Song of Choice for Today's Chapter:
Talk is Cheap by Chet Faker
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There were very few things that Narcissa Malfoy loved more than watching a sunrise, for they were the kind of occurrences that reminded whoever was around to witness them that life existed in a constant state of change. As the first rays of fire colored the inky sky, she vacated her bed in favor of her balcony. Silently, she edged the French doors open as she filled her lungs with the smell of wet grass and dawn. She allowed herself to get lost in the moment, worries past and future out of reach for a few glorious minutes.
When she was on that balcony she wasn't Narcissa Malfoy, she didn't have obligations to a community that didn't know what it wanted or where it was going. On that balcony she didn't have a myriad of tasks to get done for a would-be celebration that would more closely resemble a political battlefield than a social encounter. She didn't have a husband serving a life sentence without the right of visitation, and her only child didn't have a latent impulse to want to run away that insisted on acting up every once in a while. When she was on that balcony she was just a woman that enjoyed the kaleidoscopic shine of a bright star that signaled a new chance at self-determination.
"Ever beautiful, ever captivating," she said when the entirety of Sol was hanging over the horizon. Narcissa allowed herself five more minutes of delight before going back into the manor, washing up and readying to grab the proverbial bull by the horns. "Nym," she called softly on the manor's elf. A loud crack announced the arrival of her helper. "How are our spirits this morning?"
"Nym is very excited for the celebration, Mistress!" called the elf enthusiastically.
"Good," Narcissa said appreciatively, "I am actually a bit nervous about the celebration. Today will be the first day that Malfoy Manor opens its doors following the war. Everything must look perfect, not a thing out of place."
"Nym has made sure the garden is ready to decorate like Mistress asked," the elf walked in the direction of the witch's bed as she spoke over her shoulder.
"Wonderful! At what time is the team of decorators expected to arrive?" Narcissa said as she watched the elf begin to make the bed by hand. It was one of the few things that Nym insisted on doing without magic for some reason.
"Nym expects team to arrive by Floo at seven," She stated matter-of-factly after checking a small piece of parchment that she kept handy in her flowery cloth.
"I see," Narcissa said repressing the sigh that wanted to escape her lips, "and do we know how long is it going to take them to turn the garden into my vision?"
"Three hours, Mistress," Nym spoke nervously as she recognized the annoyance in her Mistress' tone. "Nym requested extra wizards, Mistress!"
"Oh," Narcissa said secretly relieved that the crew would good and gone by the time the guests started arriving at two in the afternoon. "That was very resourceful, Nym," the elf beamed, "Do we know how much the extra hands will cost us?"
"No worries, Mistress," the elf said solemnly, "We are still within the monthly stipend the Ministry authorized. Mistress was given more monies due to celebration."
"I hate having to give those pestering old wizards explanations on my personal expenses," Narcissa harrumphed. "It is so humiliating, and frankly absurd, to have our money still under Ministry control."
"Don't upset, Mistress," the elf said holding onto the woman's hand in a caring manner, "Mistress will get sick if Mistress thinks about money."
"You're right," the woman said squeezing the smaller hand softly and letting it go swiftly; weakness was not a trait she wished to acquire at this point in life, "At least Draco was allowed to create a new vault and put all the new profits of the companies there, right? It gives me some peace of mind to know that my grandbabies will have funds regardless of the decision the Wizengamot reaches on our sequestered family vaults."
"Things will better, Mistress," Nym consoled, "and Nym is happy to help Mistress with anything Mistress might need."
"Thank you, Nym," the woman's voice rang with honesty even though both the elf and the mistress knew the former didn't really have a say in her servitude at the moment or otherwise.
"Most welcome, Mistress," Nym said beaming yet again. "Is Mistress ready for breakfast?"
"Ah, yes," Narcissa said in thought for a couple of seconds, "Could you please go to Draco's home and tell him and Hermione that I want to have them over today from early on? We can all have breakfast together in the solarium. I need all the help I can get today and either way they should be here when the guests descend upon the manor."
"Yes, Mistress!" the elf said, excited to meet up with Hermione no doubt. The elf had become close with the young witch surprisingly quickly. "If possible, arrange breakfast in such a way that I can oversee the development of the decorations from the comfort of my chair."
"Yes, Mistress," Nym said with a short bow, "Can Nym do anything else for Mistress?"
"Isn't there always more to get done, Nym?" Narcissa smirked, "After breakfast, please go to Kip and together make your way to Christian's Atelier. It is paramount that the two of you stay there and hover over him until you have both sets of robes in your possession." Narcissa explained, "Christian is absolutely brilliant but he is a bit frivolous with time, especially other peoples. After Kip goes to meet with Ms. Zabini you are to come here and help Hermione to get ready."
"Of course, Mistress," the elf nodded, eager to please.
"You are to stay at her side all day Nym, understood?" Narcissa enunciated carefully. "Hermione is going to be surrounded by hostile people today and she needs us to protect her. I want you become invisible and stay at her side. If you begin to get the sense that she is not fairing too well, I want to you to send me a signal."
"Sparks?" Nym suggested.
"No, that would be too obvious and won't do." Narcissa said looking around her room, her eyes landing on the vase by her bed, "The signal will be a whiff of freesia flowers. They are not part of the selection for today, so there is no chance I will get a false alarm."
"Brilliant, Mistress," Nym complimented excitedly.
"That's all for now, Nym," Narcissa said as she made her way to her closet, "and remember, hover over Christian, or else Hermione won't have robes to wear."
"Yes, Mistress!" the telling crack notified the witch she was once again alone.
Narcissa was surveying the vast selection of clothes that hung in her closet when her eyes landed on a deep forest green skirt that her sarcastic niece had given her two Christmases ago. It was not something magical folks would wear, and Pansy had meant the gift —and every single consequent one from that date forward— to be some sort of twisted practical joke on Narcissa and her beliefs. Regardless of all the implications of admitting so, Narcissa recognized the skirt, with its flowery designs in white purple and yellow, to be quite fetching.
"You can't wear this, Narcissa," she sighed to herself. The beautiful piece had been hanging on the rack for a long time, and though the witch time and again sent longing looks its way, she still hadn't dared sport it. Every time she even considered it her mother's stern face came to haunt her from the other side of the veil. "Mother would probably come back to life just to die again if I wore it," she said as she pulled the skirt from where it hung. "Although Mother would probably take her own life if she knew Hermione is going to be the one to continue the bloodline."
To say that Narcissa felt silly at the moment would be an understatement. She was a powerhouse of her own accord, a leader in her community and a role model. Her mother and other ancestors were long gone. Her prejudicial and impractical husband was out of the equation; she should wear whatever she bloody well wanted, right?
"Sod it," she mumbled softly but determinately, "what can I possibly wear with this?" After rummaging in her closet for what even she recognized to be too long, she came up with a pair of peep toe yellow heels and another one of Pansy's satirical jokes, this time, in the shape of a white blouse with buttons down the front.
Once the shirt was on she began to second-guess herself, "I look like I am wearing one of Lucius old shirts," she worried out loud, "maybe if I…" she trailed off as she reached for her wand and made two small and perfectly round flowers of the same white fabric appear just above the left breast of the shirt. Another flick of her wrist made the shirt fit as if it had been made just for her. "Much better." Luckily the skirt, which tastefully landed just below her knees, fit her like a glove and was excellently complemented by the yolk-colored shoes.
Putting her hair up in a delicate chignon, she looked over her reflection appreciatively and let her thoughts fly out of her mouth in a strange demonstration of despaired verboseness, "I think I might have just brought disgrace and ruin onto my family." Her guilt was plentiful, but not enough to get her to change into her usual robes. It might be late in the game, but she was determined to form her own path.
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"Tell me truth," came Hermione's raspy morning voice from somewhere under the sheets, "where you tortured every night, throughout the night?"
"Huh?" asked Draco utterly confused by the question, "what in the world are you talking about?"
"There has…. some reason..." he couldn't quite make out what his wife was saying and when he informed her of the fact he got a loud and startling growl in response. "I said," called the witch as she poked her rat's nest of a head out from under the covers, "that there has to be some reason for your earnest yearning to watch the sun rise."
"I told you," he shrugged, "it's just something I share with my mother."
"Couldn't you share something else with Cissy?" She complained as she hid her face from the yellow and orange hues that insisted on dancing over her features.
"Like what?" he asked entertained.
"I don't know, waffle making?" he knew he only had a couple more seconds to enjoy the sights when Hermione's hand started rummaging under their pillows for her wand.
"Does my mother strike you as the domestic type?" he inquired entertained as he looked out the panoramic window.
"No," she admitted as she closed the curtains with a flick of her wrist, "she strikes me as a slave driver though; I just slept a full eight hours and I am still positively exhausted. Who knew there was so much to be learned about etiquette?"
"Everyone?" he wondered out loud, and laughed when he received a substantial smack from the brunette. "Don't fret, Hermione. If anyone can prepare you for today, it's my mother."
"Do we have to go?" they both knew it wasn't a real question but Draco still answered.
"That all depends," he said getting out of bed and going into the bathroom to wash up, "do you want to be on the run for the rest of our lives? Because I assure you that's exactly what we would have to do in order to not be murdered by my mother."
"You would run away with me?" Hermione asked teasingly, though sincerely surprised by the unintentional admission.
"You are my wife," Draco said coming out of the bathroom and dropping right back down onto the bed, "even if I don't particularly like you."
"Git!" called the woman annoyed as he chuckled softly.
"Besides," he continued ignoring her insult, "I don't think I could handle mother complaining about you every day ad nauseam if you are not there to endure it with me."
"Aw, Drakey," she cooed in her best impression yet of third-year Pansy, "I knew you loved me, I just didn't know it was this much!"
"Don't make me hurt you, woman," he grunted playfully smacking her with a pillow on the chest.
"But Drakey—"
"Hermione," he cautioned seriously.
"Fine, fine," she said with a short laugh under her breath as she went to brush her teeth and wash her face. "Ah!"
"Everything okay?" called Draco as he fluffed up the pillow behind his head.
"Yeah," Hermione said coming back out of the bathroom, a hand on her chest and Nym in tow, "this one just gave me a heart attack, is all."
"Nym is most sorry to have startled Mistress Hermione," the elf said worrying at her hands in distress, "Nym didn't mean—"
"It's okay Nym," Draco soothed her, "Hermione might not look it, but she can be quite dramatic when she wishes to be."
"Hello pot, I'm kettle!" Hermione sassed. "He is partially right though," she said to Nym, "no need to fret. I was simply startled. To what do we owe this pleasure, dear Nym?"
"Mistress Narcissa is inviting both Master and Mistress Hermione to the manor for breakfast in the solarium," the elf explained, "Nym arranges everything for Master and Mistress Hermione to ready at the manor."
"Oh," Draco said turning to look at Hermione, "what do you think?"
"Does it matter?" Hermione asked, "I don't want to insult your mother; besides, she has a lot with which to deal today."
"How very thoughtful of you."
"Are you sassing me again?" she asked raising a brow, "I can't always tell when you are being sarcastic."
"I know," he said ignoring her query with a sardonic smirk.
"Conniving snake," she muttered irked.
"And proud," he shrugged. "Nym, Madam Malkin should have delivered my robes directly into the closet, you can take those now to my chambers at the manor. Thank you."
"Oh thank God," Hermione called out in relief once the elf was gone, "I was worried I have to wear stuffy clothes to breakfast too."
"Not unless you want to do so," Draco answered entertained, "A few years ago it wouldn't have been up for discussion but now that Lucius is… otherwise occupied… Mother and I entertain a more relaxed approach to life."
"If you say so, but that's not what the etiquette lessons hint at," Hermione said as she went to resume the morning ritual the elf had disturbed.
"You have no idea what it was like," Draco said following her, "growing up with Lucius was so… formal."
"Is formal now a euphemism for terrifying and scarring?" Hermione said moodily.
"That too," he conceded. "He is one twisted man, Lucius; probably a mixture of all those years of exposure to dark magic and his own rotten personality."
"Are you trying to make excuses for him?" Hermione asked cross. "He tortured you, Draco, within an inch of your life if the scarring on your back is to be believed. He traumatized poor Dobby badly. Do not defend it!"
"I am not trying to defend him, Hermione," he said insulted himself, "I just try to understand the why behind the man."
"I just hope it's not genetics," she sighed as she began brushing her teeth by hand, "I couldn't deal with our children being that way."
"I don't think myself to be particularly awful," he swallowed awkwardly as he rested his weight against their double vanity. "There are equal amounts of notable and notorious Malfoys and Blacks among my ancestors."
"Don't take this the wrong way," Hermione uttered after rinsing her mouth, "but has there ever been a Malfoy or a Black that didn't think, at least at some point in their lives that they were better than people like me?"
"Aunt Andromeda, on the side of the Blacks," he said without pause of thought, "Great, great, great uncle Danforth, on the side of the Malfoys."
"I am guessing their names were not exactly welcome at family parties when you were growing up?"
"Only as cautionary tales," Draco nodded. "Our children will have you, I am certain you will make them into decent human beings."
"You know," Hermione whispered as she studied her reflection, "every so often I will do or say something and it makes me aware that this," she gestured between the two of them, "is our reality. That I am actually married to you, and you to me; that we are to have kids one day… We really are stuck together, aren't we?"
"Hermione are you…" Draco cleared his throat, "If divorce is something you—"
"No, nothing like that," she rushed to clarify, "It's just so… bizarre. Sometimes I don't even think about it but others…"
"It's an adjustment," he conceded, "but I think we are doing quite well, don't you?"
"Better than I expected, honestly," Hermione admitted, "I guess it is just something to which I will have to grow accustomed."
"I don't want you to feel like an outsider for the rest of your life," Draco wasn't sure why he yearned so much for her to feel as if she belonged in his home, his life, his family… but he did. "It's a shite way to live."
"I have always felt like I don't quite belong," Hermione shrugged, "I wasn't quite normal before going to Hogwarts, others new I was different. Then, at school, I wasn't your typical Gryffindor."
"Thank goodness for that," Draco felt his body shudder at the thought, "I would have offed myself if that were the case. No matter how much time passes or how much I change… I can't stand your lot. Impulsive, reckless, stupid for the most part… It's appalling really."
"Shush your mouth, you arse!" Reprimanded the lioness as she smacked his arm with force, "Godric Gryffindor was a courageous man, Albus Dumbledore was a brilliant man, Harry saved us all!"
"Yes, yes, like I said," he rolled his eyes, "for the most part Gryffindorks are idiots, you are an exception. I feel blessed for that. Were I in Zabini's shoes, bonded to the quintessential Gryffindor, I would have jumped off a bridge. Head first."
"That's my best friend, you git!" she tried to sound indignant but her laugh betrayed her.
"Whatever," the former Slytherin said, "I just hope you find that, even if you don't quite fit in this new 'world', you feel comfortable in our family of two."
"Four," the witch said a bit choked up.
"What do you mean?" he asked confused.
"Your mother, Nym, you and myself," Hermione counted off with her fingers, "family of four."
"Leave it to you to include the elf," Draco shook his head as he rolled his eyes.
"I will sooner kick you out of the family than Nym," she said entertained as she planted her palms against his back and started pushing. "Let's hurry, Narcissa is waiting."
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"Children, is that you?" Narcissa called from the hallway leaving to the main foyer.
"Yes Narcissa," Hermione called loudly as she readied herself for a lecture on why witches should not wear jeans. However, the sight that entered into the foyer made her forget her own predicaments as concern for her mother in law's sanity flushed her system.
"What in the world are you wearing, Mother?" Draco asked aghast.
"You don't like it?" asked the older witch confused looking down at herself, "I thought I looked quite lovely earlier when I dressed."
Draco pulled out his wand and pointed at the woman as he pushed Hermione behind him, "Who sent you here?" he demanded forcefully, "Where is my mother?"
"Oh for crying out loud," Narcissa said annoyed, "Draco Lucius Malfoy Black, I swear that if you do not put that wand down I will put you across my knees and smack your bum like I used to do when you were a child."
"Mother?" Draco asked bewildered as Hermione went into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
"Who else would it be?" Narcissa asked ticked off, "Seriously, Draco, you should see a healer; paranoia is not attractive." Hermione laughed even harder at that comment.
"What are you laughing at?" Draco turned on his wife who was clutching her stomach as tears watered her eyes.
"S-she said she would… across her knee" the witch was now gasping for air "your face!"
"Hermione Jean Granger, if you do not compose yourself…" Draco cautioned.
"What?" she laughed harder, "you will put me across you k-knees?"
"This is your doing!" he accused his mother as embarrassment colored his features.
"Hermione," Narcissa sighed, "you need to compose yourself."
"I c-can't-t!" Hermione looked like she was in pain now, but the laughs kept coming.
"If you manage to get a hold of yourself I promise to show you an humiliating photograph of Draco's fifth Halloween."
"You wouldn't!" Draco cried loudly as Hermione abruptly stopped her giggling.
"I would," Narcissa said, smirking in a way that made the young witch think of Salazar Slytherin himself, "Now, can we break our fast?"
"Seriously?" Draco asked, "We are not going to address your attire?"
"What is there to address? Pansy gifted me this blouse and skirt a while ago," Narcissa said walking out of the room, Draco and Hermione following closely.
"As a joke, Mother," The blonde said bewildered, "You were dismayed when you opened the box, remember?"
"Times are changing, dear!" Narcissa said excitedly, "The Dark Lord is gone, Lucius is not here to dictate my life, Hermione is going to be Minister. It is an exciting time to be alive and I plan on enjoying it."
"She's right, Draco," Hermione interjected, feeling enthusiastic as the truthfulness of the witch's speech got to her, "It is a new era and we can be whatever we want, act however we wish, think however we see fit."
"And it's all due to you," Narcissa said proudly, "thank you, dear."
"It was mostly Harry's doing," Hermione said uncomfortable in her own skin, "I just helped."
"You are the reason those two idiots made it past first year, Hermione" Draco rolled his eyes. "If it weren't for you, Weasley would still be trying to levitate that feather!"
"No he wouldn't," she said confidently, but then added reluctantly "but he might have been stuck trying to pass potions still."
"I'll say" Draco said entertained as they reached the table in the solarium, where he held out both the chair for Hermione and for his mother.
"Thank you, my dragon," Narcissa sighed taking her seat with complete grace.
"Yes," Hermione agreed, "Thank you Draconius."
"We both know that is not my name," he spat out through a clenched jaw.
"You really shouldn't grind your teeth," Narcissa sighed annoyed.
"She's right" Hermione agreed as she gestured at his mouth, "it causes severe damage to not only your teeth but also to your jaw."
"Thank you, Healer Granger-Malfoy" Draco taunted.
"Your welcome, patient git," Hermione nodded kindly.
"That reminds me," Narcissa said ignoring their bickering as she opened her serviette on her lap, "Hermione, is there a particular reason why you decided to change your name?"
"Ah, yes," Draco said recalling a conversation he'd had some time ago with his wife, "we still need to do something about it. It's a mouthful and that's not good for political endeavors."
"I understand that it is not an easily marketable name," Hermione admitted, "but it doesn't feel right to leave my family name behind. I might be a Malfoy now, but Granger was my father's name and…" her throat began closing as her eyes started to sting, "it's all I have left of my parents. It is not about disrespecting either of you, it's about honoring my parents."
"That's lovely, dear," Narcissa said moved, "We will find a way to make it stick."
"I've been trying to come up with something," Draco said beginning to dig into his eggs benedict, "but nothing significant has come to mind."
"It's a new era," Hermione stated, "and my hyphenated surname is the representation of it, how hard can it be?"
"That's good," Narcissa said as she sunk berries and bits of granola into her parfait with her spoon, "the union of the past and the future, the end of prejudice, acceptance… I will take over on the matter. Hermione Granger-Malfoy it is." Hermione sighed in relief as she began buttering her toast with a smile. "Oh, look! The decoration team has arrived."
"There must be about twenty witches and wizards out there," Hermione said surprised as the people in question began casting spell after spell in the garden. An expansive dance floor appeared out of nowhere. White Wisteria flourished into existence, hanging dramatically from the high trees, as tables draped in perfectly starched tablecloths where levitated into the garden. White and pink orchids made for elegant centerpieces. "Wow. Is there anything you can't do, Narcissa?"
"Cook," said mother and son simultaneously, sending them as much into hysterics as the two could. "Talking about food," Narcissa said looking at Hermione's plate, "is that all you are going to eat?"
"I'm afraid my stomach wakes up somewhere around eleven in the morning." Hermione sighed, "usually toast and coffee or tea is the way to go."
"You might want to load up on carbs," Narcissa suggested as she sipped her peach juice, "The only way we are getting through today's agenda is with lots of alcohol."
"Don't say that to her," Draco sounded peeved, "you will scare her, Mother."
"Would you rather I send her into shark infested waters with a smile and an alcohol vulnerable stomach?"
"On second thought," he said turning to look at Hermione, "you might want to have a couple more of those butter-marmalade toasts."
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"Is Mistress Hermione done with her breakfast? If Mistress Hermione is ready, Nym would like to begin with the pampering," Nym said reaching the table she had painstakingly put together for the family she served. Nym had tried to provide for every need her master and mistresses might have. She felt confident she had finally gotten it right too given that, for the first time since Mistress Hermione had joined the family, Nym had not been called to fetch something she had forgotten to supply.
"I am ready if you are," the witch said giving the elf one of the most caring smiles she had ever seen. That was the thing about her new Mistress, she always seemed happy to see Nym and she never got angry either. Nym was happy that it had been Mistress Hermione who had matched her Master. Master was a good wizard, who deserved a good witch, a smart witch, someone that was like him. Mistress Hermione was exactly what her Master needed.
"Wonderful," Nym beamed excited to help her lovely Mistress. Then, remembering that her lifelong Mistress might need help, she turned to the witch to quickly offer assistance. "If Mistress Narcissa needs help too, Nym would be happy—"
"No, no," Mistress Narcissa interrupted softly, "I am more than capable of dressing myself and casting make up spells. Your helping Hermione is all I ask of you today."
"Of course, Mistress Narcissa," Nym bowed so deeply her nose touched the floor. The respect she felt for the older woman rival none other. Narcissa Malfoy had always been a good mistress to Nym, saving her countless times from the wrath of her evil husband. Of course, Nym had never call Master Lucius evil outside of her own head, but there was no doubt that man was awful.
"Same here," Master Draco said as he lifted his cloth napkin to his mouth. He didn't have even a speck of dirty, but Master Draco always cleaned his mouth and jaw either way, "take care of my wife and I will be happy." Nym often had a hard time trying to understand how Master Lucius and Master Draco could be related. One man was completely callous and vile while the other was fair and polite.
"Of course, Master Draco" Nym said excitedly when Hermione began standing to join her in the suit that would have been rightfully hers had Mistress Hermione and Master Draco chosen to live at the manor.
"Okay Nym," Mistress Hermione said with a funny expression on her face, "let's get this dreadful show on the road."
"Nym swear that she will not let Mistress Hermione look bad," the elf said hurt that her Mistress would think otherwise, "Nym would hurt herself if—"
"Listen to me, Nym," her Mistress was now on her knees, looking straight into Nym's eyes, "I never want you to think of even saying something about hurting yourself, let along you actually doing so. You are a sentient being and you feel pain just like I do. Never, ever, under any circumstances let anyone command you to hurt yourself. Swear to me you will never do so."
"Nym swears Mistress," the elf said becoming easily overtaken by her rampant emotions. "Mistress Hermione is so nice and lovely," she wailed loudly as she hugged the witch with all her might. "Nym doesn't deserve such a good mistress!"
"Of course you do," the witch said as, in a surprising turn of events, she held onto the elf's small frame. This, of course, sent the elf further into tears.
"Good Lord," called Master Draco as he found the elf and her mistress on the floor, holding onto each other for dear life, "Has something happened?"
"I was just bonding with Nym," Mistress Hermione said standing to her full height.
"That's all well and good," the blonde man said as he turned to the elf, "but only as long as I am always Nym's favorite."
"Draco!" Her mistress snapped as she flicked the man's nose.
"Ouch! What is it with you and physical violence," asked Master, "You really need anger counseling, you know?"
"Go bother someone else, will you?" The woman said as she turned to Nym, "Ignore him, please."
"Nym would never—"
"Yes, yes, I know…" her new mistress sighed, "lead the way, Nym."
It took them a good five minutes to make it to the correct door what with the short impromptu tour that Nym had decided to give the endearing witch; but once they made it to the Calla Lily Suit, the elf became all business.
"Mistress must shower," the elf said as she pushed her into the ensuite bathroom that had been stocked with all the products the witch liked as well as some others that claimed to be able to buff, exfoliate, polish or soften every inch of her body. When the witch had tried to send her away, the elf refused and explained, "It is important for Nym to get this part right. Nym will not look, Nym swears. Nym needs to help Mistress with all products."
"Is it absolutely necessary?" The brunette didn't seem pleased at all by the idea, but as soon Nym tried to explain to her how and when to use each cream, tonic, and salve, the woman seemed to change her attitude. "Never mind, stay. If you leave me alone with this I will end up waxing my face and moisturizing my hairy legs."
The shower took almost thirty minutes, which the witch kept reminding the elf was 'an outrageous amount of time to waste under the water.' Then the pair began applying the different moisturizing creams necessary to soften the skin of her body, hands, feet, and face respectively.
"How long have we been in here," Mistress Hermione asked as she looked for something that she didn't find. "Do you know the time?"
"It is now nine in the morning, Mistress Hermione."
"Oh, good," the witch said pleased, "that means we get a little break, right?"
"No, Mistress," the elf shook her small her violently as she emphatically explain to her sweet Mistress they were running behind schedule.
"How is that even possible? It is four hours until the celebration!"
"Nym will have to style Mistress' hair, Mistress Hermione," the elf explained.
"For four hours?" the woman asked dismayed, "surely it's not that bad?"
"It's not bad," Nym lied shamelessly, "Mistress just has lots of hair."
"Right," her Mistress sounded uncertain, "Okay."
"Please put this bathrobe on, Mistress Hermione," the elf said as she struggled not to drag the fluffy item on the floor.
"You're the boss, Nym," the witch said as she turned to face away, switching from her towel to the bathrobe. "I actually quite like this, can I keep it?"
"It is yours, Mistress Hermione," the elf explained with a shrug, "All the clothes and shoes and purses and robes and make up her is yours. Mistress Narcissa got them herself!"
"Of course she did," said the witch with a sigh. "Okay, Nym, do your worst!"
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"Blaise!" Ginny knocked on the door for the millionth time that early afternoon, "open up already!"
"What do you want?" called the wizard's annoyed voice from the other side.
"I want to use the bathroom!" she boomed, " I am the woman in this marriage, I should be the one hogging the facilities before a big event, not you!"
"Do you know how many bathroom there are in this flat?" Ginny could hear a small chuckle and it made the temper she had inherited from her mum flare.
"Blaise," she said in a perfectly calm and obviously deadly voice, "I promise you that if you do not open this door in the next five seconds your will find dozens of bats flying out of your snobby nose."
"You wouldn't!" called her husband in disbelieve.
"One," she enunciated clearly as she pulled out her wand, "Two—"
"Are you serious right now?" Blaise's voice sounded about half an octave higher.
"What a waste it's going to be when all your pampering goes unnoticed due to the hex, three," she said in faux disappointment.
"Fine!" The man's annoyance was clear as he opened the door to reveal a freshly shaved face and his mostly naked body, the sole exception being a towel at his waist, "You will pay for ousting me from the bathroom."
"No, I won't," she said skillfully sidestepping and taking control of the bathroom without looking at his body too closely; they were already late thanks to the fooling around that had been spurred earlier by that same sight.
"It's not going to be pretty, Ginevra," he threatened confidently, "and when you cry for mercy I will simply remind you how self-assured you currently are."
"All this drama because of a bathroom?" she said getting to work on her complexion with practiced ease.
"You are one to talk," he said crossing his arms over his muscular naked chest. "If there are two words in this world that describe me, those are vain and vindictive. You are in grave danger, my sweet, and I'm afraid no one will be able to stop me from getting revenge."
"I'm so scared," she said rolling her eyes in condescension as she began applying highlighting eyeshadow under her brow "watch me quiver." At her taunt he invaded the space behind her, his deft fingers digging into her sides. The contact should have been painful, but Blaise was quite skilled at keeping his caresses in that blurred line between pain and pleasure. The jolt of electricity, which she now recognized as their joint magic, burned her skin wherever Blaise's skin touched her own.
"You are such a rebellious witch, Ginevra," he said softly as his tongue darted out past his teeth to lick softly on the sensitive skin near her pulse, "but I am willing to take on you."
"You won't win," she said trying to make her voice sound unaffected and failing.
"You would probably be right under normal circumstances," he said snaking his hand from her hip to below her navel, "but I do not plan on playing fair." A small moan escaped her lips despite her attempts to keep her enjoyment hushed. He played with her until he felt her body begin to climb toward release.
"What?" she complained disoriented when he stopped abruptly. "Why did you—" she fell silent when the same fingers that had so expertly played with her reached for her mouth and spread her juices over her lips.
"Taste it," he ordered softly. Maybe it was the intensity of his stare or the fact that she felt like a sex goddess at the moment, but what exactly compelled Ginny to obey his lustful command wasn't clear even to her. All she knew was that doing as her husband had ordered was the most erotic moment she would likely ever experience; especially when Blaise simultaneously sucked on his wet fingers. "Fuck, Ginevra," he groaned out as if he had gotten his hands on the most delicious fruit on earth, "do you see why I call you my sweet?"
"Out!" she said as she blushed furiously, "Right now, out!"
"This is only the beginning, Ginevra," his winning smirk was beyond exasperating to her, "remember, this is your doing," and with that he smoothly turned on his heels, leaving her with her disturbingly inappropriate thoughts and a shiver that felt as painfully sweet as their joint magic's burn.
"Fuck me," she cursed under her breath as she wiped her face clean of the make up to start from scratch. After a few failed attempts at readying herself for the celebration a very annoyed Ginny had called on an even more irritated Kip.
"Mistress Ginevra called Kip?" the redhead knew the elf was cross with her because she had rudely been dismissed by Ginny after handing her the robes Christian had created for her.
"I seem to have grown impaired in the beauty department," the witch mumbled, "If because of your stupid master or the promise of meeting his mother I don't—"
"Mistress needs Kip's help?" the elf asked enjoying herself.
"Yes, Kip, I do" the redhead sighed after a couple of seconds, "I need your help."
"Is Kip allowed to do as Kip thinks is best?" the elf asked in the same patronizing tone she knew was her husband's trademark. Instead of answering, Ginny asked a question of her own.
"Tell me, Kip, does Blaise get his haughtiness from you or do you get it from him?" the elf narrowed her eyes at the witch.
"Does Mistress Ginevra want Kip to help her?" It sounded mildly like a threat and Ginny couldn't help but find it endearing for the old elf to be so defensive of her baby boy.
"I trust you will not let me mess this up?" Ginny asked finally letting some of her nerves show, "Bellissa is going to be there today and from what I have heard she is…" she trailed off, hoping the elf would pick up and fill the blank.
"The most beautiful witch of her time?" was what came out of the elf's mouth.
"I was going to say difficult," the woman said gulping harshly, "but yeah, that too. I just want to get along with her."
"Mistress Ginevra should aim for not being hated," the elf said as delicately as possible and Ginny felt the little sliver of hope in her chest die a most painful death. Kip was excruciatingly loyal to Blaise and his mother, she had discovered over the last month. If even Kip believed that Bellissa was an arse then there truly was no hope for their relationship as in laws, because Ginny would not let the beautiful witch walk over her. Not ever.
"Kip," Ginny said as the elf readied everything she would need to help the witch, "I know I can trust you to guide me and to be upfront about things. What should I do today when Bellissa confronts me?" The elf seemed reluctant to answer so she added, "speak freely, no one other than I will know about this."
"Mistress Bellissa will be nice as long as Master is with Mistress Ginevra," the elf said as she transformed a make up brush into a chair, "please sit, Mistress."
"Use Blaise as a human buffer, got it," she said doing as the elf asked, "anything else?"
"Mistress should spend her time by her friends," Kip said as she handed her a potion for her to drink, "this will make Mistress Ginevra's eyes look awake and bright."
"Oh," Ginny said catching her reflection in the mirror and grimacing. When her nerves had prevented her from getting any sleep, Blaise had decided to take advantage of her restlessness, "do you have anything for the puffiness under my eyes?"
"When Kip is done readying Mistress Ginevra, Mistress Bellissa will not be the most beautiful witch at the celebration, and Master will not want to leave Mistress Ginevra's side," the elf said with a determination that Ginny found slightly hilarious when considering the endearing elf was less than three feet tall.
"Let's knock them dead," Ginny cheered.
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"With or without you, Ginevra," called Blaise from the foot of the stairs as he looked in the general direction of the clock resting on the living room's mantle, "We are going not going to be on time at this pace and Narcissa Malfoy does not do fashionably late!"
"Coming!" his wife called from upstairs sounding a bit frantic.
"Yeah, you will," he mumbled cheekily to himself as a soft chuckled left his lips.
"Okay, okay," said his wife as she hurried downstairs with a nude clutch that matched her stylish pointed shoes. He took his sweet time looking her over, enjoying how her long-sleeved sky blue robes cinched at the level of her waist only to drop into a perfect A-line that complimented her figure flawlessly.
"What?" she said feeling his thorough study of her, "do I look okay?" she reached up to her fire-like hair, which was done into a messy chignon against the nape of her neck.
"You look absolutely breathtaking, my sweet," he said giving her another onceover. "Is that white lace?" he asked pointing at the white floral fabric that adorned the edges where her robes met at her front.
"Handmade lace," she confirmed, "The designer said it would soften the look further. Do you think it's too short?" she worried as she looked down at her exposed legs.
"Not at all," he negated emphatically, "this event is taking place in the afternoon, cocktail cut robes are perfectly acceptable, Ginevra."
"Are you sure?"
"Ginevra," he sighed, "remember what I said about being vain?" she nodded, "being stylish is the positive side effect of my vanity."
"Well thank goodness for that," she said regaining her signature confidence easily, "is that what you are going to be wearing?"
"Clothes, you mean?" he teased.
"Aren't grey robes a bit too, I don't know, somber for the occasion?" her words were completely at odds with her hungry perusal of his tailored robes.
"Not if they are this particularly light shade of grey," he shrugged calmly, "again, extremely vain and chic."
"Right, right," she said reaching out to him.
"Need support?" he was poking a restless lion, he knew, but he was a bit concerned due to her new found insecurities.
"What I need is for you to apparate us, you arse," Ginevra said regaining her composure and usual Weasley disposition.
"There you are, my sweet," he smile happily, "I was beginning to worry."
"I am telling Narcissa it was you who made us late," she threatened easily. Her comment had the desired effect, too; because the next second her hand was in his and they were apparating to the otherworldly gardens of Malfoy manor.
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"Daph? Pansy?" came Ron's wary voice as he stepped out of the floo and into the flat Pansy and Harry shared.
"Seriously?" called Harry as he walked in the direction of his best mate, "That's whom you call for when you get to my home?" When he finally came into view, The Boy Who Lived could see Ron's face flush with relief.
"Thank Merlin it's you, Harry," he said letting out a sigh, "I don't think I can handle anymore women today."
"So you came looking for Pansy and Daphne?"
"Mum invaded my home early this morning and nagged me until I decided to escape here." The redhead explained with a heavy sigh. "Pansy and Daph have nothing on Mum."
"I'll give you that much," Harry said easily as they made their way to the living room.
"Who are these people," Ron asked gesturing at the team of 'experts' that had been taken over the living space.
"They are supposed to be specialists in make up and hair," Harry explained, "but as far as I've seen they excel only at torture." As if to justify the statement, one of their wives hissed in pain.
"Lovely," Ron said as he took a seat on the only unoccupied surface in the room, a small ottoman, "I'll take this over Mum's freak out any day."
"Freak out?" inquired Daphne form her seat.
"Yeah," Ron shrugged, "Mum is really nervous about today, you see. Apparently Ginny's monster in law is going to be there today and she is a real witch."
"Ginny doesn't get along with Zabini's mum?" Harry asked worried about the girl turned woman that had been his sweetheart for the better part of the last five years. Before Ron could answer his question, however, Pansy jumped into the conversation.
"Of course she doesn't," she said as her hair was styled into silky dark waves that became some sort of up-do reminiscent of the roaring twenties, "That woman is a nightmare come true."
"Don't say that, Pansy!" Daphne reproved as she turned to face the blanching men. If Pansy thought Ginny's mother was awful then Ginny was in deep shite, "What she means to say is that Blaise's mum can be difficult sometimes."
"No," Pansy insisted as she eyed her husband's features carefully, "What I mean to say is that your sister is in deep, deep shite, Weasley."
"Wonderful," said Ron as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "as if I didn't have enough with work, now I have to worry about Ginny killing someone in broad daylight at the most publicized event of the year."
"I'm sure everything will be just fine," Daphne said trying to soothe him, but when all eyes in the room —including that of the stylists— stared at her, she sighed and added, "On second thought, we better help her."
"We is a lot of people," mumbled Pansy, earning herself a painful pinch from her old roommate, "Ouch!" she cried as she rubbed the now pink skin of her forearm, "What? It's true! Let's not pretend that your sister in law would not have me killed and buried."
"Maybe not killed," Ron provided with a shrug, "but definitely not intact either."
"Today is going to be an absolute mess, isn't it?" Harry said as he got a familiar sinking feeling in the depths of his stomach.
"Yup," Ron nodded with a wide smile, "an unquestionable shite show."
"Alcohol?" Harry suggested already making a beeline for the fully stocked spirits chest Pansy kept in the sitting room.
"I'll take Firewhisky if you have some, but only one," Ron said taking the shot glass from his oldest friend's hand, "We might not be on duty—"
"But we always are," Harry said clinking his glass with Ron's, "yeah, yeah, I get it," he said as he downed the burning liquid all at once.
"Don't over do it!" cautioned Pansy from her seat across the room as the make up artist told her to be still or risk loosing an eye.
"I won't, Pans," Harry said rolling his eyes a bit. He wasn't a child but Pansy sometimes treated him like one.
"Can you hear the whip, Daph?" Ron said cupping his ear theatrically.
"Sod off," Harry said good-naturedly as he gestured for his old friend to follow him into the kitchen. Once they were away from the women, they both let a long sigh out. "She's not bad," Harry gestured in Pansy's direction with his chin, "but she can be a real pain when she wants to be one."
"Thank Godric Daphne is nowhere nearly as feisty," Ron said shaking his head, "I don't know if I could handle her being all up my case like that."
"Pansy is a good wife," Harry reiterated downing a second shot, ignoring both Ron's and Pansy's recommendation to take it easy.
"But?" asked Ron as he eyed his friend closely. When the raven-haired man stared confused, Ron sighed and prompted "Pansy is a good wife, but…?"
"I don't know… I guess I just never thought I would marry someone other than your sister," Harry answered honestly as he rubbed his face with one of his palms. "Jesus Christ, Ginny," he could hear the regret in his own voice, "it's my fault she is going to have a bad time."
"Aside from the monster in law she is doing quite well," Ron assured him, "I wrote to her after our little chat at work and she swore she was getting along just fine with Zabini."
"Ginny Zabini," Harry tried it out and frowned at the aftertaste of it, "never thought I'd say that name."
"I never thought I'd say Hermione Granger-Malfoy either," Ron shrugged awkwardly, "yet here we are."
"Don't compare, those two situations have nothing to do with one another. Your thing with Hermione was nothing more than a confused friendship." Harry's tone was a bit too bitter, but he didn't care much, "Meanwhile, I was planning on marrying Ginny. Please tell me you see how those two situations are different."
"Harry," Ron said softly after a long silence, "I know this is coming from an incredibly self-centered place, but please, whatever you do, do not choose today to lose your shite and unravel."
"Too late," Harry said downing his third shot of Ogden's Old, finally reaching that buzz he had been seeking ever since he realized he would be facing his sweetheart and her new husband that afternoon.
"Morgana help us," Ron said looking at his best mate's semi-plastered face as he started a fresh pot of coffee with a flick of his wrist.
"We are all set," called Daphne's voice from the living room, "we just need to change and we will be on our way!"
"No rush!" Ron said as he forced a cup of dark brew into Harry's unwilling hand. "Drink this or I will tell Pansy you chose this very important day to get pissed."
"You are supposed to be on my side, you piece of shite friend," Harry retorted with only a bit of bite as he began drinking the coffee.
"There are no sides, Harry," Ron said looking out the kitchen's window, "We are all just trying to navigate the messy aftermath of the Ministry's idiocy, which is going to be very difficult for both you and Ginny if you are not in control of yourself."
"Uh-huh," Harry said as he downed the coffee in the same way he had downed the alcohol. "I feel like an arse all around, Ron."
"For getting pissed?" Ron asked confused.
"Also," the green-eyed man sighed, "but mostly for not trying to marry Ginny at that ceremony, for thinking about her now when I married Pansy, for not being a better husband; the list goes on and on and you don't get it, Ron. You have it pretty good, all in all, so don't try and feed me this crap about us struggling. I have a humongous pile of shite on me and you are getting pastries delivered to your home because your wife is that nice."
"Are you quite done?" Ron asked patiently.
"You can be such a prick sometimes, Ron," Harry said huffing angrily.
"So can you mate," Ron rolled his eyes, "especially when you get all Moaning Myrtle like you are now."
"Are we about ready to go?" Harry said walking away from his friend and in the direction of the women.
"Ready!" call Pansy as her and Daphne joined them in the living room once more. "Everything okay, Harold?" she asked tentatively as she snaked her arm into the crook of her husband's arm, "You look upset."
"I'm fine, Pans," he mumbled, "I just really hate these things."
"I'll handle the people, and we can leave early if you wish," she said smiling softly at him, "don't worry."
"Thanks, Pans," he nodded at her.
"Ready?" He nodded again and they were gone with a telling crack.
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"Was Harry drunk just now?" Daphne asked softly holding onto her husband's hand as if for dear life.
"Yup."
"It's not going to be pretty is it?" she sighed already knowing the answer.
"If Harry's mood is any indication of what awaits us today," Ron said looking at the place where Harry and Pansy had stood a few seconds before, "then Godric help us."
"Salazar," Daphne exhaled already feeling tired, "what a waste of nice robes."
"I was going to mention it before but got caught up in the drama," Ron said turning to look at her as a deep blush reached out from his cheeks to his hairline, "I don't think I'd ever seen a prettier witch, Daph."
"Oh," she said looking down at her heels, "You don't think I look strange?"
"Why would you?" Ron asked confused.
"Well," she said studying the designer robes that perfectly matched her pale pink shoes, "It's unconventional for a witch to wear pants at a formal event. It is not seen as… well, actually it is not seen at all."
"If it makes any difference I think you look absolutely breathtaking, Daph," he said invading her space slowly. "I don't know anything about fashion or high society," he shrugged, "I am only a Weasley, after all; but I think you should wear whatever will allow you to feel beautiful and comfortable. And if people try and say anything I will shut them up!"
"Why are you so nice to me?" Daphne asked for the millionth time during the short span of their marriage, still not understanding why he saw her as something she wasn't, "I am nothing special, not anymore at least. You will realize that today."
"What are you even talking about?"
"What happened to me is the worst kept secret in wizarding society. They will know and they will talk and you…"
"And I will deck whoever tries to say or do anything out of line," Ron assured her. "You are my wife and to get to you they will have to go through me. I don't care what they think or say about me, but you are not to be even looked at the wrong way."
"You are much more than I deserve, Ron," she whispered as she looked at the white ceiling trying to prevent getting emotional, "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me, Daphne," he said getting even closer and giving her the softest of kisses on her temple. "Ready to go?"
"Yes, let's," she said straightening her spine and putting on a mask she hadn't felt the need to wear since she had moved in with the redhead in front of her. "With some luck, we will make it before Harry can try and get Blaise to execute him."
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"Will you look at yourself, oh, Hermione!" the older witch clapped a bit in excitement. "Christian did such a good job with this dress! Hand-made red lace, a nice loose skirt for the perfect princess cut and that hat! My dear, you look absolutely fantastic. These old geese will not know where to hide their own clothes once they see you in this master piece!"
"Thanks, Narcissa," the young witch said, equal parts grateful and overwhelmed by the compliment. "Where's Draco?"
"I'm here," the man in question said as he entered the room fussing with one of the sleeves of his fancy robes. When the wizard's eyes landed on his wife they did a funny summersault. "Hermione."
"Hi," she sounded shy and she could have kicked herself for it. What was it with her pathological need to act weird of silly around him?
"Doesn't she look lovely, Draco?" Narcissa asked eagerly.
"She always does," was the wizard's only comment on the matter. "Now remember, some people are going to try and make you feel unwelcome; don't let them. This is your home, you are a Malfoy and they owe you respect."
"But also don't be rude," Narcissa cautioned. "Instead, navigate people with finesse as we've been practicing."
"Mother and I will be introducing you to key players tonight," Draco continued, "we will queue you discreetly on how to handle each individual."
"We will try to always be at your side," Narcissa added, "but there is a good chance you might find yourself alone. Don't panic."
"If things get nasty, we will know and will come and find you," Draco assured her.
"How will you know?" Hermione asked overwhelmed.
"We just will."
"Am I supposed to blindly trust that you will know when to save my neck?"
"Yes," Narcissa nodded.
"Remember," Draco said holding onto her shoulders in a comforting manner, "regardless of what happens here today, we are going to be away on vacation come tomorrow morning."
"Thank goodness for that," Hermione said letting out a sigh. A crack of apparition alerted the group of the arrival of the first guests.
"Let's make today count, dears," Narcissa said as she turned to welcome a bitter-looking man that reminded Hermione of Winston Churchill, "Desmond, Clarisse, welcome! Have you met my lovely daughter in law?"
"Mrs. Granger-Malfoy," the old man said once he was in front of the welcoming party, "It is most pleasing to make your acquaintance, your husband has told me quite a bit about you. My name is Desmond Barnaby, I am a member of the Wizengamot, and this is my wife Clarisse."
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," Hermione said in the most regal voice she could convey.
"I am most excited to be here today," the old wizard did not seem excited in the least, but he appeared nice enough, "after corresponding tirelessly with young Mr. Malfoy here, I almost feel like we have been friends for years, you and I."
"Well I am most excited about your presence," Hermione said trying to assure him while skillfully avoiding the comment about friendship. She knew Barnaby was one of the members of the Wizengamot that had pledged their support to her, but she didn't want to seem overly eager. The sound of apparition rang again, and a younger couple quickly began making their way toward their group. "Please, make yourselves comfortable," Hermione said trying to imitate her mother in law's complacent smile.
"Thank you, Madam," Barnaby said with an elegant nod, "You got lucky Mr. Malfoy."
"Sure, Desmond, let's call it luck."
"Undersecretary," Narcissa smiled slyly at the young man, "how lovely to see you. Is this your blushing bride?"
"Yes, madam," said the witch awkward, "my name is Amanda."
"Ah, yes," Narcissa smiled big, "Quincy Periwinkle's daughter, correct?"
"Yes, madam. Father sends his most regretful apologies, he is sick and will not be able to attend."
"Oh yes," Narcissa said gracefully, "I received the most lovely arrangement of freesias earlier this week as an apology. Do give him my best?"
"Absolutely," the younger witch nodded.
"Have you met my wife, Undersecretary?" asked Draco as he gestured with an open palm at Hermione.
"Not in person," Hermione answered for him with a charming smile, "but we have exchanged significant amounts of correspondence, have we not, Undersecretary?"
"Oh yes," the man nodded flattered at being recognized. "Your wife is very passionate about the rights of magical creatures."
"Hermione is very impassioned when it comes to the betterment of our society," Draco smiled, "it's one of the things I most like about her."
"What a sweet thing to say," Amanda Acton said moved by her words. "You sure make a beautiful, though admittedly surprising, couple."
"Isn't that the truth," Narcissa laughed happily, "You two, on the other hand, are no surprise at all."
"We were lucky," the wife of the undersecretary admitted as she turned to Hermione to explain, "We were engaged for almost a year before the marriage act passed."
"I am glad you two matched, then," Hermione said honestly.
"Isn't it amazing just how outstandingly the pairings worked out, Undersecretary?" Draco's tone sounded off, but only to a trained ear.
"Most amazing," the man answered as he eyed Draco closely. "Thank you for the invitation and for hosting this celebration," he smiled. "Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Granger-Malfoy," Undersecretary Acton nodded and excused himself and his wife.
"Draco…" Narcissa cautioned softly when the couple was out of earshot.
"It was too easy, Mother."
"What did I miss?" Hermione asked confused.
"Nothing," Narcissa said as her son simultaneously promised to share later. Another loud crack announced the arrival of yet another party; this one composed of four couples.
"It's going to be a long day," she sighed under her breath.
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"Mr. Zabini," called an annoyed Narcissa Malfoy as soon as her eyes landed on Blaise and Ginevra, "how typical of you to be almost late."
"Narcissa Malfoy," Blaise said turning all of his charm onto the woman, "don't you look absolutely fetching in those robes."
"That is my mother, Blaise," Draco cautioned from where he stood between his wife and his mother, "refrain from being nauseating."
"Do refrain," Narcissa agreed as Hermione added a 'seriously do'.
"I was simply complimenting the artistry of the designer," Blaise pretended to be insulted, "How clever of him or her to watermark a day at the beach over such rich cream fabric. To the untrained eye, it would just look like a beautiful array of varied shades of blue, yellow and purple whimsically dyed onto it."
"Be honest with me," Ginevra sighed next to him, "when did you realize you liked wizards?" the comment caused Narcissa to actually let out a shocked gasp while Hermione and Draco struggled to contain their laughter.
"Isn't she something?" Blaise asked Narcissa as he bit back the very indecent answer he felt tempted to give to his wayward wife.
"Indeed," Narcissa said regaining her composure, "Ms. Zabini, how lovely to see you again. Were the robes to your liking?"
"Christian is a genius," the redhead admitted as she beamed, "he understood what I wanted and delivered tenfold. Please send him my best."
"I will, Ms. Zabini. Enjoy yourselves, dears," the older witch dismissed them politely.
"Before we go, can I…" Blaise cleared his throat awkwardly, "Has my mother arrived yet?"
"Unpunctuality is a family trait, it seems," Draco's tone was beyond sardonic, but Blaise didn't care.
"Fantastic," then turning to his wife, "come on Ginevra, let's have some fun before my mother can ruin your night."
"Save me, Hermione," called the woman in question to her red-clad friend before Blaise could take her away.
"I'll try, I promised," she assured as Blaise angled Ginevra in the general direction of sparkling goodness.
"What is this?" Ginevra asked when he gave her a glass of it.
"Try it," Blaise said shrugging, "it's the good stuff." After taking a sip, an uncontrollable giggle left the witch's mouth. "Isn't it fantastic?"
"Why would anyone want to drink this?" Ginevra asked equal parts stunned and entertained.
"Blaise Ignatius, is that you?" called a voice he knew all too well not far away.
"Because women such as this one exist, and situations like the one about to take place, happen," Blaise whispered and then, turning in the direction of the demure voice that had called out to him, he added with a big smile, "Mother, aren't you just a sight for sore eyes."
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If you want to see pictures for my inspiration for dresses, locations, homes, flats, etc. Follow me on Instagram at kikistonewrites. I will be posting pictures of Hermione and Draco's home, Pansy's flat, Hermione's wedding dress, and more!
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Dear readers,
Good lord have I missed you! I have been going utterly insane trying to get this chapter out to you; you haven't the faintest idea how tough it's been. Big thank you to my friends, purplehedgehog13, ClaraBragge-Ravenclaw, GeekMom13, PeppermintIce and, of course, my beta, Billoseth. Shout out to Nicole and Petulantpages, you guys make me the happiest of writers. To all my readers, who continue to support me no matter how out there this story might be: thank you, thank you, thank you!
This chapter is so long and we still haven't even gotten into the good stuff, huh? The next chapter is going to be the rest of the party. I promise it is going to be amazing, I just needed to get these twenty-one pages out to you. I don't want to lose you as readers just because my chapters are now longer and editing lasts forever, so here you go.
All the love,
Kikistone.
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For the guest that asked me to announce when the different couples would appear because they don't like the match between Harry and Pansy:
I understand that what I am about to say is going to mean my losing you as a reader, but I simply refuse to announce my matches so you can skip parts of the story. My plot is not a collection of one-shots and should not be treated as such. It is a multi-perspective story in which the whole idea is to follow our heroes and antiheroes as they adapt to a new, daunting, reality. That includes Pansy and Harry together as a couple. I'm sorry to see you go. My most honest thanks for reading up to now!
Best,
Kikistone
