AN: Ok. Here's the deal. I'm tired of reading this chapter so if there are errors...they can just stay. I'm over it. Also? For the love of God, don't ask me how many chapters are left. This is a WIP. It is what it is. It will be finished when it's finished. There will be as many chapters as there needs to be, to tie everything up with a pretty little bow. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it, despite the chapter delays.

As always...enjoy. *kisses*

Of Pinks & Blues

Ginny McLaggen sidled into her new husband's side, her fingers running through the sparse dark blonde curls littering his chest. She kissed his heart while he slept, wondering how she had ever walked away from him. She sighed, turning onto her side, smiling more than a little when his arm protectively encircled her.

Cormac smiled into the sea of red hair brushing across his face and sighed into Ginny's throat. He wasn't normally one to bother with smiling or happiness, but Ginevra Weasley made his heart feel full, and now she was his. His rugged fingers stroked her bare thighs, seeking her familiar warm heat, only to be denied.

"Cormac, we're late. We promised Ron and Pansy we'd meet them at the Ministry."

"We're not going. I won't have you in the vicinity of an angry Veela for the sake of solidarity." Ginny pushed at his arm, but Cormac was much stronger than her. He snickered, easily holding her in place while managing to slide his knee between her tightly clenched thighs.

"I'm not in the mood. I want to go to the Ministry." Ginny growled, ignoring the sudden influx of blood rushing in her veins.

"Liar. Shag first, Ministry after. I'm assuming by that point the Veela will be calmed enough and we'll meet your lot for a lovely afternoon tea." Cormac kissed her shoulder, nudging the apex of her thighs with his knee, knowing it was only a matter of moments before she relented.

Ginny's guttural sigh gurgled in her throat as she allowed her legs to be slowly parted. She knew arguing with him was futile. He would only tie her to the bedpost and smack her bum until she acquiesced. She never minded, but today wasn't a day for play.

"Do you suppose we'll have a girl or a boy?" Cormac suddenly pulled away from his new wife, his brow crinkled in heavy thought.

"I…suppose we'll have whatever we have. Does it matter?" Ginny pouted prettily and Cormac's lip twitched in amusement. He bent to kiss her lightly, their amorous moment ruined with thoughts of children dancing in their heads.

"I'm rather partial to pink." Cormac winked, leering at her bare chest until Ginny blushed.

Megan Jones had sidled into the shadows since Granger's Foundation for Wayward Witches and Wizards had burned to the ground. From the moment Theo had whisked her away from the rubble, they had barely left his brownstone. She preferred it that way, really.

It wasn't all filled with sordid moments spent nude and splayed upon his sheets. There were moments of tenderness and conversation in front of a crackling fire as the events reared their ugly heads the moment she closed her eyes. Surprisingly, Theo had been patient and kind, murmuring soothing words while he rocked her in his arms.

"Shhh, don't cry, love. It's alright. I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you, I swear it." Theo soothed her the way he imagined a mother would, even when she smacked his arm.

"Don't swear." Megan hiccupped against his chest, causing Theo to roll his eyes. She'd picked up too many habits from Hermione Granger for his liking, but there was naught to do about it now. He was completely besotted.

She hummed lightly under her breath while she set the kettle on to boil and the bacon to popping in the pan. Yet another owl pecked at the window, but Megan wasn't in the sort of mood that would have her hurrying to retrieve the scroll tied to it's little leg. She was enjoying her little bubble of happiness, free from the judgements of her friends and family.

"Megs?" Theo's sleepy voice echoed from the bedchamber and Megan smiled sweetly while carefully flipping the bacon and poking the fried potatoes.

"Come and have a bite." Megan easily set the small table in the quaint breakfast nook with chipped china and mismatched cutlery, not bothered by such things.

Theo ambled into the still chilly kitchen with his lounge pants sliding down his hips and an unclad chest. He scratched his head with a great yawn, startled to see she was already done up in a checkered gray and white smock, adorned with a white apron. Her bouncing yellow curls were twisted onto the top of her head, displaying the sinewy lines of her neck.

His fingers had barely graced her cheek before she was rolling her sparkling eyes and handing him a plate overflowing with a hot breakfast. Theo smirked, yet sat just the same, as he had done every morning for almost a month. He did adore a hot breakfast and Megan's ability to provide his favourites only bolstered his affections.

"Are you ever going to give me a proper answer?" Theo calmly sipped his tea, drowning in cream, just the way he liked it, while he perused the lovely little blush on his witch's cheeks.

"Are you ever going to ask me a proper question?" Megan parried, daintily folding a cloth napkin in her lap before spooning a scant amount of sugar into her tea.

"Puppet…"

"You know I hate it when you call me that. I'm not your Puppet any longer Theo. Of course, now I'm bound to you but that's a completely different matter, isn't it?" Megan nibbled the corner of her little buttered toast, a smile on her moist lips.

"It's not as if I can take it back, love. It's an Unbreakable Vow. I haven't utilised the magicks and if I'm not mistaken your mark has faded. If you truly wished to leave me, you could. I wouldn't stop you, even if I could." Theo poked his crispy potatoes, scooping a forkful into his mouth with a big of fried egg.

Megan nodded thoughtfully, considering his words with care while she carefully chewed a thick slab of peppered bacon. The rising sun filtered through the small window to her right and she caught a glint of gold as it flashed into her eye. She shoved her purple spectacles up the bridge of her nose with narrowed eyes, pretending she didn't just catch a glance of gold dangling from Theo's neck.

"What do you propose then?"

"Aw Megs, I'm not going to wax poetic like some Huf…er, bloody hell, I'm not the sort of bloke to…what I mean to say is…" Theo dropped his knife with a clatter and hastily grasped Megan's empty hand. "I should have gone about this differently, but I didn't. I shouldn't have tricked you, but I did. I most definitely shouldn't have fallen in with Rowle, but I can't change any of that. I don't…want to lose you because of all that mess. I'd rather you'd just agree to marry me. Dammit Megan, I care about you alright?" Theo yanked the thin gold strand from his neck and turned Megan's hand until her palm was facing upward. He carelessly dropped a thin gold band into her hand, distraught with his inability to properly formulate his affections.

Megan plucked the ring from her palm and studied the conservative gem in the center, deciding she quite liked the amethyst. It suited her more than she thought possible, wondering what her father would think. It was simple, and obviously a family heirloom, but he'd be more concerned with opulence, as was his way.

"Do you love me?" Megan inquired of Theo quietly, her breakfast completely abandoned.

"Fuck yes, marry me witch." Theo knocked the plates to the floor and grasped her face with both hands, mashing their lips together in desperation.

It wasn't long after that he was finally granting entry to the angry little tawny owl, trepidation rearing its ugly head. Theo recognised the hastily scrawled words of Rowle before ever reaching the signature and groaned. He was desperate to find a way out of the web he had weaved and turned to Megan with wary eyes.

"It's him isn't it?" Megan waved a damp tea towel, gesturing toward the parchment in his fist.

"He's got the girl." Theo slumped over the sink basin, his bare shoulder brushing the cap sleeve of Megan's smock.

"You've got to report him to the Ministry…" She dropped the tea towel onto the stone and touched his back, kissing the strained muscle in his shoulder with warm parted lips.

"No. I've got to do better than that. I know Rowle. He might be a bastard, but he's got an uncanny instinct where the Ministry is concerned. He'll know they're coming before they've even set off. He's got the girl, Megan. We were there, we saw Granger lose her bloody mind." Theo set Megan on the counter, surprising her.

Megan knew he was going to leave. She knew his undeniable guilt would force his hand. She knew exactly what he was going to say before he dropped his forehead to hers. Megan allowed him to peck her lips, softly drawing her to him. She melted into his chest, knowing it was his way. Theo wasn't the sort of wizard to spout words of love, he allowed his actions to speak volumes.

"You're going to get her." Megan gasped against his parted lips, her legs locked around his waist and Theo nodded.

"Go to Pansy's. She'll look after you. I'll be back love, I swear it." Theo forced her arms from around his neck and stepped out of her tight embrace.

"Don't swear." Megan whispered, slipping the thin gold band onto her finger with a low, shivered sigh.

Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the ever impressive towering wizard, despised walking the corridors of Azkaban. The lack of Dementors did absolutely nothing to make the hulking bit of rock inviting. It was dark, dreary, and downright depressing, but for Hermione Granger he'd make an effort.

He shivered against the chill in the air while he allowed one of the tubby, grimy guards to escort him to the darkened cell in the back corner. The wizard's institution gray robes dragged on the ground, despite his burgeoning stomach and Kingsley wondered how much the poor man was paid.

It was eerily quiet compared to the last time he had walked the halls and while the accommodations were better, it was still not the sort of place one wished to remain. Kingsley drew his cobalt blue robes closer to his large body, attempting to stem the chill seeping into his bones.

"He's in the last one there. I'd rather not go with you, if you don't mind, Minister." The guard scratched the red stubble on his chin, his beady brown eyes hesitantly meeting the Minister's.

"I'm sure I'll be fine." Kingsley ventured into the darkest section of the corridor with a heavy sigh.

He squinted, searching the last cell for its prisoner in the darkness. Based on the reports he had received from Azkban, Draco Malfoy wasn't the worst prisoner they'd ever had, but he was less than cordial. He refused to eat nary a morsel and drank only when faced with punishment.

"I told you to stop coming here." Draco rasped, huddled in the corner while casting the Minister a wary eye.

"Mr. Malfoy…" Kingsley wasn't against pleading at this point. The number of owls he received on a daily basis clamoring for either Draco's condemnation or release was wearing on his frayed nerves. "The Wizengamot is more than willing to convict you. They have a tendency to be particularly scathing when it comes to murder these days, I'm sure you can understand."

Draco Malfoy offered nothing more than a grunt, his eyes closing as he silently willed the Minister to leave. Seeing the shiny black face of the Minister only reminded him of her in a strange way he was still unable to fathom. He had spent many hours touring Hermione's mind and knew of their close-knit relationship, developed during the War.

It had been easy to allow the furious batch of Aurors to drag him away from Daphne's crumpled form. The overwhelming guilt at his actions caused him to shed to Veela form before they'd ever arrived. Draco remembered hearing Harry Potter shouting, but he had only slumped forward, not even bothering to shield his head from the angry blows.

Draco supposed some of those Aurors had waited a lifetime to bring a Malfoy to his knees. He wasn't about to aid in their joy by struggling against them. He remembered Harry's green eyes as he was led into his cell in Azkaban and the silent promise. Draco knew the constant thorn in his side would find a way to gain his freedom, for it would be a cold day in Muggle hell before he Demonstrated for that lot.

"Go away." Draco hissed, quickly burying his head in his folded arms.

"I can't keep her away forever, Mr. Malfoy. I expect a few more days at most before she petitions the…" An absolutely terrifying Patronus raced toward Kingsley, causing the burly wizard to retreat from its approach. The raging bull, snorted and the Minister swore puffs of smoke escaped its flared nostrils.

"The Wizengamot by power of the Chief Warlock has accepted the Petition of one Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. Present the Azkaban prisoner DM713. Half past four."

"Did you really expect the brightest witch of the age to do absolutely nothing?" Kingsley signaled for the guard furtively observing him and sighed.

Draco Malfoy growled low and deep, causing the Minister to wonder if the Wizengamot knew what they had done. He doubted it, as they were often spontaneous and later regretted their actions. Kingsley hoped against hope Hermione and Harry knew what they doing as he did not wish to be on the receiving end of an angry Veela.

He cast one last glance over his shoulder, and followed the guard toward the exit. Kingsley wondered if he would be permitted to escort Draco. While there was no love lost between him and the wizarding high court, Kingsley didn't enjoy the idea of watching their body parts splatter about.

"Hem hem." Kingsley bristled, snorting in barely concealed derision as the prisoner called to him. He smothered a laugh when he was face to face with none other than Dolores Umbridge. How she had managed to convince the guards to provide her with pink prisoner garb was a question for the ages. "Minister, I see we're housed with a suspected Veela. Surely the greatly esteemed Wizengamot wishes to provide better quarters for their more reputable guests." Dolores sniffed, haughtily daring him to refute her words.

"Oh absolutely, Ms. Umbridge. I've personally seen to the transport of one Draco Malfoy, Veela. It is absolutely unseemly to have him surrounded with the likes of you." Minister Shacklebolt tipped his square hat, adjusted the black tassel, and vacated the premises with a wide smile on his thick lips.

Thorfinn Rowle crashed through the forest, his fingernails ragged and bleeding. He could hear the shouts behind him and pushed on, despite his fatigue. His blond hair was streaked with red, his cheeks scratched from the whip of branches and his clothes were bearing the brunt of his escape.

He hadn't thought Theodore Nott had the gumption to actually turn to the Ministry. He knew the boy was floundering in his allegiance, but it hadn't bothered him much. Rowle believed a simple conversation, reminding the boy of the havoc the Malfoys had wrecked would be enough to turn his convictions back to the prize.

"Stupid bitch." Thorfinn grunted, finally resigned to crawling across the sodden leaves, his small eyes concentrating on the hollow of a nearby tree.

He blamed that bloody Hufflepuff witch. He had entertained the idea of bedding her once Theo was through, but my how the tables had turned. Rowle knew when Theo arrived at the flat, it wasn't going to be a simple matter. He shook his head, refusing to admit he had been bested by his protégé.

"You've nowhere to go, Rowle!"

Thorfinn huddled into the muddy hollow of the tree, biding his time. The Aurors were young and all he needed was one of them to falter for a moment. His wand had been destroyed after a particularly bad land. He kept the broken pieces in his pocket, ever optimistic.

He listened carefully, smiling evilly as the gentle steps of a young Auror drew perilously close to his hiding place. He scooped a healthy handful of moist mud into his meaty hands and spread it into his telltale blond hair. He wiped it down his cheeks and even over his partially bare chest. It was easy enough for him to squeeze out of the hollow and as he stretched his large form into a standing position, he held his breath.

It was a gift from Merlin. Rowle smiled widely and almost laughed, but he wasn't home free quite yet. A terribly young, trembling Junior Auror was less than a yard in front of him. He moved with stealth belying his size and soon stood directly behind the poor wizard. Thorfinn scoured the immediate vicinity, and noted the lad's Training Constable was much further away than Ministry standards depicted safe in perilous conditions.

With the greatest of ease, Thorfinn Rowle's thick arms caught the young wizard around the throat. If he had the time, Rowle would have toyed with the boy for a bit, but he didn't have such luxuries. He squeezed, lifting the wizard off the ground without breaking a sweat. The Junior Auror struggled, but it was in vane, with a sudden, ferocious twist, the wizard's neck snapped.

Thorfinn carried his county back toward the hollow. He stuffed the Ministry worker into the hollow, after removing the boy's wand. He covered the hollow with leaves and broken branches as an afterthought. Finally, he was unable to contain his glee and let loose a loud barking laugh. He listened to the thunder of feet in the leaves, the stumbles over the branches and the shouts for a moment.

"Jones?! JONES!" Thorfinn snickered, throwing his head back in explosive laughter, and just as the impressive gathering of Aurors descended upon his position, he waved as hexes were bellowed, and Disapparated.

Draco Malfoy didn't fight the two quivering guards when they entered his cell. In fact, he barely lifted his head to acknowledge their existence. He kept his breaths slow and steady, allowing their hands to clasp the shackles around his wrists and ankles, knowing he could easily burst free of them if he so wished.

"Mr. Malfoy, it's time to go before the Wizengamot." The stockier guard offered a hand and while Draco wasn't the sort of wizard to enjoy grasping hands with another man, he accepted.

His state was weakened by a refusal to eat, but his anger was slowly rising, knowing he would see Hermione soon. The last thing he'd wanted was her involvement, but she'd always been a stubborn witch and had chosen now of all times to finally accept their bond. Draco imagined her strong and proud, voraciously arguing with anyone in her way and it gave him strength.

The walk toward the exit was long, but transport to the Ministry was surprisingly fast considering the distance. Draco was vaguely intrigued, but not enough to actually converse with his captors. The moment they stepped from the lift, he was on edge.

The Azkaban guards did not jostle him or force him to step forward when his feet stopped moving of their own accord. They simply rocked on their heels and waited. Draco hissed, the sound escaping between his teeth and began to move.

He could hear the assembly chatting excitedly and he hated their very existence. His ears picked up the Minister's booming voice and he controlled his breathing as Apolline had instructed him. Draco smelled Hermione long before he saw her and his heart thumped erratically in his chest as they stepped through the heavy doors.

His cheeks puffed with the force of his exhale upon hearing her gasp. His nostril's flared and it was nary a second before he spied her hidden behind the Minister. He dug his fingernails into the soft skin of his wrist before yanking on his manacles. The instinctive growl burst forth from his lips as he caught sight of Harry Potter holding Hermione still.

He watched her wrench free from Harry and move toward him, but his vision blurred. Draco knew the Minister for Magic was her friend, had even attempted to aid his release, but he was no longer in control of his faculties. His sunken grey eyes segued into pools of black with a singular blink and then he was lurching forward.

Draco growled, his fangs gnashing against his gums as his lips were drawn high. He strained against the iron chains, pleased to hear them groan and creak. He watched Kingsley Shacklebolt's lips move and knew words were spoken but it was all drowned out by the subtle thump of heartbeats.

The roaring in his ears was nothing compared to the high-pitched whine of iron being stretched to its limit. Draco Malfoy's skin darkened from its pale Malfoy pallor to the deathly gray of Veela. He crouched, large black eyes passing over the assembly of Wizengamot members without a care. He could hear their purple robes swish as they fought for a better vantage point and hated them with a fiery passion.

Draco glanced at his shackles, tearing them from his wrists with a single swipe, reveling in the sound as they clattered upon the stone. The deep, menacing growl reverberated in the chamber, echoing in the enclosed space. Nary a moment passed before his wings made their appearance, spreading wide and knocking his gailors off their feet.

"Contain him!"
"This is madness!"
"He'll kill us all!"
"Give him the girl you fools!"

Minister Shacklebolt in his terror, had dragged Hermione Granger further away from Draco, which was an error on his part. Harry attempted to intervene while Hermione fought against Kingsley, but he was knocked to the wayside by astronomically strong wings. The Chief Warlock drew his wand, but whatever spell he had shrieked did nothing to abate the Veela.

Draco screeched, his face elongating until it resembled a bird of prey, his focus set upon his mate. Hermione elbowed the Minister for Magic in the gut until his hold loosened and finally stomped on his instep. She climbed over the prone Harry and pushed through the throng of Azkaban guards protecting Kingsley only to be forced back.

Draco flapped his silvery, feathered wings of steel, the tip catching the cheek of the nearest witch. She was flung into the balustrade, her breath forced from her lungs as she sunk into unconsciousness. A brazen old wizard attempted to tackle the furious yet distraught Veela, but he only exacerbated the situation.

Draco spun on his arched gray feet, his fangs dripping with blood from his own lip and snarled. His long arms wrenched the wizard from his back and hurtled him toward the furthest wall. There was a collective gasp upon hearing the wizard's bones crunch from the strength rippling through the Veela's muscled arms.

He leapt onto the axiomatic throne, often reserved for those fielding rapid-fire questions from inquisitive witches and wizards in the Wizengamot assembly. Draco roared, his chest straining with the effort, until the scuffles of attempted escape dulled to a quiet hum. His wings fluttered, spreading wide and nearly traversed the entire chamber in width, but then he curled them, pulling them close to his body as he sought out Hermione among the huddle of witches in the corner.

He sniffed the air delicately, searching through overbearing roses, bergamot, and even lilies until he discerned her. His skin rippled with relief upon spying one of her golden brown curls peeking over the shoulder of a flaming haired Weasley.

"Sorry Hermione, I'm not being eaten by a Malfoy for anyone, not even you." Ron Weasley fell to the floor, dragging Pansy down with him and Hermione rolled her eyes.

She slapped away the numerous hands reaching for her and stepped over Ron, kicking his ribs along the way. Hermione wasn't afraid of Draco in any form, though she had to admit he looked quite feral. He huffed, displeased with the scent of Weasley on her robes and nodding, Hermione dropped her cloak to the floor, baring the special dress she'd worn for the occasion.

Harry had thought her daft for changing her gown, but Hermione had known Draco would be in dire straits the moment they were in the same room. He had barely managed when away from her for a few hours and here it had been weeks. She had carefully perused her wardrobe and selected her dress with the utmost care.

Hermione watched the sparkling pools of midnight lighten to twilight and offered a tentative smile. She saw the way he drank her in and knew her emerald green dress pleased him. The empire waist showcased her ample cleavage, teasingly so against the white lacy scalloped edge. The emerald and diamond choker Narcissa had insisted upon, hid her Bonding Mark from prying eyes and Draco snorted at the personal affront.

He leapt off the ornately carved interrogation chair, ignoring the splintering wood when it crashed to the stone. Hermione took a single step forward and his head tilted, listening carefully. He grunted, a low deep sound, eerily similar to a guttural growl and glided across the stone until he was nearly within range to grasp her into his arms.

Apolline had often spoken of control and he had heard her words, but in certain instances had been unable to comply. This time however, it was an easy matter. He honed in on Hermione's heartbeat, fluttering beneath her breast, intrigued by the rapid butterfly wings dancing just beneath.

He approached her with care, snapping at the witches shrinking from him and the wizards muttering. Hermione closed her eyes, his emotions strumming the tune in her veins. Her pink lips parted as his breath ghosted across her cheek and then she was in his arms.

Draco held her a little too tightly, causing her to squeak and then he was touching her. His elongated fingers stroked over her hair, down her neck and back, inspecting her. She could feel his body shuddering from their contact and knew it would only be a matter of moments before he reverted his form. Hermione felt the chill dissipate and knew his wings had enclosed around her, protecting her from the gaping stares.

He sniffed at her throat, his tongue gently lapping her pulse point. Hermione rested her hands on his paling chest, content to finally feel him in all his glory. Draco's body shivered, and the Wizengamot watched in silence as the furious Veela transformed back into none other than Draco Malfoy. His prisoner garb was worse for the wear and hung in strips down his back, but didn't give a rat's arse if they gazed upon his bare buttocks.

Draco, looking surprisingly healthier, nudged Hermione's chin with his pale fingers until her eyes opened. He smiled softly, stroked her cheek with his forefinger, and kissed her. Hermione clung to him, her emotions finally bubbling to the surface and she whimpered into his mouth. He soothed her with gentle hushes, his hands continuously moving across her back before capturing her willing lips once more. He nibbled her bottom lip, soothing the ragged corner with his tongue.

Hermione threw her arms around his neck, her body finally flush against his. Draco stiffened, his ears attuned to the hyper flutter of furious wings and he listened ever so carefully. He held his breath, gripping her hip almost ferociously. Draco pried her from around his neck, scoffing at her indignant huff and turned her within the circle of his arms.

"What are you…" Hermione thought he would have wanted to hold her for just a bit longer and her feelings were honestly a little hurt.

"Hush." Draco was curt, almost cold.

Hermione shifted, as if to move away from him, but Draco dug into her hip with calloused fingers, his other hand clutching her shoulder. He tugged her into his chest, his breaths hissing through his teeth. The left hand on her hip slid forward until it rested just beneath her navel and applied light pressure. Draco hummed lightly, the sound causing the Wizengamot to flinch and huddle together, far from the Veela and his mate.

"When were you planning on telling me…Granger?" Draco spoke through his teeth, obviously angry, but Hermione only frowned and shook her head.

She could feel his distrust, his angst, his upset just as well as he could feel her confusion and affection. It was difficult to untangle the knotted weave of their combined emotions, but Draco managed. He smiled tightly, though it didn't reach his eyes and sighed heavily.

"Minister, surely you can't suggest we give this…beast…its freedom." A dumpy, heavily mustached wizard struggled to his pudgy feet and angrily gestured toward Draco Malfoy.

"The laws of the Wizarding Community, drawn up by the Wizengamot itself, which predates even the Ministry, has decreed Veela are protected beings of magic." Hermione Granger spouted the legal rhetoric without a single bat of an eye when faced with such derision. It allowed Kingsley Shacklebolt ample opportunity to remove the elderly frizzy haired witches from the safety of his hulking form.

"Ms. Granger is quite correct. We have never interfered with Veela and their mates. You wished for Demonstration and now you're displeased with the results, however nowhere does it state we must be happy. We simply must adhere to the law. Mr. Malfoy cannot be detained for the demise of Daphne Greengrass as she facilitated her demise due to her deception." Kingsley's little hat sat askew on his sweating head, but no one made mention of it.

"Minister Shacklebolt, you are aware, just as we all are, Veela protections are only afforded to spouses and considering Ms. Granger is only…his concubine, for lack of a better term, you cannot expect us…"

"Rectify the situation." Draco snarled, gnashing his elongating teeth together.

The dumpy, heavily mustached wizard's jowls danced under his chin while he shuffled away from the trio. He adjusted his purple robes, wiping the large W with fat fingers. His lips remained crammed together and Draco calmed.

"How long has he known Ms. Granger was his mate?" An older witch, with long gray hair called across the assembly room with a strong voice.

"One year, one hundred and eighty two days, give or take." Draco eyed the witch carefully, curious as to her intentions.

"The Ministry is capable of making certain documents retroactive." The witch nodded tightly in the Minister's direction and took her seat without another word.

"We'll have to take a vote." Kingsley offered, under the heavy stare of grey eyes.

Draco nodded and with genteel care, escorted Hermione to the ragtag group of her friends. He nodded toward Harry and ignored Ron completely in favour of listening to the frantic flutter still beneath his hand. His thumb strokes across Hermione's abdomen, his breath hot on the nape of her neck.

"What the hell is going on?" Ron piped up, his arm slung over Pansy's shoulders, with amusement dancing in his blue eyes.

It was the most fun he'd had in ages. He couldn't wait to tell his brothers he watched the Wizengamot shriek like a bunch of little girls. Of course, he'd embellish it a bit, perhaps he'd have one of the dodgy old wizards wetting his robes. Anything was possible and hell, it was his story to tell.

"Malfoy thinks I'm marrying him." Hermione didn't shove Draco's arms from her person, but she frowned heavily, completely conflicted.

"Is that all? Who cares? You're gonna do it eventually anyway. If that's all you've got to do to get him free…" Ron wretched, dry heaving over his brown loafers the minute Pansy's elbow stabbed his solar plexus.

"For once in your fucking Gryffindor life, do as you are told. Do not defy me, not now, not this time." Draco splayed his fingers across her abdomen, his thumb thumping rhythmically on the green satin. Hermione swallowed with difficulty, and tamped down her natural tendency to argue, in order to accept her fate.

The Minister for Magic nervously approached the bickering couple and cleared his throat noisily. While he didn't want to mar his tenuous friendship with Hermione Granger, fear of the Veela Draco Malfoy, overruled all. Kingsley gestured toward the center of the room and Draco nodded shortly, still refusing to relinquish his hold on Hermione.

Harry snickered behind his hand. The sight of Draco Malfoy's pale bare arse cheeks amused him more than it should. Pansy shot him an evil glare and quickly transfigured Draco's shredded prison guard into an astonishingly respectable ensemble.

Draco nodded his appreciation over the top of Hermione's head, adjusting the silver and grey tie. Hermione rolled her eyes, but even she had to admit he looked absolutely dashing. The silver silk shirt offset his eyes, yet the black waistcoat gave him the debonair appearance that always made her a bit weak in the knees.

Hermione didn't understand his upset. She thought he should be thrilled as his release was looming. She had been prepared to refute the Wizengamot's claims, using their own antiquated laws against them. Hermione, being a studious witch, had scoured the legalities voraciously and in the end, it hadn't been necessary.

The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was an exceedingly tall, regal wizard with the pointiest nose Hermione had ever seen. His disapproval oozed from his overly large pores and even his beady hazel eyes screamed judgement. His purple robes swished delicately and his bony fingers graciously accepted the small packet of parchment the Minister presented. His glance over the words was cursory at best and he nodded quickly, his graying brown hair bobbing in its ponytail.

"I'd inquire as to witnesses, but it is obviously unnecessary." The Chief Warlock spun on his heel and returned to his seat of honour amongst his peers.

"Has the Wizengamot reached a verdict?" Kingsley Shacklebolt stood tall and proud, his dark eyes searching the weathered faces for hesitance.

"We have determined it is only proper to release Draco Malfoy. He is absolved in all matters concerning the untimely demise of one Daphne Greengrass, due to his Veela heritage. It has long been the tradition of the Wizarding Community to protect all magical beings. It is only after careful consideration and proof of said heritage that we recognise Hermione Granger as his mate. However, the current law specifies spouse, not mate, and as such, we have deemed it necessary to demand Mr. Malfoy wed Ms. Granger before the Wizengamot. After such, we are willing to consider this matter resolved." The Speaker was an elderly wizard, his voice shook as he delivered the written statement and not once did his watery eyes leave the parchment.

"And the Wizengamot will absolutely consider your marriage retroactive." The same older witch stood and spoke clearly, despite being surrounded by frowns, causing even Draco to crack a small smile. "Therefore it is only proper to wish you Happy Wedding as well as Happy Anniversary." She smiled slightly, staring at Draco a little longer than necessary. Her unique crystal blue eyes locked on curious grey. She blinked and they went pitch black, returning to their unusual shade of blue without hesitation.

"Happy Anniversary?" Hermione whispered into Draco's arm, her head resting near his heart.

"They're going to backdate our marriage one year from today. I don't think they're able to do much more than that. It's fine Granger. October is a lovely month. Come on then, we're to sign the Certificate." Draco gently guided his bride toward the small black table near the door with an easy hand.

Harry, Ron, and Pansy followed, despite not receiving an invitation from the Minister. While it wasn't a traditional sort of ceremony, it was their friend's wedding and they weren't apt to miss it for anything. Harry was curious as the last wedding he'd attended was Bill and Fleur's. He expected there to be some sort of words or an exchange of rings, but there was nothing.

"It's normal for the folks getting married to go to the Ministry before all the parties and such. They sign the Certificate and it gets filed. They're considered married by the Ministry and all that, but it's the parties and ceremonies and all that sort of stuff that really seals the deal for everyone else." Ron whispered loudly, his voice echoing in the chamber as he explained the goings on to Harry.

Draco signed his name with a flourish, inhaling deeply at Hermione's throat. He nipped her earlobe while she signed her name, causing her to falter. His genteel manner was perplexing, and she tried to take it in stride, but Hermione wished he'd allow her to move without being attached to his hip.

The moment the ink was dry on the parchment, Draco was turning Hermione to face him, his hands in constant contact with her body. He grasped her face between his palms and kissed her so gently, there was a collective sigh from the Wizengamot. His cracked, chapped lips danced across her cheek, until finally, his warm breath was against her ear.

"Pink or blue, wife?" Draco's voice was so incredibly light and low, Hermione was nearly certain she had misheard him, until he repeated the question.

"Blue?" Hermione's lips barely parted to utter the word and Draco hummed in approval.

"Hmm yes, I think so as well." Draco hugged her, not nearly as tight as he usually did and released her.

She knew it was only due to the not so subtle coughs and shuffling of her friends and smiled. Mentally, she counted to three and his hands were on her hips, sliding around her waist. Slowly, everything melded together. Hermione recalled the mishaps with the tea, her sluggishness, and the way Draco seemed to only be content with his arms around her waist and his thumb strumming against her abdomen.

"No…" Hermione breathed, more in disbelief than anything else. Instantly, she was berating herself, but a soothing hand from Draco calmed her.

"Just think, love. When our son is grown, I'll have the privilege of informing him, his mother, hailed as the brightest witch of the age…had to be told he even existed." Draco licked her pulse point with fervor, quite anxious to take his new wife home.