Hermione didn't know whether she wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. She settled for a startling combination of all three, which was probably why Harry stood frozen in a mixture of concern and fear at the threshold of her bedroom.

"Hermione are you… what have you got on?"

An excellent question. "I—I—I have no bloody clue!" she shrieked and flapped her arms at her reflection in the mirror.

Hermione had arrived home from work that evening to a gift box on her kitchen table. She sighed as she lifted the lid and read the curt message penned by Draco's mother. They'd agreed to attend family holiday events together this year and Hermione acquiesced to accompanying Draco to his mother's infamous New Year's Eve gala. In an effort to be kind to Narcissa and in the Christmas spirit, Hermione further agreed to allow Narcissa's favored tailor design her dress robes for the event.

The rich fabric seemed to go on endlessly as Hermione lifted the heavy garment from the box and tried to put it on. This turned into more of a battle, as Hermione gracelessly struggled with all sorts of under layers and discreet fastenings, and buggering hell where were her arms supposed to go?

By the time she could poke her head through the top opening and furiously jab her wand over her shoulder to do up the lacing and buttons down the entire back (including the train, because Merlin forbid this outfit not have its own gravitational pull) Harry had popped through the Floo.

In her haste to try on her custom robes, she'd completely forgotten Harry was meant to come over to discuss Ginny's Christmas presents. Instead of calm, rational Hermione who would talk him down every year from going overboard on his wife's gift, her poor friend walked in on Hermione having a complete meltdown at her own reflection when she'd finally caught sight of herself.

"Is that for the Malfoys' party?" Harry guessed.

"Yes, Narcissa sent it over. And I look—I look—"

"Expensive?" supplied Harry.

"Yes! Do you know what Malfoy asked me last week?"

"Err… should I?"

"He asked me if I thought the silver material of my robes would clash horribly with the gold brocade waistcoat he was having made."

"And, um, would it?"

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. "Gold brocade, Harry! Gold. Brocade. I can't do this, look at me! I'm one ornate hat shy of looking like the Tsarina!"

Harry sank onto her bed next to Crookshanks (leisurely giving himself a bath atop Hermione's discarded work robes) and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"I feel like I'm supposed to know what that means, but I confess you've lost me. Want me to fetch Ginny?"

Hermione nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from the stranger in the mirror as she heard Harry get up and move back toward the living room.

"Harry," she called over her shoulder. "You should get Ginny the 'Mummy and Me' broom she's had her eye on. And a Harpies kit for your future little one."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he called back his thanks and left through the fire. Not 10 minutes later, Ginny now stood frozen at her threshold, a wide-eyed Padma at her back.

"Oh wow, Hermione, Harry wasn't kidding when he said you were wearing a 'dress robe thingy that is just so Malfoy.'"

Hermione narrowed her eyes as the women giggled and came closer to inspect the finery, carefully avoiding the train. She truly hadn't been exaggerating with her quip about the Tsarina; she's fairly certain she appeared straight out of a Romanov portrait. The bell sleeves extended almost to the floor, which meant an irksome amount of shaking her arms back if she wanted to do anything with her hands. The gorgeous material, a combination of silks, satin, and silver brocade, draped her frame well and created a decent silhouette, if a bit more shapeless than she'd normally wear.

"It's a beautiful piece, truly," Padma insisted as she circled Hermione.

"I know that, I do, but it's just..."

"Not you?" guessed Ginny and she nodded.

"This is a very traditional robe," said Padma. "Not the sort of thing Parvati would feature. Her column the last few years has been about building up more unknown designers, especially Muggleborn ones," she flashed Hermione a grin. "Still, she'd kill to get her hands on a custom piece like this one. Trust me, Hermione, this is the epitome of fashion for a woman in the upper echelons of pureblood society."

Hermione frowned and tried not to feel like an imposter. A silly little Muggleborn girl playing dress-up for her betters. She wondered if that would be the impression of the other guests.

"Can you breathe all right in it?" asked Ginny, and lowered herself and her protruding belly delicately onto the bed next to a still-bathing Crookshanks.

Hermione pressed a hand to her sternum and took a few deep breaths. The top half of the robes fitted to her snugly, but weren't too tight. She suspected her struggle for air had more to do with her anxiety than the garment itself.

"Yes, I just… I don't think I'm cut out for this. All these little rules and traditions and…" she couldn't quite put into words how it made her feel inadequate. "It's a lot to take in at times and it all comes so naturally to Draco."

"Well," said Ginny slowly. "I've got to be honest here Hermione, I thought you would be a bit more prepared for this sort of thing. I mean, it's the Malfoys."

Hermione brushed an errant curl out of her face, still feeling wrong-footed. "I'm aware there's all these old-fashioned expectations, but Merlin, I'm probably going to have to ask him for a list so I don't embarrass myself at the party."

"I can help with that, Parvati has covered a lot of pureblood society events," offered Padma sincerely.

"Oh Padma I was joking!" Hermione let out an incredulous laugh but the other two women remained stoic.

She let out a frustrated groan and collapsed on the bed next to them, her robes making a loud fwump as the fabric cushioned her. "But I've never had to endure this sort of pompous nonsense before! Nor has Harry or Ron, and though I'm loathe to admit it, the three of us are rather famous in this world."

Ginny shook her head pityingly. "No, the three of you are celebrities. You're famous, yes, but as a celebrity. Malfoy and his family are royalty in our society. Even with the dubious reputation. See the difference?"

Gods, it was like dating a member of the House of Windsor, a rather apt comparison she realized with a sinking feeling. Bollocks.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to envision navigating a room full of people that probably felt she should return to her proper place beneath their well-heeled feet instead of clutching the arm of the sole heir to a name and fortune once the envy of all in the magical world. They'd look for any misstep, one tiny slip in etiquette that would prove them right, that she didn't belong and never would.

But she'd sideline her inferiority complex because as much as it pained her, this was Draco's heritage. If he could grin and bear it through uncomfortable dinners and teas with her Muggle parents, then she could smile and waltz in the face of barely restrained bigotry. Let them smirk and sneer and gossip. At the end of the day, Draco loved her, the witch with no magical lineage to boast of and no pretentious etiquette training under her belt. She could do this, put in an honest effort and do her very best not to make Draco suffer any more guilt than he'd probably already feel.

Besides, if all else failed, she could whisper some carefully chosen words into Draco's ear and he'd apparate her straight to bed and vanish these robes right off her body.


December 24, 2008

His first visit to the Weasley abode and the loudness of it all took Draco by surprise. There were people simply everywhere, of all ages and sizes and hair colors and a veritable litter of children and toddlers running amok, and for some reason, absolutely no one seemed fazed by his presence.

He'd not been sure what to expect, but certainly not a slew of casual, "Oh hey, Hermione and Malfoy are here!" followed by handshakes for him and hugs for her and "Happy Christmas" thrown about. They were greeted as a couple, then whichever family member had just spoken would have to bustle off after a rogue child or fetch another drink or incinerate the obnoxious floating mistletoe that screamed phrases like, "Oh go on, give her a snog!" or, "Mind your tongues now, there are little ones present!"

Aside from George Weasley introducing himself repeatedly to Draco over the course of the evening (Draco knew he waited for him to slip up and accidentally call him by his deceased twin's name) no one gave him a second look. No hushed voices or sidelong glances with simply too much activity and chaos in the atmosphere to devote any drama to Hermione dating a Malfoy.

For the first year in quite some time, the Burrow hosted Christmas Eve dinner as opposed to Christmas Day dinner. With most of the children grown and having to juggle in-laws as well, Molly made the executive decision to round everyone up for Christmas Eve instead.

The dining room had no chance as an option for a seated meal with too many actual Weasleys and assorted friends (the Longbottoms, Lee Jordan, Luna and Rolf, the Patils' parents, the Delacours, etc.) so Molly hollered at everyone to fix themselves a plate and grab seating wherever they could find. Narcissa would have had a coronary at the informality of it all. Some of the young ones sat on the floor, for Salazar's sake.

Personally, Draco didn't mind, since it kept Hermione flush by his side on a worn loveseat. He had a glass of mulled wine in one hand and a plate of delectable roast turkey balanced on his knee and Merlin, how did Weasley stay so thin and gangly with the way his mother cooked?

Hermione finished chuckling and waving at tiny Roxanne Weasley bouncing on Angelina's knee to give Draco an appraising smile. A sudden thought occurred to her and she leaned closer to whisper. "I'm sorry I didn't think to mention it earlier, but Andromeda and Teddy will be here soon. Will you be all right?"

Draco frowned at his plate and took a fortifying sip of the warm drink to sort through his thoughts and feelings about coming face-to-face with estranged members of his family. "I believe so," he said slowly. "Will they be all right with me being here?"

"You've nothing to fear," she insisted. "I'm sure Teddy has no concept of who you are and Andromeda isn't prone to dramatics. I'm sure she'd be eager to meet you though."

Please tell Draco his Aunt Andromeda loves him already.

That's what his only living aunt wrote to his mother all those years ago. Would those sentiments still hold true now? After what happened to Andromeda's husband, her daughter and son-in-law, could she look at Draco and still see her nephew? Or would she see a younger version of Lucius and dismiss him as a lost cause?

Hi, hello, I'm Draco, the nephew you've never met because you committed the grave sin of marrying a Muggleborn and my mother decided the family image was more important than sisterly bonds?

He probably shouldn't open with that.

"Oh my gods," Hermione suddenly whispered and drew Draco's attention to two wizards across the room.

He recognized Oliver Wood immediately, having kept tabs on his Keeping career for Puddlemere, and they'd exchanged a friendly word or two at various quidditch matches and events through the years.

The brawny Scot had one hand being shaken by Arthur, and his other interlaced with the dragon-taming Weasley (Chadwick? No, Chase? No, Charlie? Yes, Charlie). Molly's tears streamed down her cheeks as the foursome spoke quietly before she threw her arms around the two young men and broke down completely.

Every other conversation in the room broke off at this scene, and when Oliver and Charlie finally pried themselves from the clutches of Molly, turned sheepishly to face everyone. Charlie went almost as red as his hair. "Erm, happy Christmas, all. I think most of you know Oliver?"

George and Angelina roared with delight and bolted out of the seats to embrace their brother and old quidditch captain. By the time the newly arrived couple made it to Draco and Hermione, even Oliver had a pink face after being greeted with wild enthusiasm by every single Weasley, Weasley romantic partner, and child.

Hermione hugged Charlie tight and Draco barely made out her, "I'm so, so proud of you, Charlie," and his quiet response of, "Told you, didn't I? You gave me that much needed kick in the arse." She continued chatting with the pair, even making arrangements for a dinner together in the New Year.

To Draco's annoyance, Ron took Hermione's empty seat, the food on his plate piled dangerously high.

"No idea what Charlie was so worried about. Honestly, who cares if he likes blokes? I mean, 'Mione brought you to Christmas. No offense mate."

"Gee Weasley, you sure know how to make a man feel welcome," Draco drawled.

Ron waved his fork around, bits of potato flying off. "Come off it, you grouchy git, you know what I mean. We all like Oliver."

"Again, your ability to insult a guest without even trying is truly astounding."

Ron shrugged, mouth bulging with brussel sprouts. He at least swallowed his food before speaking again. "Well consider it my peace offering and Christmas gift to you that I stopped Mum from knitting a ferret onto your sweater. George told her it was your favorite animal. Oh, and Andromeda's in the kitchen, wants a word with you."

He casually dropped that information on Draco as if it didn't have the power to upend Draco's entire world.

"Tactful as ever," Draco grumbled and straightened his lapels as he stood.

Draco caught Potter's eye as he weaved his way through the crowded sitting room. A young boy in a scarlet sweater with matching hair sat at his side, chattering at a rapid pace about the new broom he hoped to receive for Christmas. Draco gave a tiny shake of his head, indicating he's not ready to meet his young cousin just yet. He owed his aunt the first of these awkward reunions.

Draco harbored eternal gratitude at meeting his aunt in the Weasley home and not accidentally happening upon her in a public setting. Her resemblance to Bellatrix startled him at first, but then the older witch smiled, an expression rooted in genuine joy instead of feral madness, and it transformed her features into those of an entirely separate person.

Andromeda had hair in a softer brown than her sister, her waves neat with streaks of light gray as opposed to the gleaming dark curls of Bellatrix. She looked at Draco as if she knew his thought process and gave him a few moments of silence to come to terms with her presence.

"Hello Draco."

"Hello… Mrs. Tonks."

Draco had no idea how to address this woman, his blood relative, and immediately regretted greeting her so formally when he spotted a flicker of emotion in her eyes.

She may have defected with a Muggleborn commoner decades ago, but there is still an austere air of upper-class pureblood in Andromeda Tonks. It's in the rigidity yet elegance of her posture, and Draco knows that when she speaks, her cadence will be crisp from a childhood's worth of elocution lessons.

"You do favor your father, it is a rather extraordinary likeness," her keen eyes narrowed as they swept over his face. "But there is some Black in you. The set of your brow is completely Narcissa, as is the shape of your eyes."

"I inherited her hands as well, I'm told," he offered. "Had I practiced more, I may have rivaled her skills on the piano."

Andromeda looked briefly touched. "She kept it? The Bluthner?"

Draco nodded. "I took lessons on my birth gift my entire childhood. My thank you for such a grand gift is long overdue, I fear."

Her eyes tightened. "Yes, well, that is hardly your fault. It pleases me to know it was used as intended."

An awkward silence filled the air, Draco feeling the weight of literal decades of missed bonding between them. This felt so wrong, that his first introduction to his aunt should take place in a home owned by neither of their families. Is the gulf too wide? Are the wounds too deep?

"I…" Draco began uncomfortably and tugged at his collar. "I'm sorry."

Andromeda pursed her lips in confusion and it's so similar to his own mother that his heart clenched. "Whatever for dear boy?"

Draco swallowed the anxious bubble of nervousness and grief that suddenly lodged in his throat. "For everything," he replied hoarsely. "That we have to meet like this. That I never knew your daughter or your husband. That… that they died because of—"

"Please," she held up a hand. "Please, don't."

Draco fell silent, choking on all his monumental inadequacies and guilt accumulated from years of poor choices.

"If anything, I should have sought you out sooner," she said and gave Draco a tired smile. "But I didn't want to intrude on your life. I did not want you to feel as if you were under any obligation to meet me."

"I would have welcomed it," Draco replied seriously. "And I do apologize… my mother—"

"Is a grown witch and any quarrel between us need not concern you. You have no cause to apologize to me, Draco."

He couldn't look at her anymore. "Thank you," he said gruffly and fiddled with a cuff link.

"Hermione is a lovely witch," Andromeda offered after a few beats. Draco met her gaze and found a teasing expression but it quickly flipped to something more sincere.

"If you ever wanted to… talk with someone… about her, or about anything at all, I'm more than willing to listen. As someone who has shaken the yoke of the twisted ideals that shaped us, I have a firsthand understanding of how difficult it must have been for you to overcome your upbringing. I'm sure you'll find, as I did, that having the right partner by your side makes all the difference and their blood makes no difference at all. I was ever so fortunate to have Ted."

"I consider myself fortunate as well," he quietly replied. "Time with her is a gift."

Andromeda eyed him with a pleased and distinct air of pride. "Speaking of gifts," she said louder and peered at a point over Draco's shoulder. He turned to see Hermione approach and tried not to feel a twinge of jealousy when she effortlessly hugged his aunt. "I have something for you my dear!"

She produced a velvet jewelry box that made Hermione go scarlet when she opened it to reveal a goblin-made necklace of amethyst and alexandrite. "Oh Andromeda… I couldn't possibly accept this!"

"You can and you will, darling, and since I knew you'd say that, rest assured this is a loan and you're just borrowing it. I'd always hoped to hand this down to Nymphadora but well… you remember what she was like. Would have laughed right in my face!"

Andromeda and Hermione shared a laugh at the reminiscence of his late cousin and Draco felt the pang of unresolved grief once again.

"You'll wear it to the New Year's event with Draco? It's the perfect piece for a gala of that caliber," she insisted and Hermione beamed.

"Of course, I would be honored! Thank you for thinking of me."

Andromeda waved her gratitude away with a delicate hand. "Thank you for the poetry books! I'm delighted to add to my collection. Did Teddy thank you for the advanced defense theory books you sent?"

Hermione nodded earnestly. "He did, of course, he's such a polite boy."

Andromeda swelled with pride. "Good." She turned back to Draco. "Would you be amenable to coming round to tea soon? Hermione would of course be welcome as well and you could meet Teddy properly instead of amidst all this hubbub."

Draco agreed and wondered if it would be appropriate to extend an invitation to his aunt to the Malfoy New Year's Ball. He ultimately held his tongue, deciding it would be best not to spring a reunion on his mother, even if she were the one at fault.

"I think that would be lovely… Aunt."

The word felt foreign on his tongue, but the way Andromeda and Hermione both beamed at him made the strange situation worthwhile.

Later, after they'd left the Burrow weighed down by their personal Weasley sweaters (Draco's was a muted silver "to match his eyes") various Christmas presents and several plates of leftovers, Draco took a minute to sort through his feelings about the evening.

Christmas Eve and he had Hermione in his bed, outfitted in ridiculously garish pajamas depicting dancing gingerbread men, arm flung over his bare chest. Tomorrow he'd present her with a stunning pair of ruby earrings, shag her brains out, then they would spend Christmas luncheon with his mother, then head to her parents' home for dinner. Neither he nor Hermione seemed particularly thrilled about the tension that would surely accompany both visits, but knew this necessary time spent with their parents could eventually thaw both sides' moderate negativity toward their relationship.

"These pajamas are hideous," Draco drawled, running a hand down Hermione's sleeve.

He heard her giggle. "Just you wait, darling. Next year I'm gifting you a matching set."

Next year.

"And I will be burning both sets."

She giggled again then yawned. "Happy Christmas," she said sleepily and squeezed him.

"Happy Christmas Granger. I love you."

"I love you."

Contentment. He only knew contentment.


December 28, 2008

Hermione sighed and swirled her Bordeaux gently around her glass. At both formal and family events, she kept herself to a strict two-drink maximum rule, but Merlin, her parents' party tested her resolve.

A few years ago, the Grangers reinstated their traditional colleagues/neighbors/friends holiday get-together hosted in their home. It was the sort of event that made Hermione want to drink herself into a stupor. Besides the chattering and slightly rowdy group of hygienists (people she almost considered aunties and uncles), most everyone else set her teeth on edge.

"What is it you do again, dear?"

"Oh, not married yet, you say? You won't stay young forever, darling, could I introduce you to my nephew?"

"You want children don't you? Surely your parents need some grandchildren to spoil?"

"Whatever happened to that red-headed boyfriend of yours?"

"My niece has a temp job at the Wolford firm, maybe I could have her put in a word for you? What is it you do again?"

Rinse and repeat these mind-numbing, boundary-pushing, rage-inducing conversations for years on end and only because she loved her parents did Hermione even show her face at all. At least this year, she had Draco by her side to suffer jointly. Although, she thought bitterly, his good looks had already endeared him to most of the old biddies amongst the crowd, while several others did double-takes when they spotted him. Then, of course, the insulting incredulity in many of her parents' longtime friends' and associates' voices did wonders for her confidence.

"You're here with… Hermione? How did you two meet?"

Insert stock curious question about the origin of Draco's strange given name, then a question about how he made his living. Draco kept to his previous Muggle cover story of an estate and wealth manager and gods, but if this crowd of boorish social climbers didn't eat that detail right up.

"Oh, is that right?" They would say, eyeing Draco with new appreciation and giving Hermione a look that clearly said, "Better sink your claws into him now, sweetheart, and perhaps don't bother with a pre-nup."

If only they knew Draco's actual net worth. They'd combust on the spot.

Draco for his part, remained incredibly patient, his manner at peak old-world charm, and Hermione knew he'd practiced this type of social situation his entire childhood. Only her parents stayed steadfastly uncharmed by her boyfriend and his faultless way of exuding wealth and status ("your suit is custom, did you say? The fitting is positively flawless.")

Perhaps because every other guest seemed so taken with him, the only expression her mother could manage was pursed lips while her father couldn't seem to stop openly scowling. She'd thought in recent weeks they'd been warming to Draco, but apparently seeing all their Muggle friends fawn over him was too much.

After politely making the rounds Hermione dragged Draco to the sanctuary of the kitchen and poured herself another hefty glass of the Bordeaux. Draco leaned against the counter and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry," she exhaled after a long sip. "As unbearable as this is for me, I'm sure you'd kill for a Disillusionment Charm about now."

"Oh I don't know," he drawled. "I personally enjoyed when Mrs. Eldrich said one of her daughters was most interested in the 'estate management field' and asked if I'd like her number, whatever that means."

"Eurgh!" Hermione let out and he chuckled. "She said it like I wasn't even standing there! If her airhead of a daughter can even spell 'estate' or 'management' I'll eat my wand."

She nudged his shoulder and settled in a lean next to him. "Still, thank you for coming. You've truly been a… a…"

But whatever compliment Hermione wanted to bestow upon Draco died on her lips.

"No," she whispered darkly. "No, surely not…"

"All right there Granger?" Draco's amused yet concerned voice seemed distant to her ears.

"Oh I don't believe this!" she seethed and glared across the crowded room to see her parents chatting away merrily with a couple their age and familiar young man.

"Old friends of yours?" Draco asked, following her stare as Hermione stewed in a mixture of rage and embarrassment. Catching her mother's eye, the woman had the audacity to beam at Hermione and wave her over.

"Not quite," clipped Hermione and drained her glass in one go. She snapped her head around to stare up at an alarmed Draco.

"If I cause a bit of a spectacle to make a point about the seriousness of our relationship will you lose respect for me? I promise to repay you in all sorts of naughty ways later."

Draco's concern melted into a wicked smirk and glinting eyes. "With an offer like that, do you really expect me to refuse you anything?"

"Good, because that is my ex-boyfriend and his parents."

Draco scowled. "Is that why your mother keeps looking over here and motioning for you to join them?"

Hermione reached down and took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers together. "Come on then," she said and tugged him along.

"Granger, I don't think I'm meant to be included in this reunion."

"Oh I'm well aware, but I think it's high time my parents realized we're a package deal, don't you?"

Draco's voiced assumption seemed correct, as her mother's features pinched slightly and her father's eyes narrowed when they saw her hand entangled with Draco's. Jean didn't bother to acknowledge her daughter's current boyfriend and instead gestured between Hermione and Daniel.

"Hermione dear, we were just talking about you! We weren't sure if you'd heard Daniel was back in town for the holidays and we know you'd love to catch up—"

"Oh but of course!" Hermione's falsely bright voice pitched several octaves higher than usual. "Daniel and I haven't spoken in years and haven't kept in touch at all. So wonderful that you'd have him and his family here tonight!"

Her parents' smiles became rather fixed. Good, let them worry.

To his credit, Daniel seemed mortified and shot guilty looks at Draco.

"So let's catch up then shall we?" She turned to the other three guests. "Mr. and Mrs. Templeton, Daniel, allow me to introduce my boyfriend, Draco."

Hermione turned her face up towards him with a simpering expression he's surely never seen on her before in his life. He smirked down at her and she could tell he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, it's been such an exciting time in my life and it still feels so new! That must be the reason my parents neglected to mention or even introduce him!"

Hermione cast her slightly manic smile their way.

"Well it's been lovely catching up with you all, but I need to steal my parents for a moment, do excuse us!"

Her parents had no choice but to follow her after that, and Hermione led them all up the stairs and into her parents' study and closed the door. No one spoke for a few tense moments as Hermione stared her parents down.

"Close with the Templetons are you?" Hermione threw out coldly.

Her mother sniffed and lifted her chin. "You know they've been long-time patients of ours for years, and we're really rather fond of—"

"Please, mum, don't insult my intelligence, I know for a fact you can't stand them for more than 10 minutes," Hermione retorted.

She felt Draco's presence at her side, and though she knew he'd keep silent and let her work this out, knowing she had his steadfast support buoyed her confidence.

"What was your plan then? Did you hope I'd swoon and throw Draco over and rekindle my relationship with him?"

When her parents remained silent but exchanged guilty looks, Hermione let out a disbelieving snort. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Daniel is a fine young man, Hermione," her dad interjected. "He comes from a good family, he has a good job, he's well-respected, he—"

"He was boring!" Hermione shouted. "He was so bloody boring! I was shot of him years before Draco was even in the picture! Do you understand how unbelievably insulting this was to Draco? To me? Even if I weren't completely in love with this man," she gestured vaguely towards Draco, "I'd hardly be tempted by the likes of him!"

Her mother had the decency to look ashamed of her rudeness, but her father remained firm.

"You think we were rude? What kind of slurs do you expect you'll be hearing at his mother's party? I'm sure it's whispered behind your back these days, but do you really think his people won't be disgustingly prejudiced towards you?"

"I EXPECT IT OF THEM!" she shrieked back, temper flaring. "I expect them to look down their noses at me! I expect them to gossip and sneer and regard me with open disgust on their faces because I dared to be with Draco. The bar is so disturbingly low for that crowd that if I make it through the evening without being openly cursed, I'll consider it a win! No offense Malfoy." She tossed in as an afterthought, but she'd apologize later for insulting his family.

"But you? My parents? I'm sorry, but the bar is so much higher for the people who raised me to be kind, and tolerant and to have ideas and beliefs of my own! Draco is going to be in my life forev—for the foreseeable future, if he'll still have me after all this!"

"Granger," Draco said quietly. "I think you'll want a Silencing Charm."

Hermione huffed and whipped out her wand, casting a non-verbal Silencing Charm at the study door over her shoulder without a second thought. Her parents both jumped back at the sight of her wand waving about and it only spurred Hermione to further heights of anger and exasperation.

"And that! That right there needs to stop! I'm so sick of having to check myself around my own parents! I'm done, do you hear me, I am done with hiding around my own family. I can no more stop being a witch than I can stop breathing!"

A ringing silence descended, Hermione both mortified and relieved at having revealed her innermost insecurities in such a dramatic fashion.

Her mother's eyes filled with tears. "Oh Hermione, darling, I'm so sorry. I don't—we don't—ever want you to feel that way about yourself."

The anger left Hermione in one fell swoop at the sight of her mum crying. She felt tears prick her own eyes, and she dashed them away impatiently. "I know why you react that way. I know modifying your memories… I know what I did was wrong in your eyes but you'll never understand what it was like… what I was protecting you from. And I hate myself every day for it," she finished in a broken whisper.

Before she could take more than a hiccough of a teary breath, both of her parents had enveloped her in a tight hug and suddenly all three Grangers were a mess of tears and apologies and emotions. The crushing relief Hermione felt as her parents messily embraced her threatened to overwhelm her as this moment she'd craved finally came to pass. This progress had taken years, and Hermione's heart wanted to burst as the walls erected between them tumbled down in an almighty crash.

Amidst the "I'm so sorry love," and "I didn't know how to talk to you about this," and the "We want to know everything, when you're ready," and more "sorrys" thrown in for good measure, Hermione remembered Draco still stood in the room witnessing this display of catharsis.

She pulled away from her parents, glad to note he'd stayed and not run screaming from the house. Her mother spoke first, eyes dry and voice clear once more. "Draco, my husband and I owe you an apology as well. I hope you'll let us begin again. Hermione speaks so highly of you and that should have been enough."

Draco's face wore a blank mask, but Hermione knew him well enough to know it merely covered whichever emotion he sought to hide.

"Of course, Missus, I mean Doctor—"

"Oh good gracious, that's enough of that, please call me Jean, I feel like you're addressing David's mother," her mum clipped and then drew a startled Draco in for an awkward hug.

"Erm, of course," he muttered, pink in the face when she pulled away.

Her father's apology was more stilted, but no less sincere, as was his friendlier handshake with Draco. He then fixed his wife with an irritated look. "I can't believe we invited the Templetons. Christ, Jean, they are the absolute worst."

The three Grangers burst out laughing and Hermione felt lighter than she had in years.

Later that night, tucked into Draco's side in her bed, Hermione ran through the party's events in her mind when a sudden mounting panic set in. Draco had been awfully quiet the rest of the evening. While she'd initially chalked it up to the awkward confrontation, the recollection of her brazen words burst to the front of her memory.

Holy mother of Merlin, she'd almost shouted at her parents that she wanted Draco in her life forever.

Forever.

He had to have caught the way she'd stumbled across the word, hastily amending it to "for the foreseeable future."

Forever.

What an odd concept.

While she'd obviously had first-hand experiences dealing with the likes of prophecies, Hermione still did not set much store by any sort of future-telling. She'd learned well the unpredictability of life, how the choices one made created such complex outcomes that the art of seeing into the future was laughable to her. But each and every time she imagined the life laid out before her, Draco existed by her side.

So why did she now fidget in bed, far more afraid that Draco had heard her slip of the tongue and not because she'd thought the word "forever" at all in association with him?

She loved Draco, unreservedly, madly, but then, she'd also loved Ron. But why had the thought of binding herself to Ron forevermore have her break out in a cold sweat? Why did replacing Draco into that thought stream not frighten the daylights out of her? Instead, a nervous sort of fluttering took residence in her chest, a clenching in her abdomen.

The thought of being with Draco for years on end excited her.

Now what the buggering hell should she do with that information?

"All right there Granger?" Came Draco's questioning drawl, causing her to jolt in his arms.

"Yes!" she squeaked in surprise. "Of course! Fine!"

"You're lying," he replied flatly.

Hermione swallowed her nervousness and gently pried herself out of his embrace. She sat up to face him and he followed suit, bare-chested and regarding her with such genuine concern, that her already rapid heartbeat quickened further. He was beautiful. And he was hers. But for how long?

"What I said to my parents," she began slowly. "I fear I may have come across too forward or presumptuous about… about us. I hope I haven't scared you off."

Despite the impassiveness of his marble face, she clocked a bob of his throat. "No, you uh… you didn't."

"Oh! Well good, I suppose. I didn't mean what I almost said. Actually no, I did mean it, but I hadn't meant for it to come out in such an undignified way. Or rather…" Gods, must she always engage in an epic struggle when expressing herself to this man?

"I love you," she stated bluntly, and took a moment to bask in the way his silver eyes lit up whenever she said those words. "But we've never discussed where either of us sees this relationship heading."

She let the words hang in the air between them, unsure if she's alone in feeling this deeply, this confidently, in the enduring nature of their affections.

"Where would you like it to head?" he asked woodenly and Hermione despaired at the way he retreated from her, waiting for her to reveal her intentions first.

"Well, I… nowhere specifically or anything, I simply…" She trailed off, her mind whirring.

Gods, Malfoy, I'm not over here measuring the size of my ring finger, I only want to know if I'm on my own in feeling like this is the person I want to spend my life with and I'm not a trial run for whomever your dear mother would like you to ultimately wed.

Hermione wrung her hands in her lap, stifling all the dangerous words that threatened to emerge and declare the permanency of her love for the man across from her.

"I suppose the question plaguing my mind is whether you see a point in the future where we are no longer together?"

A beat of silence passed in which Draco's jaw tightened, his body grew taut with tension. A poised statue, emotions occluded and closed off, layers of protection built over the real Draco. When he finally spoke his tone was low and careful. "Are you asking me if I see an end date to being with you?"

She nodded, unable to trust her voice.

"No." His voice was firm, his eyes flashing steel. "No, Hermione. What I feel for you is… it certainly isn't fleeting."

The clouds over his eyes cleared, his posture relaxed. He peeled back the final layer and if she thought him beautiful before, absolutely nothing compared to the way Draco appeared when he allowed himself to be open and vulnerable.

He laid a hand atop her knee. "Every version of my future includes you. I'm yours in whatever capacity you'll have me," he promised softly.

I want you every day for the rest of my life.

Hermione slid her hands into his silken hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. "That suits me just fine since I have no intention of ever letting you go," she whispered before taking possession of his lips in a burning kiss.

While it may not have been a declaration of forever or marriage or bonds or always, it felt momentous enough to Hermione to warrant the giddiness taking hold of her. The joy bloomed outward and stole over her features, and she smiled so hard against his lips it soon became difficult for him to actually kiss her. Draco cupped her face and pulled back. His grin unfurled lazily, entrancing Hermione with the deliberate way his mouth curved upward and then widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. A happiness that reflected her own.

"I love you," he said and Hermione welcomed the warm, comforting weight of his body over hers as he gently laid her head back onto her pillow. He made slow and purposeful love to her, and repeated those three words over and over until Hermione couldn't tell if her body flew or fell.

She could only breathlessly return the words, whimper his name, and clutch at his skin in her endeavor to possess every part of him he could give to her. Draco gasped her name into the side of her neck when he came, mere seconds after she'd done the same for him.

I want you every day for the rest of my life.


A/N: We're into the final ten chapters and I don't know how to feel about that. Thank you to everyone who stops by with a message or a comment on any platform because I absolutely adore reading them and replying when I can.

So yeah, come find me on tumblr for art and writing reblogged from other amazing folks in this fandom or to ask me a question about anything: heyjude19-writing.

Next chapter will be on 10/19.