November 2008

More than a month had passed since the inaugural gala for the Hermione J. Granger Fund for Students of Non-Magical Parents, and Hermione waited for the other shoe to drop. But as time rolled on from their sort-of public debut as a couple, Hermione had yet to experience any fallout from the shocking revelation.

Of course, she didn't rightly care about the public's opinion of her choice in romantic partner, but surely by now someone from the ball would have blabbed to the press? Hiring Dennis Creevey as the photographer had been an inspired choice on Hermione's part; the young man eager to help and a faithful friend. Hermione approved each picture he sold to various publications, none of them of her with Draco.

Hermione had been a bit more worried about Parvati spilling the beans, knowing she had a less-than-kind opinion of Draco, not to mention this sort of gossip exclusive would catapult sales of Witch Weekly. But to her surprise, Parvati's coverage of the event stayed in her lane: the fashion of the attendees with brief mentions of Hermione's opening remarks. She wondered if Padma might be the party responsible for keeping her sister in line.

If anything, Draco was the one doing his best to make their relationship the worst-kept pseudo-secret at Hermione's office. Since telling her, finally, that he loved her (Merlin, but she felt a stupid, giddy smile appear whenever she thought about it), she received some daily token of his affection during working hours. Her coworkers always smirked knowingly when they stopped by her office to see what had arrived each day.

Flowers at least once a week, lunch delivered if he knew she'd have a busy afternoon, luxury quills, stationary embossed with her monogram and new job title, boxes of tea when she'd complained about the Ministry quality, and once even a tub of her favorite strawberry ice cream from Fortescue's because she'd made an offhand comment during their morning coffee about her menstrual cramps.

Heaven forbid Hermione complain about being showered with gifts, because gods, the one time she'd even hinted that all of this was rather unnecessary his face had fallen in such a pathetically adorable way she'd relented and negotiated a hard line of no jewelry for occasions that weren't Christmas. Gifts and words of affirmation, the two love languages of Draco.

I love you.

He said it constantly. For a man completely new to openly sharing his emotions, Draco seemed unable to contain them now. The charmed notebook that sat on one side of her desk glowed so often with a new message from him during the work day that she'd had to shut it in her top drawer lest it distract her every few minutes. With quidditch in the off-season, it kept Draco to his office most days, which meant when his hands weren't rifling through player contracts or statistic reports, they jotted down quick notes to Hermione in his journal:

How was your morning? I love you.

Did the planning meeting go all right? I love you.

I miss you.

Please tell Weasley if he hails me in the street like that again or calls me "mate" in public one more time, I will not be held accountable for my violence. I love you.

Theo and Sasha want to get together this weekend, is that all right with you love? I love you.

Thinking of you.

Mother moved back to her home last night, would you like to come over for dinner so we can sully my dining room table again? I love you.

I cannot concentrate today Granger and it's all your ruddy fault. I cannot get the image of you in that little black number out of my mind and it's most distracting. I love you.

I wanted to have a blueberry scone delivered to you today, but I ate it and harbor no regrets. I do love you, though.

How is your day going? I love you.

I love you.

She'd always known him to be a bit on the self-centered side (though obviously much less so than the snotty, spoiled younger version) but the odd and amusing truth of the matter remained: Draco Malfoy was a needy boyfriend.

Before dating Draco, if you had asked Hermione for a list of turn-offs in men, neediness would have been close to the top of that list. Younger Hermione would assert that she wanted a partner as independent as her, someone who did not require her constant attention or validation.

But damn it all if this behavior didn't melt her heart and make her nauseatingly pleased that she'd somehow won such open devotion from a man she'd previously thought to be rather cold and unfeeling. Should it turn her on this much to be the object of his unreserved affection? Perhaps not, but Hermione found herself no longer caring about her past expectations.

While she'd prepared for the worst after the gala, it would seem the universe still had a few surprises in store for her. Visits with her parents and Draco were still quite tense, but Hermione detected a slight thaw in their attitudes at the most recent luncheon.

Her friends had shown to be her truest supporters in every sense of the word, going out of their way to make Draco feel welcome and included and though he would never admit it, Hermione caught him having an enthusiastic chat with Harry more than once and he'd laughed a real laugh at one of Ron's corny jokes. She kept this observation to herself for now, lest Draco fall into a petulant huff and refute such an accusation. Theo and Sasha were always enjoyable company, Hermione glad to see the bookish Theo come out of his shell more and more in her presence.

So when the other shoe did finally drop, Hermione found herself too content with her current circumstances to feel any real angst over it. Draco, on the other hand, had a right fit.

"How—how dare they!? This sort of invasion of privacy must be against press laws!"

The word had finally leaked to the world at large. A moving black and white photograph of Draco and Hermione sat just below the fold of the front page of that morning's Daily Prophet. The camera had captured them at the end of their daily morning routine before parting ways for work: Draco leaning down with a smug smile to press a lingering kiss to Hermione's cheek. His lips then drifted up to her ear to intone, "Have a good day, I love you."

Draco made himself a victim of his own perfect enunciation, as even without sound any reader could see exactly what he'd said. He stood up straight to peer down at her with a blazing look before the photo reverted back to the beginning of the public display of affection in an endless loop.

"We're technically in the wizarding world at that point. It's perfectly legal," Hermione said calmly as her eyes scanned the rest of the article. Just about every single major publication available to magical Britain littered her kitchen table and every single one of them featured the same photo of Hermione and Draco with accompanying headlines that ranged from amusing to offensive.

"Pure of Blood and Pure of Heart: The Star-Crossed Romance of Our Time!"

"Heartbreaker Hermione Snags Dishy Draco!"

"Malfoy's Muggleborn Mistress"

"Gold-Digging Golden Girl?"

"Gold-Digging Granger Enchants Malfoy Heir"

"Heroine Hermione and Death Eater Draco: Inside Their Forbidden Love"

"Malfoy's Muggleborn: Publicity Ploy or Real Romance?"

"Happiness in the Heir?"

"A Romance of Redemption: How Love Reformed Draco Malfoy"

"You're being incredibly blasé about all this."

Hermione snorted. "Oh please, this is nothing. Rita Skeeter labeled me a whore in print when I was 14 years old. Fourteen! A minor! So you'll have to excuse me if I can't muster any sort of reaction other than indifference. It's a rather lovely photo of us."

She executed a perfect Slicing Charm and smoothed out a copy of the photo, intending to frame it. It would join the other two pictures of her and Draco on her mantel: the one from their ill-fated walk into the fairy colony and the one Dennis had mailed of her waltzing with Draco at the gala.

"But—but—Granger, surely you're aware at the amount of vitriol you're about to bring on to yourself!"

She gave him a pitying smile at his naivety. "I'm a public figure. I've been one since my teen years. I have been called all sorts of awful things, some writers seeming a few quill strokes away from spelling out Mudblood, frankly. I've also been lauded and adored for something as frivolous as wearing a nice dress to an event. I've experienced the entire spectrum of the magical community's opinions about my personal and professional life and my skin is much thicker for it."

Hermione took his hand and dropped a kiss to the back of it. "Let them gossip, or sneer, or applaud. I love you and no matter what these so called 'journalists' print or any 'fans' think of me, that fact will not be changing."

Draco frowned, but his expression softened. "I'm still going to have my solicitors contact all of these publications. The things they're implying about you…" he trailed off in disgust.

Hermione shrugged. "Calling me a 'gold-digger' or 'heartbreaker' wouldn't pass muster in a libel hearing. However, you should absolutely have them go after the ones that said you have me under the Imperius Curse."

She handed him two magazines and a daily. "They didn't even insinuate a crime, they outright accused you. Your legal team will have a pathetically easy time with those."

She turned back to the paper in her hands. "Although," Hermione said with a heavy sigh. "I think it's time I take your mother up on that invitation for dinner to meet her properly."

"Why?"

"Because she's quoted in the Prophet about our relationship."

"WHAT!?"

She wordlessly held up the Prophet and he snatched it from her hands. His gray eyes frantically whizzed across the pages, lips pursed, she knew, when he reached phrases like, "a source close to the couple say a marriage contract is in the works" or, "the amorous duo hung off each other's arms at last month's gala" and then she saw his brow furrow and surmised he must have reached his mother's comment.

"The question on many readers' minds is most likely: what exactly does Narcissa Malfoy have to say about the relationship that has shocked the magical community? When asked to comment on her only son's blossoming romance with the infamous Muggleborn witch (for a listing of Hermione Granger's illustrious achievements, including an Order of Merlin, First Class, turn to page 6; for a summary of her previous romantic entanglements, turn to page 8), the controversial matriarch of the Malfoy family had this to say: 'My son is a hard-working, upstanding member of society and Miss Granger is a formidable young woman.'

For a review of the trials of the entire Malfoy family following the Battle of Hogwarts, turn to page 7…"

Draco peered at her over the top of the paper. "She shouldn't have said anything. I'll owl her immediately and—"

"Tell her we'll see her for dinner this Saturday, if she'll have us."

A pregnant pause followed her pronouncement.

"Granger, are you sure? You don't have to—"

"I'm sure," Hermione cut him off decisively. "I've stalled long enough," she reasoned. "And this is something I'd like to do, for you."

He flashed her one of his genuine smiles that always made her weak-kneed and then stood up to kiss the top of her head as he left to get dressed for work.

Hermione's mobile lit up with a text from Ginny.

G: Good morning Hermione! Oh I'm sorry should I refer to you by your new title now? Which do you prefer, Heartbreaker Hermione or Malfoy's Muggleborn?

H: Ha bloody ha. I've already had to talk Draco down from siccing every lawyer in his arsenal on every publication that ran the story.

G: Tell your "pale pureblood prince" that I will be personally making sure your "star-crossed romance" is old news by the end of the week.

H: Please don't do this. Harry can't possibly be on board!

G: I already talked it over with him and he's agreed. Besides this way we get to control the announcement and I don't have to endure photo spreads suggesting I've eaten one too many Cauldron Cakes.

H: I appreciate the gesture, I do, but you don't have to do this.

G: Too late my dear!

Two days later, all traces of Draco and Hermione were indeed wiped from the front pages, as that press space became solely dedicated to the revelation that the Boy Who Lived and his Quidditch Star Wife expected their first child.

Draco smirked as he leaned over Hermione's shoulder to read the paper. "Ginevra really is more cunning than I ever gave her credit for."

Hermione scoffed. "I still think this was all ridiculously unnecessary."

"Perhaps, love, but I don't know about you, but I rather hate that we're constantly photographed in the mornings now."

She scowled and turned the paper more violently than she intended. The story itself about their relationship didn't bother her, but the fact that now she couldn't even say goodbye to Draco on her way to work without flashbulbs going off irked her to no end. That small tender moment, one of her favorite parts of the day, and now the press vultures would rob her of the privacy of that as well. Not to mention all the foul Howlers both she and Draco received on a daily basis.

Still, a small price to pay for finally feeling like she could openly be with Draco. She wondered if she would still feel the same after their dinner with Narcissa.


Never in her life had Hermione witnessed someone eat soup as slowly as Narcissa Malfoy. Honestly, at the current rate at which the woman daintily allowed the spoon past her lips, this first course could last anywhere from one hour to the next century.

Hermione had hastily finished her own (admittedly, delicious) butternut squash bisque so as to have something to occupy her hands, and now felt quite out of sorts. Although, she'd felt that way for the entire evening.

It all started innocently enough. Draco and she had Flooed to the Lestrange Estate together, Hermione pushing the name of the home into a box at the back of her mind. Draco wore formal robes and Hermione followed suit, though part of her desperately wanted to show up in Muggle attire simply to prove a point. Alas, her conscience won out, and she felt that at least for Draco's sake, she should put in a proper effort with Narcissa and try to avoid pettiness when possible.

Narcissa greeted them, or rather greeted her son and stood back to let him make the expected introductions. Hermione had a momentary bout of panic. How did pureblood society ladies greet one another? But Narcissa merely held out a delicate hand for Hermione to briefly shake, and the panic subsided.

"A pleasure to finally meet you properly, Miss Granger." Hermione wondered if all ladies of her standing had to practice that light, airy tone or if it just came naturally.

"Please, call me Hermione. Thank you for inviting me to your home." And not having me dragged through the front gates, went unsaid.

Hermione attempted a small smile that was not returned.

"I've recently redecorated and made renovations to the East Wing. Perhaps a tour before we sit for dinner?"

Hermione nodded and Draco offered his arm and a reassuring smile as they followed the gliding gait of Narcissa through the massive foyer. She couldn't help but let her gaze wander around the expansive hall, wondering how much dark magic these walls had seen in their day. If one were not aware of the deranged family that had once ruled from here, it would be hard to imagine, given the present atmosphere. Narcissa had quite obviously redone the impressive manor home in her own style. It felt light if still rather gaudy, most of the color scheme a mix of blues, greens, and creams, and Hermione spotted at least one of those paintings done by unicorns dipping their horns and hooves in ink.

Hermione didn't have much to offer by way of conversation during the tour, which was just as well, as Narcissa seemed perfectly content to rattle off her design inspirations and which vendors she'd used without pausing for questions. Compared to his mother's home, Draco's own manor seemed modest next to the historic Lestrange Estate. Narcissa didn't elaborate on the history of the residence, but to Hermione's eye, a good many of the furnishings, artwork, and architectural style were centuries old.

The Malfoy family was one of the oldest pureblood lines in Britain, but Hermione had once read that the Lestranges weren't too far behind. They'd come over from France as well, roughly 200 years after Draco's ancestor rode in with William the Conqueror.

Had this manor also housed prisoners during the war? Hermione steadied her breathing and did her best to banish macabre thoughts of dark curses and cruel laughter.

Not until they entered the dining room did Hermione commit her first faux pas of the evening. Perhaps she could blame the relief of finally sitting down, but instead of standing beside her designated chair and waiting for the gentleman in the room to pull it out for her, she went ahead and seated herself. Both Draco and his mother stared at her for a beat and she felt her face flush.

Draco busied himself with pulling out his mother's chair and Hermione caught his eye to quickly mouth "sorry." He dismissed it with a small smirk. She sat across the expansive table from Draco, of course, because who knows what sort of improper behavior might occur if he were seated next to her. Why he might even brush her hand! Perish the thought.

Hermione cast a quick look at the place settings, never more grateful for her mother's blueblood lineage than right now. Mum's Great Uncle Ernest had even been an Earl, not that the title would impress the likes of Narcissa Malfoy, but it meant Hermione at least knew when to use which cutlery for the proper course.

A house-elf appeared suddenly carrying a steaming tureen. "Hermione, I understand you work at the Ministry," said Narcissa, fixing her with piercing blue eyes while the elf ladled soup into her mistress's bowl.

"Yes, I am the Deputy Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

The elf approached Hermione next for her serving. "Thank you!" said Hermione brightly, thus marking her second faux pas.

The little elf looked positively stricken at being addressed and cast a nervous glance at Narcissa who stared at Hermione with an odd look on her ever inscrutable face. Eventually Narcissa waved an impatient hand at the elf, who scurried around the table to serve Draco.

When she heard Draco murmur a quiet "thank you," to the elf, Hermione couldn't help the feeling of triumph that rose within her. If Narcissa heard her son, she made no mention.

"Where do you see your ambitions taking you next? From what Draco has told me you performed quite well at school in a variety of subjects."

Draco laughed lightly and answered first. "That's an enormous understatement, Mother. Hermione outpaced every student in our year by a wide margin. She could run for Minister this very minute if she truly wanted."

Hermione's blush this time originated from Draco's effusive praise, something she cherished.

"And is that your ultimate goal?" Narcissa asked, again in that perfectly neutral tone.

"Not exactly," Hermione said and took a sip of soup to gather her thoughts before she spoke. "Draco was teasing. Politics doesn't hold much interest for me, I'd much rather work my way to the Wizengamot so as to write and enact new laws that bring about long overdue change or move my career outside of the Ministry and take on an advocacy role. I think there's plenty of room for non-governmental organizations to have an influence on future policies and I think our world would benefit from new voices and groups that aren't under the sway of outdated political factions or feuds."

Draco eyed her with a distinct air of pride. The look in Narcissa's eye seemed far more reserved as she dabbed at her lips with an embroidered serviette.

"Your future certainly does seem bright," Narcissa commented and Hermione almost choked on her glass of wine at what could be interpreted as a compliment. "And rather busy. As such a dedicated and ambitious civil servant, it would lead one to believe you probably would not have an abundance of time for duties outside of your career."

If she hadn't known Draco so well by now, she might have missed the way his mouth tightened and his gray eyes narrowed infinitesimally. He was obviously privy to the true meaning of Narcissa's statement, while Hermione felt unsure of what to make of such a pronouncement, and so said nothing at all.

And thus continued the longest soup course of Hermione's life.

She decided to make a brave stab at conversation during the next course of roasted root vegetables with a dollop of sauce.

"I wanted to personally thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, for the planning assistance for the inaugural gala for my charity last month. The event was quite lovely, I think, and a significant amount of funding was raised from the evening."

Narcissa inclined her head in her direction. "Of course, it was my pleasure. For future events you may attend with Draco, might I recommend my preferred tailor?"

"Oh!" replied Hermione, surprised at the generous offer. "That would be lovely."

"Indeed," came Narcissa's crisp reply. "It would not do for any woman on Draco's arm to appear in robes several seasons out of date."

Hermione sliced the head off a carrot rather more forcefully than necessary. I am no one's ornament. I am no one's arm candy.

"Hermione is not just any woman, Mother," Draco inserted calmly, obviously sensing the rage rolling off Hermione's stiff posture in waves and attempting to thwart wands being drawn. "And she looked beautiful as always."

"Of course," Narcissa acquiesced and resumed her dainty consumption of her aperitif. Thick and tense silence reigned and Hermione wondered at how Draco must have grown up in this atmosphere. Daily, multiple-course meals that required formal clothing, conversations conducted in calculated and oddly circuitous language that masked anyone's true intent, it all felt rather stifling.

Draco took the conversational reins from thereafter, asking after various relatives (which didn't include Andromeda or Teddy, Hermione thought bitterly) and Narcissa's charitable endeavors. By the time dessert descended upon them, Hermione contemplated screaming into her trifle.

"Draco, I took the liberty of instructing your elf to clean out the conservatory before I left your home."

"Thank you Mother, I'm sure it was necessary if you deemed it so."

"Of course dear, you really don't give those poor things much to do at all. And you know what they say about idle hands," chided Narcissa softly.

Good lord, thought Hermione, no wonder adolescent Draco had been so emotionally repressed with a vastly inflated sense of entitlement and anger issues. The familial dynamics at this dinner table were a psychological case study waiting to be published.

Finally, Narcissa seemed to remember that Hermione existed in the same room. "Hermione, I did wonder if your parents enjoyed the gala last month?"

"They weren't in attendance."

"Ah, of course," Narcissa responded knowingly, and for some reason this made Hermione's blood boil at the lingering subtext. Ah, of course, poor helpless Muggles, aren't they?

"Draco tells me they are Healers?"

"Dentists," Hermione corrected. "They heal diseases of the teeth and gums. Some light surgery is required for more complex patients, but a good deal of work is cosmetic and preventative in nature."

"I see."

Hermione wasn't sure how she could possibly understand, but decided to let it go. You love Draco, you love Draco, you love Draco. You're doing this for Draco.

"And both of them work in this profession you say? How modern," Narcissa remarked.

Again, a casual comment, uttered so gracefully and carelessly that to the uninitiated, would seem harmless. But having grown up with one half of her relatives speaking down their noses to her working-class father and as a Ministry official well-versed in the art of passive aggressive conversation, Hermione recognized the derision cloaked in politeness. The dig at her mother for being so gauche as to work rankled her.

"Yes, they are equal partners in their joint business," asserted Hermione.

"You did not wish to follow in their footsteps?" inquired Narcissa.

"No," said Hermione confidently. "My place is in the magical world." While it would be rather cliché to lift her chin defiantly after such a statement, she felt it rise a bit nonetheless.

The dessert course dragged on as well, accompanied only by the sounds of the gentle clink of spoons against bowls or cups set in saucers. By the time the elf cleared the table and Draco stated that he would escort Hermione home, she felt exhausted.

"Oh, Hermione, before you leave, I wanted to give you something."

Taken aback at her sudden friendliness, Hermione numbly accepted a small wrapped package. "Draco told me you do so like to read. I hope you find this text to be instructive."

"I… thank you so much Mrs. Malfoy, that is very thoughtful of you," Hermione said and beamed at the older witch. Perhaps Draco's mother was more supportive of her only son dating her than she'd previously thought.

Draco smiled happily at the both of them then pecked his mother's cheek in farewell and followed Hermione through the Floo back to her home.

She yawned as she walked through to her bedroom, shrugging off her outer robes. "Well, I don't think that was so bad," she said and unwrapped the book. "I think she's really trying, I mean the book was a lovely gesture, and I'm sure—"

Hermione froze as the wrappings fell away to reveal the cover of a book titled Our Sacred Society: Etiquette and Customs.

With trembling hands, Hermione opened the hardback to the introduction. Several phrases jumped out, Hermione finding it difficult to read as the words blurred in front of her eyes as they glazed over with angry tears.

"…important to set ourselves apart from those of lesser blood…"

"…witches, in particular, should set store by these sacred traditions lest they wish to invite ill-suited matches…"

"…the preservation of our way of life is of the utmost importance…"

"…detailing a witch's integral place in society to best support the continuation of a thriving pureblood community built on our ancient ideals…"

Her hands shook as she flipped through the pages at random. There were chapters on writing correspondence. Chapters on training and disciplining house-elves. Chapters on selecting formal robes. Chapters on appropriate conversational topics. Chapters on child-rearing.

That last chapter section dedicated an astonishing amount of particularly adamant ink on the notion that a pureblood woman's place was in the home, supporting her husband by breeding heirs.

"…wrong? Granger?"

Draco's voice floated into her awareness then as he approached her from behind. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to brush away the wetness clinging to her lashes, but Draco spun her around by the shoulders, alarmed at her emotional display.

"What is it? I thought you said—?"

His eyes flicked down to the book clutched in her hand and he tore it from her grip, anger clouding his features.

"You know," he said in a low, dangerous tone, "I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but I see I was right to suspect her true meaning from that comment about your career."

"Which comment?" asked Hermione distractedly.

"When she said you'd be too busy for duties outside of your career, based on your aspirations."

Hermione thought back to dinner. "Oh! I didn't think she meant anything untoward."

Draco's eyes narrowed as he continued to glare down at the offensive tome. "She meant you wouldn't have much time for wifely or motherly duties," he snapped and turned on his heel back toward her living room.

Hermione stood stock still, her brain trying to catch up with such a statement.

Wifely or motherly duties?

Wife.

Mother.

That should frighten her, yes?

Draco's wife.

A memory surged forward, insistent on holding her mind hostage. Passionate words he'd uttered on the brink of bliss. I want you every day for the rest of my life.

When she came to, she ran after Draco, his arm already reaching for the Floo powder.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "Why to return this disgusting book of course and inform my mother if she wishes to dine with us again she'll need to apologize to you first."

"No, Draco don't! Please!"

She rushed forward and laid a hand on his arm. "Please don't. It's fine, I'm—"

"It is most certainly not fine, she—"

Hermione held up a hand to silence him. "Please, Draco. I'm so tired of fighting every little battle just to prove my worth."

She wiped her eyes dry. "While I do truly believe this attempt at a gift was not given with cruel intentions, your mother's worldview isn't going to change overnight. I've accepted that fact." She stepped closer and took Draco's face in her hands. "But I love you and I'm not going anywhere."

He deflated under her touch and stepped away from the fireplace. Hermione pried the book from his hands and pointed her wand into the grate. "Incendio," she muttered and tossed the book into the roaring flames.

She watched the pages furl and burn, a twisted satisfaction curling in her gut as the fire destroyed the book. If only dismantling bigotry could be so easy. "You can tell your mother thank you for having us over," Hermione stated firmly. "But if she asks after the book you can tell her exactly how I disposed of it."

As she settled into Draco's arms that night, Hermione recalled Arthur Weasley's words from a few months ago, when he'd warned her of certain expectations that would accompany dating a member of the Malfoy family. Well, if Narcissa Malfoy felt that a few thinly veiled comments and a book on pureblood traditions were enough to scare off Hermione, that woman had another thing coming.

I'm not going anywhere.


December 2008

Going out became a spectacle. Even with the Potter pregnancy taking some of the glare of the spotlight off Draco and Hermione's "fairytale romance" interest in the "unexpected couple from opposite sides" had yet to truly wane.

And fucking Salazar, but the press practically salivated over the whole "opposites" angle. Which, depending on the political leanings of the publication, either aimed to insult Draco for his past choices or Hermione for her heritage.

Attempting to take his witch out on a simple dinner date in the wizarding world more often than not left Draco ashamed for the glares he caught and Hermione angry and indignant on Draco's behalf. It hardly made for a romantic atmosphere. Draco found he had to shell out more Galleons than usual for private tables, and at that point they might as well have just dined at his home and enjoyed Watson's cooking.

Date nights once again relegated to the Muggle world. Truthfully, Draco didn't mind, but it still stung to know their combined notoriety meant the world he was born into couldn't seemingly stomach the thought of him loving Hermione Granger.

They also quickly learned that group outings with Potter and Weasley devolved into a circus. For as much as the public lapped up stories about Draco and Hermione's relationship (one magazine had a dedicated gossip column to watching the ring finger of Hermione's left hand) if they appeared out and about socially with Granger's friends, all bets were off for a quiet evening.

Which left Draco with a rather embarrassing discovery: Granger's friends were unerringly loyal and protective. Of both of them.

When Granger attended her Ministry Christmas gala with Potter instead of the conflicting Whisp & Wright party, it meant playing the dutiful gentleman escort to a pregnant Ginny who took a wholly unnecessary amount of glee in clutching his arm all night and frightening off gossip mongers with her well-timed glares.

It meant Dennis Creevey owled Hermione and asked her permission to sell some of his photographs from the gala to other publications and she agreed readily. Which meant that he flooded the press with new images of Draco sharing a friendly drink and a laugh with Ginny, dancing with Molly Weasley, and sitting at Potter's table during dinner. Ginny's initial read of the public opinion turned out to be spot-on. People ate up the idea of former foes uniting after all these years, inciting strange think pieces on Hogwarts inter-house rivalries and wartime romances.

But whether positive or negative, the fact remained it was a right headache to deal with all the attention while just trying to have a night out at the pub. Padma floated the idea of re-instituting the group's former game nights at home, and to Draco's horror, everyone jumped aboard that bandwagon.

Because it also meant he had to endure several solid minutes of Theo laughing in his face when Draco invited him to the one being hosted by Hermione.

"I don't see what's so hilarious, Theo. Are you or are you not the same wizard who purchased a home in a posh Muggle neighborhood so he could entertain his girlfriend's family without arousing suspicion?"

Still chuckling Theo just shook his head. "Yeah mate, but I have no problem admitting I'm arse over wand-arm. Merlin… you didn't even sneer when you asked me to come to an event that would include Potter and multiple Weasleys."

Draco scowled, gave him a two-finger salute and promptly ended the Floo call.

Even if he was a smug prat about it, Draco felt grateful that Theo showed up at all, and it only bothered him slightly that his friend ingratiated himself almost immediately into the group. He'd brought cigars for Potter as an impending fatherhood gift, herbal teas for Ginny, and aged mead for the rest of the gathering.

"Oi Malfoy, you have any more loaded friends that aren't wankers?" Ron called as he inspected the vintage bottle Theo brought along.

Draco mumbled derisively into his own drink, keeping his promise to Hermione that he not be too grouchy. He'd take the piss out of Theo later for his over-the-top manners, his quieter friend clearly a bit nervous being amongst a new crowd without Sasha at his side. Even if Hermione insisted Sasha attend, Theo confessed he'd be even more on edge worrying about any accidental slips of the tongue or bursts of magic, especially as people got deeper into their cups as the night wore on.

A bit of a back and forth ensued about which game to kick off the evening with. The crowd favorite, a modified version of Exploding Snap, where instead of the cards igniting in one's face, the deck spat out a card that stuck to the loser's head demanding penance in the form of drinking—a shot, chugging the remainder of your current drink or someone else's, etc. —eventually won out.

Potter and Weasley had the worst luck of the evening, but the two fools also relished in completing each challenge as fast as possible. Ginny lost the next round, but her pregnancy prohibited her from taking part in a drinking related punishment. The group instead devised embarrassing dares and challenges for her.

Thus far, she'd mostly been called upon to do impressions, her long-time friends requesting their favorites. Draco would begrudgingly admit she did a spot-on Slughorn as she improvised a scene in which she inducted Theo into the "Slug Club." Her imitation of Snape having to endure the horror of accepting an Order of Merlin, First Class (Ron acting the part of an overly deferential Kingsley Shacklebolt) fell on the exaggerated side, but had everyone in stitches.

This time, Harry and Ron requested a different creative display. The men exchanged wicked smirks before announcing simultaneously, "Limerick!"

"And make it dirty!" chimed in Padma.

Ginny stood and threw her hair back. "My subject?"

"Malfoy!" called Ron gleefully, earning a glare from the blond and giggles from the rest.

Ginny grinned and rolled her eyes. "Too easy, it's like you people don't even want to challenge me."

She turned to Draco with a simpering expression and coquettishly recited:

"His eyes are the gray of an unwashed sock,
His smirk always seeking to mock.
He used to act like a git,
And he's really quite fit,
But Hermione's laid claim to his cock."

The room exploded in laughter and applause (with the exception of a furiously blushing Draco and Hermione) as Ginny gave a dramatic bow and resumed her seat.

Their humiliation was short lived, as Ron took the opportunity to remind everyone of Ginny's debut as a poet. "Merlin, Gin, that's almost as bad as 'his eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad!'"

"'His hair is as dark as a blackboard,'" chimed in Harry and everyone dissolved into fresh laughter while Ginny fake pouted.

Theo caught Draco's eye and raised a brow, Draco catching his meaning perfectly. Odd bunch, eh?

Draco shrugged, then came to another mortifying realization. His comfortableness in their presence. Part of him (a tiny, minuscule part buried behind layers of pride, disgust, and angst) enjoyed spending time with Granger's friends.

No one cruelly spewed venomous words seeking to wound fragile targets. No one called Draco a Death Eater or a ferret. No one taunted Theo for having a "Death Eater daddy" or sneered at him for dating a Muggle.

They ribbed Draco for being a rich ponce, but he knew it belonged in the same vein of teasing Hermione about her book collection, or Ron's loyalty to the Chudley Cannons, or Padma's strange obsession with Celestina Warbeck. Almost… affectionate in nature.

By the end of the evening, everyone save Ginny was thoroughly smashed, any semblance of game play forgotten on the coffee table. Theo and Ron had broken off into a heated debate about two different Muggle rock groups ("The Stones, mate I'm tellin' ya, the Stones by a mile, they've got like… an edge to 'em, ya know?" "Nah, yer mad, it's the Beatles. I swear, when 'Mione introduced me to 'em I saw like… different colors in my mind.")

Ginny began nodding off, her head in Harry's lap while he absently stroked her hair and chatted with Padma. Curled up on the loveseat, Hermione leaned against Draco, her hand splayed across his abdomen to draw lazy circles. In his buzzed haze, Draco delighted in purring scandalous phrases that only she could hear.

"Feel free to move that hand a little lower Granger," he drawled and her fingers momentarily stilled before resuming a firmer pattern.

"Just say the word love, and I'll throw you over my shoulder and haul you into the bedroom. I don't give one sodding fuck about what your friends think."

She tilted her head up to pout at him. "Language, Malfoy," she chided, her eyes not quite in focus.

"Nice try, darling, but we both know you love a bit of dirty talk. Want me to tell you how it feels when you come on my cock?"

Hermione rolled her eyes unconvincingly and moved her hand to rest atop his belt.

"You're incorra- incorrig—incorrigible," she struggled to get out.

"And you fucking love it, I bet if I shoved my hand in your knickers right now I'd find you dripping for me."

Hermione bit her lip, her gaze glassy and filled with wicked intent. "I'm positively gagging for it," she breathed and moved to press a kiss to his neck, but he moved faster. Draco turned his head immediately and plied her lips apart with his tongue, tasting her mead-sweetened mouth. Her hand clenched on his belt, as he swallowed every delicious sound he knew she would be making if they weren't in a room full of people.

Unfortunately, their company eventually wised up to their reason for silence.

"Oi, break it up you two!" Ron's voice shouted from across the way and a pillow hit Draco in the side of the head, as Hermione buried her face in his shoulder in embarrassment. "Merlin's pants, you two are worse than Harry and Gin used to be."

"Fuck off Ron," came Ginny's sleepy reply, uttered without even opening her eyes. "I'm sure Nott will snog you if you ask nicely."

"Huh?" said Ron distractedly and turned back to Theo. "Thought yer Muggle was a girl? You into blokes too? That's cool if you are but I'm in a serious relationship."

"Oh sweet Merlin, Ron, I think you've had enough tonight," muttered Padma and stood to collect her inebriated boyfriend. Everyone else followed suit shortly after, Hermione doling out tight hugs to all as they left, even a slightly surprised Theo, who clearly hadn't been expecting an embrace.

"You're handsy when you're plonkered, did you know that?" Draco teased as Hermione waved her wand to levitate the many empty glasses to the sink.

"Shut it," she mumbled and staggered a bit on her way to the bedroom. "I absolutely do not want to discuss the fact that I let you snog me in front of everyone."

Draco smirked as he followed. "As I recall, you were a very willing participant."

Truthfully, he wasn't a man who enjoyed amorous displays in public, but you try telling his libido that when he's full up on strong mead and his witch is pawing at him in his lap.

"Do you think Theo had a good time?"

Draco flopped on the bed next to her. "First she gets grabby then the anxiety sets in. You're a strange little drunk, Granger."

She huffed and he felt her curls move against his cheek. "Well excuse me for caring if all our friends were comfortable."

Our friends.

I am okay with this.


A/N: Wow, thank you all so much, the response to the last chapter absolutely blew me away. It was so wonderful to return and see all the lovely comments here and on tumblr and discord. I finished writing the entire story (final chapter count is still 51) and I'm so excited to share the rest of this with you all. So thank you to all, I'm so loving how you've embraced my versions of these characters.

Next chapter coming your way on 10/15. Come chat or throw me an ask on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.