"I'm not sure the silk in that scarf was ethically sourced."

Hermione's hand, holding a cup of steaming mocha, halted in mid-air. "Daphne!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know you were a Quidditch aficionado."

The lawyer rolled her eyes. "As if! Where, may I ask, did you acquire that divinely scented drink? Awakening before dawn is not my preference."

"I'll escort you to the booth." The two women were able to walk side-by-side, as the World Cup crowd was smaller than it had been the previous night at the celebrity match. Harry had been the featured seeker, and Hermione was forced to listen to Draco critique his every move. "Were you serious about the silk? Is it something with which my department should involve itself?"

"Merlin, no, they were imported from another hemisphere." Daphne's eyes closed in bliss at the first sip. "With this, I may be able to face a day that is certain to be packed with ridiculous Quidditch minutia."

"Welcome to my world," Hermione laughed. "Professor McGonagall didn't warn me that I would be forced to watch idiots on brooms my entire scholastic career. At least Draco's pick-up matches usually don't involve violence to life and limb like Harry's when he was on the Gryffindor team."

The other woman made a noncommittal sound. "There was a bit of brutality at those games, especially when our houses were the participants."

"Say, would your party like to join us in the Malfoy box? I know that you might have good seats," she rushed on, "but you sound like you care as much about the sport as I do, and I would certainly welcome conversation which doesn't involve flying murderous balls."

"I'll see," Daphne hedged, "although the invitation is extremely attractive."

Hermione placed a hand on her arm. "No need for a formal RSVP. If you show up, you show up. We can always magically expand the space if it gets too crowded."

Several hours later, she was startled when Draco burst out, "Why in Salazar's name is Daphne Greengrass holding hands with Potter?!"

"You don't have to do this," Draco assured Hermione. He had mentioned to his mother their plans to visit in order to return the book borrowed from the Manor library; Narcissa had quickly penned an invitation to tea. "I can just send it back via Trix."

"No, it is the polite thing to do. After all, we didn't even say 'Boo' to her when we visited before. And," she rounded on him, "I am never going to call that elf unless I know who she is at the moment."

Upon arrival at work one day, Hermione realized that she had left a folder at the flat and called Trix to fetch it for her. Unbeknownst to her, the previous evening the elf of eclectic personas had decided to be Lady Godiva. Two aurors, three secretaries, and a janitor crashed open the office door at her startled scream and frightened the pixies so much that she ended up cuddling them while singing a lullaby. "At this rate," she complained, "I'm never going to be able to repatriate those poor children."

Draco's unhelpful suggestion had been to go ahead and adopt them. "It will be good practice for when we have little Malfoys."

While their relationship was thriving and, to be honest, she believed that would be her surname in the future, raising a clan of Class 3 mischief makers was not on the docket. "Oh," she asked, "do juvenile Malfoys tend to create as much havoc as those released by Lockhart?"

"Naturally," he kissed her nose, "and since you've tamed me so thoroughly, I have absolute confidence in you."

Back in the present time, she placed her arms around him. "Draco, despite your mother's beliefs on blood status, she will be the only grandparent for the next generation of Malfoys. I should meet her and create some sort of relationship with her before they arrive."

Bereft of breath, his mouth dropped open. "Does that mean…?"

"Yes," she rose and touched his lips quickly with her own, "and did I surprise you by being the one to propose?"

"I am both surprised and extraordinarily pleased. I should warn you that Mother will take over the wedding preparations."

Hermione waved this off. "She can have it. I'm still busy digging through all of Umbridge's edicts and making sure that we haven't overlooked any groups which might yet remain disenfranchised."

"Then we'll leave it to her." He grinned. "She hasn't been able to plan a large entertainment in years."

Hermione had wasted her time worrying over the possibility of Narcissa digging in her heels because she was muggleborn; the matron was happy to leave such prejudices in the ashes of the Voldemort years. Her rapid-fire questions on favourite colours, foods, and flowers eventually caused Hermione's left eye to twitch.

At that, Draco rescued her and said their farewells. "You'll have plenty of time to pick her brain later."

"Of course. I'll floo you, and we can have a planning date over lunch, dear."

Hermione could only nod as her fiancé hustled her out of the parlour and down to the library. "Breathe, Hermione," he whispered. "You'll be in your happy place soon."

"But she might follow and corner us here," she whimpered. "Let's reshelve that book and depart tout de suite."

Draco chuckled as she scurried in front of him, heading towards the back shelves. In her haste, she bumped one of the decorative pilasters, and it tottered at the impact.

"Oh!" she cried, turning as the non-snow globe she had noticed at the first visit headed towards the uncarpeted floor.

The impact of its shattering was much larger than expected, and she was thrown backwards at the unexpected force. Coughing from the smoke which appeared, a figure rose and stalked towards her.

"You!" the man shouted. "Trespassing in the home of your betters, then knocking me around and breaking my orb of refuge." He tossed back his long hair and sneered. "It will be a pleasure to end your pitiful life for that, mudblood."

"Father!" Draco shouted. Despite shock at the sudden appearance, his wand was unswervingly aimed at a disheveled Lucius Malfoy. "Step away from her if you want to live."

"Draco," he said with astonishment, "you would choose her over me?"

"In a heartbeat." He saw that Hermione had regained her feet and taken possession of an unfamiliar wand which had been thrown out by the blast.

"Then you're no son of mine!" he blazed. "I, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, do hereby disown Draco Lu–"

"Oh, shite," he muttered, "stupefy!"

Hermione came to his side and looked down at the man collapsed on the floor. "He is a convicted felon, Draco. He is not able to disinherit you."

"I know." He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "I just didn't want to listen to him talk anymore. Come on, we need to floo the DMLE. Do you think we ought to let Potter take credit for his capture?"

The Daily Prophet regurgitated Malfoy history for a full week. Witch Weekly included a poster-sized photograph of Harry in a special issue with the headline 'Boy-Who-Lived Catches Man-Who-Hid! And He's Single, Ladies!' (Hermione wondered at the confusing grammar, as it was not entirely clear which man was available; of course, since Lucius was soon sent through the Veil, the point was moot.) The Quibbler, which offered fewer esoteric articles nowadays, spotlighted the similarities and differences between the magical prison globe used by Umbridge and the orb created by Malfoy, which held a well-stocked miniature Malfoy Manor, albeit with no companionship.

As the newly engaged couple strove to be out of the spotlight while the magical world seethed with excitement, they spent their time setting a date and location for their wedding. The ceremony was eventually determined to be a traditional handfasting combined with original vows and an exchange of 'gifts'. Narcissa was highly offended when neither Draco nor Hermione would explain the last.

"An exchange of rings I can understand and plan for," she pleaded. "Why must you be so vague?"

"A ring can be a gift," Draco replied, "and yet might be. There are enough other details to stress over besides this. Hermione and I will manage that part."

Truthfully, he only knew what he was giving Hermione; her response was to smirk in a rather familiar, annoying way when he begged for details. Even his reasoning for the location of Tintagel did not sway her.

"Cornwall, so that we can see about finding the clan of your office roommates. During our honeymoon we can tour both magical and mundane Arthurian sites as we search."

Her passionate method of thanking him caused a dreamy expression to cover his face at odd moments for several days following, but she still kept her counsel on his gift.