with a giggle. "Draco!" Hermione chided him, her voice muffled against the fabric of his robes.
"What?" he said with mock innocence.
Before Hermione could reply, a shadow fell over the table. "Well, well...if it isn't Draco and his little Mudblood betrothed." Pansy Parkinson smiled down at them, the curve of her red mouth little more than a vicious baring of her teeth.
In an instant, Draco's relaxed, loose-limbed posture had tightened, coiled like the serpent mascot of Slytherin House and he shifted so that Hermione was tucked partially behind him. He smiled frigidly at Pansy. "Parkinson. What brings you slithering out of your hole?"
The hurt on Pansy's pug-nosed face was fleeting and immediately replaced with an expression of malevolent fury. "I'm surprised to see the two of you here. Grayson Inn is one of the finest restaurants in Diagon Alley...I wouldn't think you'd dare show your faces here."
Hermione scooted out from behind Draco, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. "What are you on about, Parkinson?"
Pansy's surprise was genuine. "You've forgotten so quickly?" She reached down and scooped the champagne bottle out of the bucket. "1976? You must be a better shag than I've given you credit for, Granger. This vintage is nearly priceless. Nearly." She set the bottle down on the table with a thump.
Draco's glare was glacial. "If you're quite finished making a spectacle of yourself, Parkinson, I'll thank you to leave Hermione and myself to our dinner." He smiled faintly, an expression so reminiscent of Lucius Malfoy at his most dangerous that Pansy took a cautionary step back, her fingers slipping into the pocket of her robe.
"You're making a mistake, Draco," Pansy said, her words clear and carrying; the restaurant was as silent as the grave as every witch and wizard present strained to hear her bitter words. "You might've spent years at Hogwarts sniffing after her like an alley cat and wanking off every time she smacked you down, but she's not built for the long haul. You need a woman who is your equal, Draco, not a Mudblood cow who'll lift her tail for any Pureblood wizard who should happen to cross her path!"
Hermione lurched out of her seat and before Draco could stop her, she'd slapped Pansy hard across the face. So hard in fact, that the dark-haired witch stumbled against the table and knocked the champagne to the floor. She lifted one hand to her cheek, aghast that Hermione would dare touch her. "Y-you filthy, stinking Mudblood!" she finally hissed, one hand curving into a claw and the other jerking her wand out of her pocket. But before she could point it at Hermione, she found herself staring down the length of the other witch's wand.
"I dare you," Hermione snarled quietly. "You jealous cow. You can't stand it, can you, that I have the only thing you ever wanted. You can't stand it!"
Draco glanced around the restaurant and was vaguely relieved that most of the patrons were giving Pansy looks of the utmost disapproval, while Hermione was being watched closely. It was a test of sorts, one that would prove to the entire wizarding world that Hermione Granger was a worthy addition to the Malfoy family.
Although Draco liked to think he was getting the best end of the deal.
"Mr. Malfoy." The maître d' had returned with a distinguished looking gentleman whom Draco recognized as the restaurant's owner. His cold smile was surpassed only by his colder eyes. "Is this young woman disturbing you and your lovely fiancée?"
Pansy's mouth popped open in outrage as Draco shook his head slowly. "She's just leaving. I'm terribly sorry for the disturbance."
"You bastard. You utter bastard!" Pansy snapped, her wand hand shaking in fury. "I've known you all my life, Draco...how can you treat me so?"
Draco's gaze softened a little. "Pansy, this is past history. We parted ways long before I fell in love with Hermione. Please understand that it's nothing personal. I wanted to remain friends, but I see that simply isn't possible. I'm sorry."
Hermione lowered her wand, disconcerted as Pansy's blue eyes filled with mortified tears.
"Pansy..." she said, reaching for the distraught witch, her natural compassion coming forth. But Pansy shrank away from her, a look of revulsion on her face.
"Don't touch me! You're nothing but a whore, Granger, and here's proof!" She dug in her bag and withdrew a folded section of newspaper, flinging it in Hermione's face. "And now everyone knows what a true slag you really are!"
"Now, see here, Miss Parkinson! If you don't leave quietly, I shall have to call the authorities!" the restaurant owner said, appalled by Pansy's vulgarity. She gave him a withering look.
"Don't bother. I'll never darken the doors of your mediocre restaurant again!" she spat, turning on her heel and walking away with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Great Merlin, Mr. Malfoy! I'm so terribly sorry you had to witness such a display!" the man cried as he snapped his fingers. Several waiters converged on them, wands at the ready to clean the table and surrounding floor of the spilled champagne. The maître d', noticing Hermione's paling features, gently took her arm and helped her to a chair.
"May I get you anything, miss? You look dreadfully faint! Should I call for a Healer?" he asked solicitously. She shook her head slowly, still staring in shock at the front page of the morning Prophet. Draco hadn't yet noticed her distress.
"Please bill me for everyone present, to make up for the inconvenience," he was saying, to the astonishment of the owner. "Malfoy Enterprises will take care of it."
"Certainly, Mr. Malfoy, sir! You're too generous!"
"Draco!"
He swung around at the sound of Hermione's distressed voice. "Darling, what is it? Are you hurt?" He fell to his knees beside her chair, taking her trembling hand in his.
"Draco, look!" She shoved the paper at him and he smoothed it out across her lap, eyes widening as he realized what he was seeing. Under the headline, 'Trouble in Paradise?', were two large pictures, each moving in typical wizarding fashion. They were remarkably similar; in the top picture, Draco was grinning up at the scantily clad woman writhing on his lap, while Marcus Flint grinned toothily in the background. In her picture, Hermione looked slightly less lecherous, but the young man gyrating in her face was no less attractive or, for that matter, clothed.
"What the...? 'Trouble in Paradise'?" Draco spluttered, giving the paper such a vicious shake that the pictures froze for a moment before resuming their naughty dances "And who is this bloke? You said you were at the Weasleys!"
"I was! Then...then, we went into London. And don't yell at me! You look like you're having a wonderful time with Miss...Miss Big Tits rubbing all over you!" Hermione hissed, her face flushing with embarrassment and temper.
Draco straightened the paper out, his angry grey eyes scanning the text. He bristled with each passing second. "Listen to this drivel! 'Is it possible that the most improbable couple to ever emerge from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is on the skids, even before speaking their sacred vows? Is it possible that the upcoming nuptials of Muggle-born witch Hermione Granger and wealthy, Pureblood wizard Draco Malfoy are a sham, so that the two former enemies can avoid the hefty fines and possible imprisonment associated with breaking the Marriage Act of 2001?' Did you read this?" he snapped as Hermione's eyes filled with tears.
Without waiting for her to answer, he continued scanning the article. "Well, I don't like it! Who wrote it?" He growled when he saw Rita Skeeter's byline. "Figures. That blasted Skeeter cow!"
Every single person in the restaurant was trying – and failing – to give the young couple some privacy. Hermione pulled the paper out of Draco's hands. "She's awful, just awful. She's always hated me, since I was fourteen. 'Only time will tell if the Malfoy-Granger arrangement is legitimate. This writer seriously doubts that Miss Granger's inadequate appeal will be enough to keep a handsome and charming wizard such as Malfoy interested for very long. I give them six months unless Granger finds herself with child. That is to say, if she isn't already.' Oh God..."
With a cry, she flung the paper to the floor and bolted out of the chair. Draco jumped to his feet as Hermione staggered past him. "Hermione, wait!"
"Don't! Please Draco, just don't!"
"Hermione, come back!" he yelled as she raised her wand. With a sharp crack, she Disapparated from the restaurant. A sudden, eerie silence fell over the room as Draco stared at the spot where Hermione had stood.
An elderly witch sitting nearby smiled kindly. "Give your lady some time, young man. She'll come 'round, she will. Wedding nerves, you know." In fact, everyone was nodding and gazing at him sympathetically, offering advice ranging from extravagant gifts to exotic holidays to postponing the wedding, which only made Draco glare at the pretty young witch who had suggested it.
"I'm sorry for all the commotion," he apologized to the owner and maître d', both of whom immediately assured him the fault was not his own. With a heavy heart, Draco gathered up the discarded paper with the pictures from the night before and Disapparated for home.