Hermione slowly slid in and out of consciousness, her blissfully deep sleep coming to an end in starts and stops.

Sometime in the night, she had ensconced herself in sheets that were light and cozy and felt like cottony bliss. The pillow under her head contained just the right amount of firmness, while still soft, almost as if it had been charmed to remain in a stasis of perfection. To complete her nirvana, there was a warm body beside her in bed which she had snuggled into as she slowly came awake. She fit perfectly against it; an arm wrapped around her, pulling her in closer.

Unwilling to accept that it might be morning, it was some minutes before she peeked through her bleary eyes - and it was not until she began to take in her surroundings that she grew confused. Suddenly panicked, she searched her memories for whatever chain of events had brought her to this unknown place; it was not long before she was able to compile a patchy anamnesis. Stiffening with suspicion as the last recollection filtered back into place, she rolled over in bed.

"Good morning," Draco murmured. His right arm was casually slung over her and he had clearly been awake for some time.

"Is it?" she answered before she could even think about it.

His eyebrows contracted somewhat at the defensive reply and for a moment, Hermione wondered if she had been too harsh. But he only confirmed, "Indeed, it is."

Clearly recognizing her discomfort, he pulled his arm back and sat up in bed. Swinging his legs over the edge, he tumbled away from her and yanked his shirt off over his head; she noticed he had still been wearing his ceremonial linen shirt and trousers from the night before and she glanced down at her own chest. Sure enough, she too was still garbed in the white gown Mrs. Weasley had gifted her the previous evening. The front of it was wrinkled where she had slept on it. Suddenly, she felt quite dirty.

"I'm desperate for a shower," Draco drawled as if reading her mind. "You're welcome to join me."

I would really rather not, she thought, appalled at the very idea. Not wanting to be the rude one however, she refuted with a polite, "Thank you, but I think I'll take one on my own after you're done."

He shrugged, "Suit yourself."

A moment later, his trousers joined his shirt on the floor and Hermione's face had flushed crimson as he swaggered into the adjacent room, which she supposed must be the bathroom.

From the doorway, he turned. Noticing her gaze had been transfixed on his naked buttocks, he smirked and invited, "I'll leave the door unlocked in case you change your mind."

Alone again, Hermione took in a gulp of fresh air. Her face was hot as she thought of his unabashed nakedness. Had he no decency?

You had sex with him three times last night, Hermione, her inner self chided practically. Three times.

And damn his stupid, smug self, but it had been thrilling each time.

The first time had been awkward only up until she allowed the magic in the stone circle to take over her body. Once she had given in, it had been… well, magical. Fiery. Compelling.

The second time had been long, languorous, and fulfilling. Almost like making love, or as close as they could get to it without actually being in love. She had ridden him until he burst, and in getting him there she reached climax twice herself.

The third time, he had fucked her. There really was no other word for it. After finishing inside of her the second time, he had flipped her over so she was doubled-down on her knees before entering her again from behind. She had been borderline-sore at the start of it and despite that the change in position caused her to orgasm twice more, she was thoroughly knackered by the time he found completion again.

She had withdrawn quickly, not wishing to be fucked to death by the closeted sex-beast known as Draco Malfoy. Luckily, he did not argue - and even more luckily, he had finally gone flaccid. She did not think she could have handled another round.

Afterward, she cast a non-verbal contraceptive charm on herself, just in case… and then a second, to be absolutely sure. She had been taking potions for some time as a precaution, but the very thought of finding out she was pregnant by her schoolyard-tormentor turned her stomach. No, it was going to take quite a lot of getting used to before she could imagine creating a future with her new husband, married or not.

In fact, now that morning had arrived, Hermione felt utterly unequal to the task of being a Malfoy.

Alone now in the suite she shared with him, she took a perfunctory look around the room in which she had just passed the night. It was a handsome room, all paneled and furnished in cherrywood, and with a vaguely Victorian wallpaper in black and silver that managed not to be the main feature of the room despite how elaborate it was. The windows were tall with old glass that had waves in the panes, as if it had been made a few hundred years ago by a glassblower. She might have been at a bed-and-breakfast in the countryside, for how impersonal the place was.

In short, it looked nothing like the sort of place she would have expected her new husband to live.

Gathering her gown around her like a flimsy shield, she presently gathered up enough curiosity to traipse into the receiving room just outside the bedroom. She had not really got a good look at it the night before, in her haste to get away from Draco.

Look, I'm sorry. I should never have called you... that. Especially as it turns out you aren't one. His words from the previous night still incensed her. Did he truly believe them to be an adequate apology? Did they indicate he was still prejudiced? She supposed it would be too much to hope that he wasn't, but she knew there was a not-so-small part of her that wished his narrow worldview had changed after the war...

The receiving room was enormous, with enough space to entertain an entire Quidditch team. Though she knew it was silly, she had somehow expected this pace to reflect Slytherin green-and-silver; she was relieved to be wrong. Instead, the walls had been painted a light gray, while the high ceiling featured molded designs that spread upward from an ornate crown molding that ran the border of the ceiling. In the center of it all, the Malfoy family crest breached the surrounding ornamentation, where it was painted in gold leaf. As if Hermione could forget where she was...

Reaching over to touch the smooth wood of the fireplace mantle, expertly carved into all sorts of seemingly meaningless designs with varying degrees of complexity, her hand sprang back as if burned when she heard a tapping off to her right.

Head swiveling toward the sound, she discovered a familiar owl rapping on the glass of the French doors that led off to the balcony. Recognizing him instantly, she rushed toward the doors to open them, her footfalls muffled by the soft, braided carpet.

"Thylluan!" she exclaimed.

There was a long history of Ginny's owl delivering messages to Hermione in Australia, which was quite the journey for any animal. Often, he would have to stay with her for a few days to recover before setting off on the pilgrimage back home. Yet, the bird was mild-tempered and never seemed to mind spending a few days with her.

With a self-satisfied hoot, the handsome tawny owl circled over her head once before landing on the nearby side table and sticking out his leg for Hermione to remove the note he carried. It was barely two lines, just an entreaty for Hermione to meet Ginny at the Leaky Cauldron that afternoon for lunch. It was not even signed.

Flipping the parchment over, she summoned a quill and ink, which whizzed into her hand from a folding writing desk on the other side of the room. On the back side of the note, she hastily scribbled an affirmative reply and rolled it up, sealing it with her wand. Then, turning back to the owl, she told him mournfully, "I haven't got anything for you as a treat."

He hooted indignantly.

Reaching out to stroke his head, she cooed, "But you are a lovely, good boy. That's right… good boy, Thylluan…"

"If you send him to the aviaries, there will be something there for him."

Hermione's head shot up, this time to see Draco clad in only a towel which was wrapped around his waist. He was combing roughly through his hair with his fingers and watching her interact with the owl.

"Thanks," she replied, trying not to look at him in all his half-clothed glory. While not muscular, his body was superb. It really was not fair.

After attaching Ginny's recycled note to the owl's leg, she released Thylluan back outside, directing him to head toward the aviaries first. He was happy to comply and nipped fondly at her shoulder before taking flight again.

"Not even here twenty-hour hours and you're already getting fan mail," Draco tutted from behind her. "Either that or it's your friends checking in to make sure you're still alive… or seeing if they need to help you cover up a murder."

"Both of those last ones, actually," she confirmed, attempting a small smile. "It was from Ginny. I'll be meeting her for lunch."

"Ah."

An awkward silence stretched between them and Hermione shifted uncomfortably where she stood. What was she supposed to say to him? Should she wait for him to speak first? It was going to be a long, awkward lifetime of uncomfortable reticence at this rate. She picked at the tie that held her wrinkled linen gown up, but her fingers stilled when she recalled the moment, mere hours ago now, when Draco had pulled it and the whole thing had pooled at her feet...

Breaking her from her reverie, he informed her, "My mother will be expecting us for breakfast soon. I would recommend you use economy with the timing of your shower."

"Why are we breakfasting with her?" she blurted out.

Draco eyed her enigmatically, "It is something my family does in the mornings. What did yours do?"

"I suppose… the same." Immediately feeling foolish, she stumbled, "Right. I'll go... shower, then…"

Leaving her arcane, too-handsome husband behind, she padded back into their bedroom and gratefully stepped into the privacy of the adjoining bathroom.

After the luxuriousness of the other rooms that belonged to their suite, she was nearly afraid of what sort of ridiculous opulence she might find here. While not quite so absurd as her imagination had conjured, the room did not disappoint. It seemed nearly to have been crafted out of a singular piece of imported marble: something that should not have been possible without magic - and maybe it wasn't.

With an unexpected pang of nostalgia, she suddenly missed her childhood bedroom and its purple walls, her bed in the dormitory of Gryffindor Tower, and the apartment she leased in Australia though she had often bemoaned its small size - in that order. A deep, afflicted sadness kicked in, followed by a fervent wish that she could return to the little borrowed bedroom at the Burrow that had once been Percy's.

It was never going to be easy, she steeled herself, grimly beginning the task of scrubbing the mingling scents of oils, incense, wood smoke, and sex with Draco out of her pores.

.

.

Breakfast was awkward, at best.

There was too much silverware and Hermione had to try looking at which fork Draco used to eat his poached quail eggs without trying to seem too obvious about it. She also had to dress in something she might wear on a lunch date with someone she was trying to impress. All for breakfast. With her new family.

It did not escape her that Draco had included her in that word less than an hour ago, yet it was still surreal to her that both he and the functionally flawless woman at the end of the table were now counted amongst her family, too.

"Just think about it," Narcissa was gushing, "a society wedding! We could make it on the smaller side, only about a hundred guests. Smaller weddings are so chic these days, so exclusive. And dahlias… dahlias everywhere…"

Draco lazily interjected, "I think Hermione would prefer peonies, mother."

Mortified, Hermione could only stare at him for a moment before turning her attention to Narcissa with a kind of desperation. "We're already married. Surely we don't need to have a second wedding?"

"Oh, but my dear, don't you want something a bit more modern?" Narcissa protested, her eyes widening. "It will be a beautiful way to announce your union to those who have not the privilege of being included in the blood pact."

Reality came to a screeching halt, and a spasm of horror passed through Hermione. With a groan, her fork fell onto the table with a clatter and she buried her face in her hands.

"Hermione! What is it?" Narcissa exclaimed in worry.

"How am I supposed to tell my friends I'm married?" she bewailed. "This will completely blind-side them!"

"And your parents, I suppose?" Draco drawled.

Sitting up suddenly as this thought assaulted her, she slapped a hand to her forehead and agonized, "My parents! How am I going to tell them that I essentially eloped? Oh no, no, no… this is awful..."

"Don't fret, my dear," Narcissa soothed, though she looked troubled, "I'm sure your parents will understand…"

"But they aren't members of the blood pact!" she protested. How had it taken her this long to think of them? Perhaps she had become so used to not telling them things over the past decade or so, that it was no longer a conscious decision to keep them in the dark. The same sense of loss and sadness from earlier stole over her, lending a droop to her shoulders.

"Well," Narcissa mused, clearly discomfited, "we can wait for you to break the news to them first... before we announce anything, I suppose."

.

.

It was a mercy when Hermione could finally escape to meet with Ginny for lunch.

"Tell me everything," her friend demanded after bestowing her with a fierce hug. The duo found a secluded booth at the Leaky and Ginny cast a precautionary Muffliato over their table.

It did not take long for Hermione to share everything from the time they had parted the night before. Ginny had taken Hermione aside last night when she returned to the pavillion, first checking to make sure she hadn't been forced to do anything against her will, then commiserating with her over it having to be Draco Malfoy, out of all the eligible wizards. Beyond that, not much more had been said. Again, she found herself doing most of the talking, while Ginny listened.

As Hermione neared the end of her narrative, she continued with, "...And Draco's mother wants to have some big society wedding..."

"You're going to have to be firm with her," Ginny insisted as she fished the cherry from the bottom of her drink. "There are certain people you need to tell before she can throw her big party. Like your parents… and Harry and Ron."

"Harry and Ron are not going to take this well at all," she fretted.

"No, they are not," Ginny agreed solemnly. After a pause, she offered, "Do you want me to tell Ron for you?"

"You would do that?"

"He's my brother," she shrugged. "An idiot, it's true - but still my brother. And you're my friend, and also technically my cousin. Of course I would do that."

Hermione sighed deeply, relieved. She was beginning to feel thoroughly wrung-out; it was time for a change of subject. "How are you doing? You must be relieved you didn't get paired."

"Beyond what I am capable of expressing," Ginny admitted. "Harry and I fucked so hard last night, I think we might have broke his box spring. I had to tell him I had accidentally got into a bit of lust potion to explain myself."

Hermione winced, "Only on a need-to-know basis, Ginny, from now on, please."

"Right, sorry. It's hard when you lose perspective. I mean, you've barely seen Harry, right?"

"That's true. It's going to be supremely awkward to meet with him again and go, 'Hiya, Harry. By the way, I got married to Draco Malfoy. You remember that bloke you've always hated?'" she deduced miserably.

Placing her hand on her friend's for comfort, Ginny reminded her, "Write him a letter if you can't face him. No matter how he finds out, he'd rather hear it from you than from some tabloid…"

"Good Godric, if the tabloids get wind of this, they are going to have a field day."

"I wish I could tell you that you're wrong, but you're not."

"I can see it now: War Heroine Marries Former-Death Eater."

With a slight shiver, Ginny's eyes flickered up to her friend, watching her carefully. Then, tentatively, she queried, "There's one thing you've been conspicuously silent on, which I didn't feel quite right about bringing up last night, 'Mione, but considering you and Malfoy were up in the henge for nearly two hours… was the sex good, at least?"

"Draco has," Hermione began, fishing for the correct words, "an alarmingly short refractory period."

Ginny raised one rust-colored eyebrow speculatively. "So, it was good then?"

"Mind-blowing," she confirmed, seeming stunned at her own confession. "I believe I had five orgasms, which I did not even realize was possible."

After a long pause, Ginny remarked, "Well, I suppose he has to have some redeeming qualities. Go figure, the Slytherin knows how to use that serpent he's got between his legs."

.

.

Dinner, it appeared, was like breakfast in that they ate it with Draco's mother. Just as Ginny had advised, Hermione decided to preempt the woman by bringing the subject up herself and firmly putting her foot down about any wedding ceremony being arranged in the near future.

She expected some resistance, or perhaps some plaintive remarks, but surprisingly, Narcissa agreed to put any planning off, at least for a few months. "Lucius will be released from Azkaban in August. I am sure he would like to attend his only son's wedding."

Hermione blanched; she had not factored Draco's father into this equation. Would she really have to share a roof with the man? She called on the few memories she had stored up about Lucius Malfoy and suddenly, her future became a whole lot more sinister.

The silence was deafening. Every click of a fork against china seemed amplified. Though she had barely acknowledged, let alone touched her food, Hermione had to excuse herself. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to go lie down for a bit."

Already rising halfway from his seat, Draco queried, "Would you like me to come with you?"

"No," she answered, a little too quickly. She thought she saw a spasm of indignance cross his brow, and swiftly amended, "Thank you, I think I just need some rest. I'd hate to disturb your meal for a trifle like this."

Though he looked somewhat appeased by her more polite tone of voice, she could sense a vague tinge of suspicion in Draco's voice when he concluded, "As you like. I'll check in on you in a little while."

Scuttling from the dining room as quickly as she could, Hermione very nearly breathed a sigh of relief the moment she was free of the stifling atmosphere. Though she was perfectly aware that both Draco and his mother had been surprisingly accommodating - concerned about her comfort, even - it was supremely difficult for her even to be in the manor at all. She kept wondering about certain rooms… if the death of anyone she knew had been planned them, perhaps even her own. If Voldemort himself had set foot into them, eaten at the supper table, sat in an armchair…

One thing was for certain, she did not wish to return to the bedroom she shared with Draco. She opted instead, for a walk. Perhaps she could clear her head as she did some exploring - preferably in the wing she needed to start regarding as her and Draco's - rather than in the heart of the manor. The air somehow felt different there; she wondered if it had been blocked off during the war, as something about the aura of the rooms felt cleaner.

Maybe I can check out more of the library, she thought, perking up at the idea.

Considering how vast the estate was, she was pleased when she only had to double-back once from having got lost. Finally, she came upon their wing, and from there it was nearly as if she were attracted to the library by a magnetic force pulling her to it.

Pushing the door open, she gasped at the sight that met her eyes. The ceiling, which rose into an eye-grabbing cupola in the center, featured an intricate set of colorful mirrors assembled in such a way and at such angles, that it created an enormous kaleidoscope. A array of colorful light spread across the floors, crept across the shelves, and stretched onto the walls and assembled furniture. It was breathtaking.

Hard to believe this is a part of Malfoy Manor, she thought ruefully.

Realizing that she had been arrested in the doorway, Hermione pushed inside, shutting the door behind her. Light drifted across the ceiling and walls as if she were underwater, only it waveringly took on the color of green, red, orange, blue, purple, turquoise… then green again, beginning the cycle over.

The theme of magical creatures was apparent from every angle, from the copper-filigreed outlines of gryphons, nundus, and runespoors on the walls, to the statued depictions of hissing selkies, soaring owls, and rearing thestrals.

As she turned the corner of a massive shelf containing old history tomes, Hermione discovered a corridor she had not noticed the previous evening. While one side of it was merely a wall decorated with tasteful but impersonal adornments every few feet, the other side featured more window than building, and looked out over the gardens. They stretched impressively into the growing darkness of night, the maze-like hedges and pruned trees mysterious in the foggy evening. The stark whiteness of what appeared to be albino peacocks paraded importantly about the grounds.

Curious where this way might lead - especially given that it was attached to the library - she followed the hallway to discover that it led to an archway which opened into a gallery. This was mostly shrouded in darkness. Poking her head through, her eyes widened as she realized the room was at least two stories tall, and every inch of the walls seemed to be covered in art.

Hermione jumped when a disembodied voice spoke from somewhere along the gallery, "Well, well… what have we here?"

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Author's Note: Mwahaha, a lame-o cliffy! I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry.

Just a quick public service announcement: I have a beta, her name is I was BOTWP, and she's pretty fantastic. Not that I want you to go steal her from me, I just thought you should know. Legit, she makes the whole story better. *tosses glitter*

A thunderous thank you to everyone who reviewed. Reviews are more satisfying than the feeling of finally being at peace after having to sneeze for roughly forever. Yes, I do read them all (in case you wondered), even if I'm sometimes shit at responding to them.