Another little story that's been wiggling around in my brain. Always Dramione. Always at least a little bit fluffy. This one is rated M for language and possible sexual content, so if you aren't 18, peace out!

As always, JK Rowling is queen. I am but her loyal subject. If you enjoy it, please let me know with a review, favorite, follow, or PM!

*My beta, Bella Luna 92, went back through this story and fixed it for me! She is the absolute best. So if this is your first read-through, you're getting the beta'd version! And if this is one you've already read, it's fixed now! Huzzah!*


Draco was exhausted. He'd worked without a break for weeks upon weeks, but finally, after all that hard work, all those hours dedicated to one cause, the project he'd been working on was finished. When he'd first suggested it, Blaise had thought he was kidding. When he realized he wasn't, Blaise had jumped right in and helped as much as he could. Blaise was a lawyer, and as such, he would present the project to the Wizengamot when it was time.

The bill was a move toward equality between muggleborns and purebloods, and Draco hoped that by having his name on it, it would give it some weight, given his family's history and his massive change of heart. The bill would ensure that all muggleborn witches and wizards would be given an additional year - beginning at ten - of classes where they learned what to expect from and how to interact with the magical world. They'd be given additional materials as well - different artifacts they would interact with regularly at Hogwarts - in order to get used to them before they joined the general magical population. The money was set to come from fundraising, as there wasn't an abundance of new muggleborn witches and wizards each year. In addition, pureblood children destined for Hogwarts were to be given regular courses - sort of like day camps - from toddlerhood in which they were exposed to Muggle culture by a muggleborn witch or wizard. The pureblood ideas of superiority were still taught in private, but it wasn't as prevalent now. Draco hoped that by backing this bill, and by getting to the children when they were young, he'd be able to help future generations avoid the mistakes he'd made. For the last few weeks - or maybe it had been months, he'd lost track of time, if he were being honest - he'd been working on this bill, finding and writing through loopholes, making sure that the more bigoted purebloods on the Wizengamot couldn't find any loose threads to tug at and unravel it.

Draco was an Auror, and a damn good one, but he'd taken time off of fieldwork to work on this bill after he'd had to arrest three pureblooded kids - just turned seventeen - for going into Muggle London and harassing Muggle women. He shuddered to think of what would have happened to those women had they not been apprehended when they were - the young men had a very clear and devious intent. The only reason he'd caught them at all was because he'd been out on a double date - he and his wife, Astoria, out to dinner with his partner, Ron Weasley, and his fiancée, Hermione Granger. It was an odd group, to be sure, but over the last three years he'd become Weasley's friend, and surprising to everyone, Hermione had become one of, if not his only, best friend. On their date, he'd excused himself to use the restroom, and through the window of the restaurant, he saw one of the boys draw a wand. Draco had followed them as they tracked the Muggle women. He'd stayed back, and when the young men cast Imperius, Draco had called for Weasley, then gone after them. Weasley had gotten there in time to help Draco magically cuff them, and they'd sat with the women until a team of obliviators could arrive. Hermione and Astoria had come with Weasley, and it was at that moment, seeing his muggleborn best friend talk to the Muggle women, comforting them, that the idea for the bill, for the need for change, began. It had wrecked their date, but it had sparked the passion of the next few months of Draco's life.

But now, the bill was done. He'd given it to Blaise to begin preparing his presentation. It was out of his hands, and he could finally breathe.

After weeks and weeks of going in early, staying late, working weekends, Draco was headed home early to see his wife, who'd he been neglecting for the entirety of the project. It had taken so much longer than he'd expected. He'd barely been home. Barely seen his wife. Barely slept. Astoria hadn't been thrilled with his hours at first. The first few days of leaving early and coming home late were hard, but then she'd seemed to think it through and told him she understood. Since the project started, they'd had only a handful of meals together, a few pecks on the cheek, and he planned to fix that immediately.

Draco walked down Diagon Alley and picked up a bouquet of her favorite flowers - red amaryllises. She'd told him once that she loved them because they represented beauty. Since then, he'd gotten them for Astoria regularly so she would know how beautiful she was to him. He was exhausted, mentally, and physically, but he owed Astoria his time. He had a lot of missed time to make up for, and he had a plan. Well, it had actually been Granger's idea for him to take a long weekend with his wife. She promised it would make Astoria feel treasured.

When Hermione had suggested the retreat, she'd said it with such longing that Draco made a mental note to talk to Weasley and suggest he do something similar for his witch. He thought Weasley was a good man, but he was also the most oblivious person Draco had ever met, and unless Hermione spelled it out for him, he'd never take the hint. He'd done something similar for their last anniversary. Hermione had been talking about a new exhibit at the wizarding museum for weeks. Draco hadn't wanted to meddle, of course, but he'd seen Hermione dropping hint after hint and had seen his partner missing each one, so he'd stepped in and suggested, casually, that Weasley take her. He had, and Hermione had been so happy. Draco had told Astoria, and she'd gotten unreasonably angry. She wasn't a fan of his friendship with Hermione, so he wouldn't mention that their romantic weekend getaway had been Hermione's idea. When they got back, he'd take Hermione out for a thank you coffee at their usual place.

Red amaryllises in hand, he headed home. He planned to give her the flowers, then literally sweep her off her feet and tell her about their surprise trip. He apparated into their living room, and the house was extremely quiet, which wasn't abnormal. They lived alone - no elves, no kids, no pets.

After kicking off his loafers next to the couch - something Astoria hated, but a habit he couldn't quite shake - he made his way to the kitchen to put her flowers in a crystal vase with water and a stasis charm so they wouldn't start to wilt anytime soon. Astoria preferred her flowers to last weeks, but she didn't want to put the charm on herself. She said it ruined the illusion of perfection for her.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and took a long pull before rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. Feeling a bit more relaxed, he made his way up the stairs toward the library where he assumed Astoria was. She didn't read many books, but she read magazines and periodicals from all over the continent, and she liked taking her afternoon tea in the library to take advantage of the good light from the large windows. After peeking in, and seeing that she wasn't there, he headed toward their bedroom. It had been months since they'd been intimate, and while he was tired and not really in the mood, she liked to be surprised. Maybe he could surprise her with more than just flowers and a trip.

He loosened his tie and was a moment from opening the door when he heard a muffled sound from inside. Draco may have been on the wrong side of the war for most of it, but an unidentified noise was something that still made his wand come out and his muscles tense - a reflex he wasn't sure would ever go away. He was by no means a brave man, but he'd become, at the very least, less of a coward. Muscles tensed to fight, he leaned toward the door, ear pressed to the wood, heart racing. Part of what made him such a good Auror was that he didn't rush in without assessing the risk first.

The wooden doors of their home were thick, and all he could hear was a rhythmic thumping. As he listened, frozen, the thumping sound sped up. And then, as the sound reached a fevered pitch, he heard Astoria scream. He knew that sound, though he hadn't heard it in some time. It was the sound of his wife coming undone. He'd only heard it a handful of times, as Astoria wasn't a particularly vocal lover, but there was no way he would mistake it. He'd only ever had one lover, and right now, she was in their room, shagging someone else.

His fear was replaced with a flood of anger. Without another moment's hesitation, he threw an unlocking charm at the door and shoved it open, wand out defensively.

Astoria was sitting up, back to him, riding another man in their marital bed. She screeched when Draco burst in and covered her bare chest as the man, who Draco couldn't see, pushed her off him and rolled away. With a sharp crack, the man was gone.

"Goddammit, Draco!" Astoria screamed, throwing a pillow at him. "Don't you ever knock?"

Draco's wand arm fell as he stared at her. She was angry with him. He gritted his teeth, and his hands balled into fists.

Draco threw her clothes at her, and she dressed angrily. He yelled at her, screaming, asking for an explanation, and she just stared, eyes cold, without answering. When he finally had nothing left to say, she finally spoke. She laid into him, trying to convince him that it was his fault she'd gone to someone else. It had been months since his stupid little bill writing crusade began, but even before that, he'd neglected her. She yelled I'm a woman with needs, Draco. It's your fault if those needs aren't being met!

That statement, that realization, that he'd pushed her to this had caused him to fall into the chair in the living room, where they'd migrated as they fought, and put his face in his hands. It wasn't his fault that she'd shagged someone else, but it was his fault that she'd felt neglected and unloved.

They argued through the rest of the day, and by the time night fell, Draco realized, with a crushing certainty, that Astoria didn't love him like she once had. Their marriage had been arranged, but they'd cared for one another. He'd fallen in love with her early on, and he'd thought she'd fallen in love with him, too. But now, he wasn't so sure.

He asked her to leave so he could think, and she'd left without argument or a backward glance as if she were happy to go and had been waiting for him to suggest it.

The rest of the night, he sat in the hallway, staring at the bedroom door, unable to go in. He'd had the house built with her in mind, the bedroom built to her specifications. She'd wanted a separate bedroom for herself - something common in pureblood households - but he'd convinced her that they were in love and he didn't want to be away from her. She'd conceded, and at the time, it had been further proof for him that she loved him.

What a crock.


When the sun rose, he'd finally gone downstairs and had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the floo, which he locked so no one could enter or call.

He spent the whole day following his unfortunate discovery, and the following night, drinking, pacing, and sleeping. He didn't shower. He didn't eat. He just drank - Muggle beer that Hermione had introduced him to, firewhiskey, elf wine, even the little sweet bottled Muggle drinks that Astoria liked - paced, and slept in spurts. He wasn't supposed to be back to work until Monday, and it was only Friday. He was supposed to be on a romantic getaway with his wife. No one was going to come looking for him.

Which is why it was so surprising when, on Friday afternoon, Hermione showed up and banged on his door as if he'd been missing for weeks.

"I know you're home, Draco!" she called, pounding on the door as loudly as she could. "I'm not going anywhere until you let me in."

He'd opened the door after she'd called for him for nearly ten minutes, knowing her well enough to know that she wouldn't go away. The door opened, light poured in. Hermione wrinkled her nose, moving gently past him into the dark foyer without waiting for an invitation.

"What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly, stumbling slightly as he shut the door to block out the light. He followed her through the house to the kitchen and saw the vivid red amaryllises - he'd forgotten about them - and his heart plummeted. He then followed Hermione into the kitchen without saying a word.

"Sit," she said, pointing to the kitchen table. She retrieved a sobering potion from the medicine cabinet and placed it in front of him. Summoning ingredients, she made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and placed it in front of him, beside the potion, on a paper napkin with a small glass of milk. "Eat."

"Granger," he growled, the room tilting slightly as he wobbled in his chair, but she only pushed the food and medicine closer. He grumbled as he downed the sickly sweet potion, feeling his state of drunkenness lift almost immediately, and then quickly shoveled the sandwich in his mouth. He hadn't realized he was hungry until he ate it, and he washed it down with the small glass of cold milk feeling both better and worse.

Hermione moved around the kitchen, throwing away beer bottles, wiping up firewhiskey spills, and moving the vase of flowers into the pantry, out of sight. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked when the room was more orderly. She stood beside him, looking down at him with those big, warm brown eyes.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He felt tears well in his eyes, and she handed him a clean cloth, then turned to do the few dishes piled in the sink, letting him work out whatever emotions he had without judgment. It was one of the reasons they'd become such good friends. She gave what he needed without being asked. She had since the day they decided to have a truce, just after Weasley was assigned to be his partner. Once their pasts were, not forgotten, but forgiven, they'd quickly realized they had a lot in common.

"Why did you come here?" he asked after clearing his throat, his emotions temporarily at bay.

Hermione wiped her hands on a dishtowel and turned to face him, leaning against the sink. She was wearing olive green khakis, and a white button-down with her favorite mustard cardigan, instead of her favored stonewashed jeans and tee shirt with the same mustard cardigan. She'd been at work. He looked at the clock on the wall - 3 PM - she'd left work early to come here. Guilt invaded his already overloaded emotional circuit.

"I saw Astoria in Diagon Alley, having lunch with some of her friends. I went to say hello and overheard her - " she took a deep breath and came back to the table, sitting in front of him with a sad look and a sigh. "I just knew you would be here, and I assumed you might want some company."

"I'm fine," he said, wadding up the napkin she'd put his sandwich on.

"Of course you are," she said, giving him a look that showed just how little she believed him. "Listen, if you want me to believe you're fine, then go, take a shower, and let me make you something to eat to put in your fridge. I'll leave after that, OK?" She raised her eyebrows. "I've spent my whole life taking care of the ridiculous boys I consider to be friends." She pointed her finger at him. "You have to let me do this."

He stared at her for a long moment. He still saw the little girl he'd bullied for years, the little girl he'd thought he hated, but more than that, he saw the woman who'd given him the benefit of the doubt, who'd forgiven him, and who'd become his very best friend. Staring at her now, he knew he would do whatever she asked because even though he was too prideful to admit it aloud, he knew that she was always right.

"Fine," he said with a huff, standing, surprised when the room didn't spin. "Thanks for the potion," he said, ducking his head.

"Go. Shower. I'll be here when you get out." She smiled at him and started pulling out pans from beneath the cabinet.

He looked at her for a long moment, moving through his kitchen as easily as if it were her own. Astoria hadn't cooked in this kitchen even once in all the years they'd lived here. With a sigh, he headed toward the guest bathroom, not ready to go into the master suite yet.

When Draco saw himself in the bathroom mirror, he was mortified. His hair was stringy around his face. His stubble was scruffy and ran down his neck. He lifted his arm to smell his shirt and recoiled. With a grimace, he stripped his clothes off, tossed them in the hamper, and stepped quickly into the shower.

Hermione was his friend. She didn't care what he looked, or smelled, like. But the knowledge that she'd seen him like this made him supremely uncomfortable.


When he emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later - showered and shaved - he was greeted with the smell of spaghetti sauce and garlic bread — his favorite comfort food.

"Well, that's better," she said with a smile as she saw him. She ladled pasta and sauce onto two plates. She planned to stay and eat with him, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"You're going to stay?" he asked, ashamed of how he'd spoken to her earlier.

She nodded. "Unless you really want me to leave," she said, looking at him from beneath her long lashes with a knowing smile.

"Thanks, Granger," he said, ducking his head and putting his hands in the pockets of his flannel pajama pants.

In companionable silence, they ate. About halfway through the meal, Hermione got up to get more napkins from the pantry, and Draco noticed the vase of amaryllis was no longer there. He didn't ask where she'd put it. Napkins in hand, Hermione retrieved two beers from the fridge before rejoining him. She'd sobered him up because he wasn't functioning, but he was hurting, so she was giving him just enough to take the edge off. She always seemed to know exactly what he needed.

When the leftovers were put away, and the dishes were scrubbed, Hermione and Draco sat at his kitchen table, drinking a second beer each in a heavy silence.

"So, are you ready to talk about it yet?" Hermione asked as she took a small sip from the bottle, then wiped her bottom lip with the tip of her finger.

He took a deep breath and looked at her. Before her, he'd never been one to share feelings. Not with Blaise, not with his wife, not with anyone. But from the moment Hermione had come back into his life, it was like she'd filled some void he hadn't realized was there. He trusted her with his deepest, darkest secrets. He trusted her with information that could be used against him, could destroy him. He trusted her with everything.

"Astoria is cheating on me," he said before taking a drink. "I came home Thursday to surprise her with that trip you suggested - the romantic weekend getaway - and I walked in on them." He took a bigger drink and set the bottle down with force. "Caught them in the act, her right one top. Didn't see his face." Another drink.

"Draco," she said, leaning forward slightly. "I'm so sorry." The sincerity in her voice always shocked him, no matter how often he heard it.

He took another drink. "I don't know what to do," he said. There were dark circles under his eyes, and even though his hair was clean now, it was disheveled. "Pureblood divorces are almost unheard of," he said as he picked at the label of his beer bottle with his thumbnail. "But I just don't think I can stay with her after - " Tears pricked his eyes, and he stared across the table, vision blurring. "I love her, you know? And she didn't even pretend to be ashamed or upset." His voice was husky as he downed the last of his beer. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the backs of his hands on top of the table. "What do I do?" he asked, eyes closed.

Hermione took a deep breath and put her small, cool hand on his shoulder. "You do what you have to. Not what's expected of you. Not what's easiest. But what's best for you. And it will most likely be dreadful, and difficult, but you won't be alone." She squeezed his shoulder gently. "You owe it to yourself to do what's best for you, Draco."

"She'll get half of everything," he said with a moan. "And I don't have as much as I used to." He squeezed his eyes tight.

She laughed lightly, and her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his head. She gently stroked the hair at the nape of his neck as a mother might for a child. His mother never had, but he was sure mothers somewhere did something similar.

"You'll make do with what you have," she said softly.

"It's not just the money." He took a stuttering breath. "Damn it all to hell, but I love her. I didn't expect to when we got married, but I do now, and she goes and does this." His voice was muffled by the table, and he felt anger bubble up.

"I know you love her," she said, her voice thick with sadness. "But that doesn't mean you deserve to be treated this way." Her fingertips pressed into the sides of his neck in a pseudo massage. He couldn't help but enjoy the feel of her skin on his. Even in their prime, Astoria hadn't been overly affectionate. It felt nice to be touched, even in friendship.

With a sigh, he pushed himself back up, her fingers falling away. He wiped tears from beneath his eyes, then took one of her hands in his. "I know you're right." He sighed again. "What would I do without you?" he asked, his gray eyes filled with emotion.

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "I've honestly no idea. How you made it the first 20 years of your life without me in your corner is a mystery we may never understand."

He laughed and squeezed her fingers. She always knew what he needed.

"You're going to be alright," she said, taking his hand more firmly in hers and giving it a squeeze. "You can floo me, anytime, day or night. If you need a couch to sleep on, we have one. If you just need to scream and throw things, I'll bring things to break. Just tell me what you need, and I'm here. OK?" She squeezed his fingers again. "And Ronald is, too. He's not very good with emotions, but he's your friend, too." She gave him a tight smile.

"I really, really don't deserve a friend like you," Draco said, dreading the moment she would leave him alone, but knowing it was coming soon. She had a life, a home, a fiancé, a job.

"That's true." She smiled and stood, pulling him with her. Without hesitation, she pulled him into her arms and hugged him tightly around the waist. He laid his cheek on her head and sighed. "I have to go - Ronald will be home soon, and I'll need to have dinner ready - but, floo me, OK?" she said, and he nodded. "I mean it." She hugged him once more, then released him with a smile. "You are going to be OK." With a nod, she turned and left.

He listened for the sound of the floo coming to life in the other room - she'd reactivated it while he was in the shower, apparently - signaling Hermione's departure. He grabbed another beer, promising himself he wouldn't overdo it like before and made his way to the couch. He couldn't go back to sleep in his room. Not yet.

He propped his feet up on the coffee table and slowly drank the rest of his beer, thinking of how he would proceed moving forward. He'd contact Blaise in the morning to work up divorce papers. Hermione was right. As usual, he knew he'd never get over this, and he had to do what was right for him, fallout be damned. He'd contact his mother after, letting her know what to expect from the press. And he'd send Hermione a gift to say thank you.

Draco fell asleep on the couch, beer bottle empty and at his feet, feeling, if not content, at least sure of what he needed to do.

When he woke again, it was nearly midnight. His neck was sore from lying at an angle, and with a huff, he stood and made his way to his bedroom. He shouldn't have to suffer through a night on a too-small couch when he had a perfectly good bed just a few rooms away. He wouldn't let Astoria take away the comforts of his home.

The sheets were still tangled from where Astoria and her lover had been in them. Too tired to be angry, Draco grabbed the sheets and blankets with both hands and yanked them off the bed, heaping them in a pile near the door. After retrieving clean bedclothes, he set to making the bed by hand, needing the release of pulling the sheets and tucking the blankets aggressively, as if he could somehow force the memory of Astoria atop another wizard from his mind if he tucked the sheets hard enough.

With a sigh, he brushed his teeth, took a long look in the mirror - he looked bloody awful, still - and went to crawl into bed. Immediately, the image of Astoria, bouncing, screaming, was in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced that image away, and in its place, he saw Hermione, looking at him with her warm, brown eyes. In his mind, he could hear her voice telling him that he was strong and that everything would be OK.


He woke hours later to the sun streaming directly into his eyes. He hadn't shut the curtains before bed, and he was paying for it now. He groaned and rolled from the bed, rubbing his eyes to try and rid himself of the small headache just behind them. Stumbling, he lurched for the bathroom, only to curse and jump back as something sharp stabbed him in the foot before he could make it even halfway there.

"What the bloody hell?" he said as he leaned down to pick up the offending object. His eyes were blurry but cleared remarkably quickly when he saw what he was holding in his hand. A silver tie clip bent from being stepped on, with initials engraved into the flat, shiny front. Draco sat heavily on his bed, tie clip in hand, and felt a whole new wave of sadness and anger crash over him as he realized who exactly his wife was having an affair with.