The Silk Thread

by LoverGurrl411

Dumbledore's dead, the ministry's desperate and crumbling around them, and war is on the horizon-but the only war that truly matters has yet to begin: the war of hearts. In between silence and hatred lies a twisted desire that will either consume them, or help them survive Voldemort's rise to power together. Marriage Law Fic. AU Seventh Year. HBP Compliant.

17. The Return to Abnormal

Disclaimer – I own nothing.

A.N. - Guess who's back? Before anything, I hope everyone is safe and healthy during these crazy times. I know, it's been SO long, and I've got a laundry list of excuses that I could give you, including health issues and school and work and moving a bunch, but you deserve better from me, so all I'll say is that I'll try to keep my updates closer than once a year/couple of years. I hope you guys always think it's worth the wait though! As I was telling the lovely Elle-Morgan-Black (who recently dropped Requiem for a Choice over at AO3, it's amazing, read it), the fact I haven't updated this fic in so long is one of my greatest shames. On that note, this chapter was a BITCH to write. Like, really, I was stressed trying to keep the pacing and not let it sink into boring land. Hopefully it worked-eek!

Warning - This chapter has not been beta'd AT ALL, so I'm so sorry for any mistakes!

To Shirley Ujest, Guest 1, sisra, vanialdn, , inesdlove, Guest 2, Readingwithcake, 7Arya7, Addanigh, Looney, Ebullientjenn, zufar0208, hayleep87, Seniia7, EvelynSencen. , Guest 3, phoebix, decolon, Guest 4, Guest 5 (Nassirah), Matsyakanya, Niva, themirrorminder.372259, marthapreston4, A, postmeridian lull, .315, MsProfessor, emmiet, Nassirah Mussagy, Hermione Blackwell, Harry imPoster, Guest 6, Guest 7, Guest 8, Guest 9, FranQuel, Guest 10, Kyonomiko, BirdsOfAFeather92, SaraiR, Guest 11, raindropsonroses13, Guest 12, Sarakerim, Wynter Phoenix, Thisisonlyadrabble, D Puluse, viola1701e, seatoncm, Guest 13, Guest 14, Guest 15, Spottedpath73: Thank you guys so much! You would not believe how grateful and humbled I am by your continued support, encouragement, and thought provoking reviews. Even the flames have a special place in my heart because it pushes me to think critically about what's happening, characterization, and whether or not I'm trying my hardest to give you all a quality story. I hope that I am, and even when I fail sometimes, just know that though I'm failing, I AM trying, and that you're all a large part as to why I continue to strive in this story to give you all something worthy of all the love you've shown me and this story. You guys are my light in the dark journey of writing, which is genuinely an escape for me from real life-so thank you.

To all who have favorited, followed, or simply read silently, I love you guys too! Hope everyone enjoys!

Mediocre Recap: Draco and Hermione get married due to the marriage law, and Draco teaches her occlumency. She becomes proficient enough that she can continue her studies through self-practice. Draco and Theo take on the roles of Head of their Families, and foil the Dark Lord's plan by pushing for adjustments in the Muggleborn Registration Act. Draco is punished severely for this, and Hermione feels so overwhelmed by what happened to him that she refuses to give information to the Order. The Order feels like something must be done, so they enlist Harry's help to spy on Hermione and relay her confidence. Harry agrees but doesn't do it, and meanwhile Hermione learns of the deep bond and affection that Luna and Harry share, though Luna is betrothed to Theo Nott. Later, Draco and Theo are given the task to recruit at Hogwarts for the Dark Lord's army, which Hermione finds out from Harry. Harry learns of Draco's prophecy-that whichever side he's on will win-and later on so does Hermione. Draco becomes the Dark Lord's heir, and Blaise discovers that Tilly is pregnant. During the Winter Solstice, Draco ascends to King, alongside Hermione who doesn't know about it, and gives a decree to all who are bound to his will through ancient magicks lost, that they are not to harm one another, effectively protecting Harry from a significant portion of Voldemort's Death Eater Army in England. Hermione gains the locket of Slytherin from Umbridge, and After their ascension, Hermione notices strange tensions in the Weasley family toward her due to her new status as Queen among them, but she hasn't pieced it together yet. Draco does not deal with his newfound responsibility/burden too well the day after the Winter Solstice, and Hermione is severely worried about his mental health. The Malfoy's have a family meeting and Hermione learns that an attack on the Ministry by Voldemort and his Death Eaters is imminent.

There are definitely minor and major plot points that I've likely forgotten to mention, but alas, se la vie. On to the show!

/Let's talk about last night, you went to sleep, didn't even talk to me

You left me with questions, agonizing; you bring out the worst in me

The problem with you is that I can't get you off my mind

And I think about you all the time; it's your fault that I don't feel right

The problem with you is that you're all that I dream about/

–The Problem With Me, Sabrina Claudio

Chapter 17 - The Return to Abnormal

Visiting the Order headquarters for the first time since the Christmas Day dinner was stranger than Hermione thought it'd be. Ginny's smile was strained-disdainful almost, but in a blink it was gone. Soft, and welcoming, like it had always been.

Mrs. Weasley was just as attentive as she'd always been, but there was a watchfulness, an unease that Hermione hadn't paid much attention to during Christmas Day, that she couldn't ignore now.

None of it mattered, because Hermione's insides jumped and wiggled uncomfortably in fear and panic.

"Are you sure?" Remus asked solemnly.

"It's been confirmed," Hermione bit her lip and twirled her marriage ring around restlessly.

Charlie leaned on his forearms. "What can we do?"

"What's there to do? We have to be prepared to meet force with force," Hermione reasoned.

Moody scoffed, and banged his wooden leg. "Ay, the youth are always too eager to jump into war."

"We're already at war," Ron jumped to Hermione's defense.

"A cold war, with scattered deaths and disappearances isn't the same thing as all out war," Remus said quietly, but his voice broke through the conversation. His haunted eyes locked eyes with Hermione and she thought that she could see all the death and destruction he had witnessed in the last war in his eyes, glittering ominously. "You lot are too young to remember, to know, but it's not anywhere near the same."

"What's the plan then?" Harry finally spoke, and Hermione was surprised he hadn't spoken up sooner. "Just let them take over the ministry?"

"A plan takes time, boyo," Moody huffed, his rolling eye rolled more frantically. "This ain't the time for rash decisions." His eyes finally settled on Hermione, and she couldn't help how her shoulders tensed; it was like her body was physically preparing for an attack. That was the thing with Moody-you never quite knew when he would praise you or attack you with pointed words. "At least ya were finally truly useful. Knew yer marriage would be one day."

It was a harmless enough statement; a callback to when he'd demanded information, and she had refused to give it. But the smirk on Ginny's lips didn't sit right. Nor did Mrs. Weasley's loud gasp.

"Moody!" Mrs. Weasley came to Hermione's defense quickly, which Hermione didn't understand. Sure the comment was brash, but nothing truly cruel. Not when she married Draco with the idea of spying on the table, in this very same room. Mrs. Weasley, however, didn't seem inclined to let it go. "That kind of talk is out of turn in this household!"

"Eh," Moody shrugged. "She aint my queen."

The room froze, and Hermione had no idea what they were talking about. Remus's confused face looked at her, but she shrugged.

A crown won't make you his equal.

Moody, however, wasn't talking to Remus, who was just as clueless as he'd been once upon a time.

"You forget that I was married once, and any kids we woulda had were beholden through her-"

"This is a tradition spanning hundreds of years," Narcissa said solemnly. "Whenever a new Lady Malfoy ascends, her jewelry for the first winter solstice ritual is chosen by the Head Mother."

"Is that a…"

"A crown, yes," Narcissa nodded her head sharply.

"That may be, Moody, and gracious was Abraxas that he allowed the union," Arthur stood suddenly, cutting the man off, reminding him that it was only by the then-king's grace that Moody was allowed to marry his long-dead wife. Never let it be said that a Weasley wasn't loyal to his monarch, regardless if he hated it with every fiber of his being. "But you play too fast and loose with your words, forgetting whose house you're in. Apologize."

Hermione and Remus didn't understand the sharp words, but Moody did. Grimmauld Place was the House of Black, now held by the House of Potter, both beholden to the Monarchy, loyalist to their core, and always in high esteem of the Monarchy.

"It's too much," Hermione tried to decline, moving away slowly, but Narcissa simply moved forward with an inherent grace that Hermione envied.

"It's exactly right."

"I'm not royalty, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione tried to find her bearings. "I would look foolish wearing something so precious and important—"

"You would look like who you are, Lady Malfoy," Narcissa laid the crown atop Hermione's head, ignoring her protestations.

Hermione and Remus were beyond confused, but when Hermione turned to lock eyes with Harry, he was standing too, hand on his wand, clearly hostile.

Charlie Weasley stood next to him, wand still holstered, but his body was tense-ready to spring at any moment. All the Weasley's except for Ginny were tense-offended on her behalf. Suddenly, it felt like the Order was split, but Hermione couldn't really understand between what-

"The Malfoys have been witnesses and leaders to many auspicious occasions in wizarding history. Because of that, being a Malfoy is not about money or power. There was a time, centuries ago, that the Malfoys lost it all and had neither. Nor is being a Malfoy about beauty or charisma, as Ailene Malfoy—Lucius's mother—had none. But she was still a Malfoy. They were all Malfoys. I am a Malfoy. You are a Malfoy. Do you understand?"

Moody growled and turned to her, ready to remind her that she was just a child, that if he apologized it was simply because people higher than her, people who actually mattered had their knickers in a twist and insisted he did, and it had nothing to do with her, but-

"Entitlement, Lady Malfoy, is what makes the name mean something. What are you not? What do you not have? Think on that, bury it, and then decide what others should remember you by. That entitled self-assured belief that you can decide your fate and how you will be remembered is what will make the crown on your head look perfectly in place."

Hermione raised her hand, stopping any words he would have spewed. Silence descended on the room like the snowfall on Christmas Eve.

"I may not be your queen," though she still had no clue what that really meant, she could pretend. She could decide her own destiny, and she could live up to the crown that had been placed on her head. "But I am still an order member-one that is valuable due to my position on the other side. No, I will not share every little detail and secret that I find-I am a Malfoy, and my oath of loyalty was to my husband, which I respect. But I do share with the Order major information that needs to be known for our cause. As such, I expect to be treated with the same measure of respect that all members of the Order are treated with. Is that clear?"

Moody huffed his agreement, but Hermione had stood toe to toe with Bellatrix Lestrange-Mad Eye Moody didn't scare her.

"I asked, is that clear?" Hermione repeated sharply.

Moody truly took her in, and whatever he found in her steel gaze was enough that he nodded this time. "Ay, ay, girl, it's clear enough. No need to get all up in a twist."

Hermione nodded, and turned back to Remus. "You were saying, Remus."

Her prompt was enough for everyone to relax and go back to the business of planning how to combat Voldemort's next move.

But Hermione couldn't shake what had just happened.

She aint my queen.

A crown won't make you his equal.

Hermione knew it all meant something, and she was damn well going to find out what.

---

Nott Manor was as impressive as always, though not as dark as usual without Nott Sr. scowl haunting the halls–likely he was at Malfoy Manor kissing the feet of the Dark Lord, darkening Draco's hallways.

"I'm surprised to find you here," Theo raised an imperious eyebrow.

"Why wouldn't I visit? We're friends," Draco smirked.

"Cut the bullshit," Theo rolled his eyes and went straight for the bar. "What's gone wrong now?"

"Nothing's gone wrong...but that doesn't mean much is going right either. I still haven't told Granger about, you know."

"What? What is wrong with you?"

"I know, I know." Draco raised his hands in a clear sign of surrender. But Theo barely spared him a glance.

"Are you trying to start a war? Because if she starts to order people around unknowingly...the wrong sort, there's no telling the uprising that could cause." Theo pursed his lips as he poured them both drinks. He wanted to scream at Draco, tell him that cowards were only ever rewarded with pain and destruction. But the words wouldn't come, and so he tried to appeal to Draco's reason. " The Weasley matriarch may be sensible, and the husband may not be a traiter, but make no mistake-the Weasel and Weaslette are unpredictable. His love for your wife might stop him from doing anything extreme, but the she-weasel doesn't have any such sentiments."

"I'm working on it," Draco sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He accepted the glass of American Wizardian Bourbon with a small sneer. American Wizardian Bourbon was extremely expensive, even by their standards, especially to import it to Great Britain; before Draco's ascension, Theo would have never offered it to him. But now everything was different, and this was just a small piece to show for it. This simple glass of overpriced bourbon was a reminder of who he was now. Unfortunately, all Draco wanted to do was forget. "I just don't know how to tell her. I can't just tell her half-though that's the plan. But have you met Granger? She'll see through that the second I give her the list. She may not know why, but she'll know something's not right. She'll know that there's something I'm not telling her."

"So, just tell her the truth," Theo shrugged and took a long sip from his own glass.

He reclined in the manors ancestral throne-literally. It was the one peice of furniture in the whole house that could be traced beyond the dark ages for the Noble House of Nott. Theo rarely ever visited the official room to receive guests, but he made an exception to receive Draco. It was a matter of pride, and a reminder to himself that he mattered. He was the protector, but he wasn't expendable. He, too, sat on his own throne. King of his own home, if nothing else.

"I would if I could find it in me to be that honest with her, but despite the fact that she's my wife, queen, she's not linked to the crown by blood," Draco tried to explain though he felt his failings acutely. "Exceptions have been made in the past for special circumstances-with Mad Eye Moody-and you with Luna Lovegood now. And it shouldn't matter anymore-she's queen now. What's done is done and it can't be undone, and I wouldn't want it to be undone if it could. But…"

"But that doesn't change the fact that you were told all your life to protect the crown from outsiders."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the horrible truth that lay at their feet; Draco might love his wife, but he couldn't forget that she was a Muggleborn.

He couldn't forget that he had been raised to fear her kind.

---

Hours later, Draco walked into the hotel room that they hadn't visited all break, only to find that he wasn't the only one who had apparently needed a reprieve from Malfoy Manor.

"I see great minds really do think alike," Draco smirked at Hermione who was curled up on the couch, looking out at the skyline.

"Hmm," Hermione sipped on a glass of Muggle Californian Chardonnay. She'd missed the city, her muggle life; this hotel room, overlooking the magical beauty of Muggle London, was as close to her old life as she could get.

Draco took off his cloak, and smiled her way. "Is my lovely wife sharing?"

"Absolutely not," she grinned. "It's muggle wine-wouldn't want you to lose that refined palate of yours, drinking such horribly common wine."

Draco's responding laugh was short, but loud. It bounced off the walls, and landed on Hermione's heart. She wished they could always be like this.

He went over to the bar, and poured himself some wizardian italian bourbon-as close to the quality of the American Wizardian Bourbon he'd been drinking all afternoon at Theo's. His father was of the opinion that French Wizardian Bourbon was better, but Draco knew that his father was just a traditionalist down to his bones-and the Mal Foi name held its origins in France once upon a time-before they were kings in their own rights, therefore everything French had to be better. Draco held no such qualms in life. What was better, was better, regardless of origin.

He looked over at his wife, and he knew the truth of that would stare back at him everyday for the rest of his life.

The quiet was comforting, and he hadn't even realized how tense they'd both been at Malfoy Manor. Draco plopped himself on the couch, next to Hermione, and took a sip of his drink. She leaned in close, he thought to share a kiss, but when he leaned in to capture her lips, she went around them and sniffed at him.

"Are you sloshed?!"

"I resent that-I'm a Malfoy, and Malfoy's don't-"

"Oh, pocky cock and you know it!" Hermione shook her head, but there was a smile teasing her lips that made him want to revel at her feet forever. She poked at his side, and Draco went careening to the side, spilling his drink everywhere.

Hermione laughed, obnoxiously loud, thought Draco.

"Now, look what you've done," Draco tried to glare, but his body was too relaxed, his heart too full of warmth for her. He let his head fall back completely, and he just breathed for a moment.

Hermione looked away, towards the city of her heart, and enjoyed the peace. But the more the quiet persisted, the more she heard Moody's voice-She aint my queen.

"I heard the strangest thing today," Hermione said quietly as she took another sip of her wine.

Draco raised an eyebrow, and sat up a bit. "Good strange or bad strange?"

"I don't know."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense. What did you hear?"

Hermione looked at him severely, but Draco's eyes didn't falter outwardly, though his heart was beating furiously. "That I wasn't someone's queen."

"... That's a strange turn of phrase," he smirked, but she could feel that something was off. There was something in his eyes that spoke of secrets that he always kept close. "Were you being uppity?"

"No I wasn't being uppity," Hermione glowered. "I thought it was strange too, but that's what Mad Eye Moody said-she ain't my queen-and you know what? Your demented aunt told me that a crown won't make me your equal."

"Fancy that, " Draco said tensely. He tried to relax, pretending nothing was wrong, but Hermione could see the apprehension on his face.

"What are you hiding from me?"

"I'm hiding a lot of things," he said honestly.

Sometimes, Draco wished he could be like Potter-just let everything go. Trust so completely that he was unburdened, unmasked, unmanned and completely at Hermione's mercy. But he knew that wasn't reality. That wasn't his truth, and it would never be.

Fuck the Potters of the world, Draco thought. Fuck them and their honesty.

He stood shakily, and went to the bar to pour himself another drink. Hermione watched him closely, the way he moved as though he were a caged animal. She didn't know how to help him be free.

Maybe she never would.

But tonight wasn't about that-it wasn't about him. For the first night in a long time, Hermione did something for herself. She always seemed to be focused on what others needed-Harry and Draco. But tonight, she came to the hotel room for her own sake. She needed an escape, and some peace. Draco's secrets wouldn't take that from her. Not tonight. Not when she felt as though she'd been screaming on the inside for so long.

She refocused her gaze on the beauty of London, and thought about her parents. She wondered if they had some instinct that told them they had a daughter out there-even if they couldn't remember. Even if everything in their life pointed to the opposite.

She wondered if there were people in the world that were so deeply embedded in your soul that even the lost memory of them couldn't shake the imprint they'd left behind.

Her parents smiling-

Hermione's head swiveled to the left, and her eyes locked with Draco as she slammed her mind closed.

"You've been practicing," Draco nodded approvingly.

"You weren't looking into my eyes-how could you do that?" Hermione demanded, confused and slightly awed.

Draco simply shrugged. "Be careful who you let call your magic and into your head, luv."

"That's not an answer," Hermione felt herself gearing up for an argument.

Draco smirked, "Isn't it?"

Hermione glared, and began to form a vehement no, but Draco saw it coming a mile away. The clear buzz he'd had was fading slowly, but there was still a healthy amount swirling through him that he found the courage to wave his hand, cutting off any more talk of his occlumency ability, and a scroll appeared in his free hand.

"What's this?"

"This is the list of people that you need to make sure that you memorize" Draco passed Hermione a twenty foot long piece of parchment rolled up.

"What are you talking about?"

"Being Lady Malfoy is a complicated position. You know this-I've mentioned it before. Leading the service for grace was just the start. There's a lot more to it than that. This list is just another aspect."

"And once I memorize the names on that list?"

"You help them if you find them in need and are in a position to help. Or do nothing. But you are to never raise your wand against them. Ever." Draco's eyes drilled into her. He wanted to tell her everything, but he couldn't seem to fight his nature. Not this time. Not the piece of him that had been raised to see all Muggleborns as threats to their Wizardian way of life. "This is no laughing matter, Granger. You can never lift your wand against them, under any circumstance."

Hermione wanted to press the issue, but she remembered Moody's eyes. She thought of Bellatrix's sneer. She thought of Ginny's frosty stare. She could still feel the weight of the crown being placed on her head.

She ain't my queen.

A crown won't make you his equal.

They were all Malfoys. I am a Malfoy. You are a Malfoy. Do you understand?

She didn't understand, but she thought she was starting to. Little by little, the pieces of her life were falling into place, and she wasn't ready. She didn't want the life she was handed, and nobody had ever asked her.

But she had wanted Draco.

She had wanted him enough to jump, no questions asked.

This was her price.

Her freedom was slipping through her fingers-she could see her freedom, her own choices, like grains of sand in her palm, floating away with the wind.

Too blinded by your ickle feelings to grasp that the more Draco loves you, the worse off you'll be.

But Bellatrix had been wrong. It wasn't Draco's love that had trapped Hermione in a life she didn't fully understand. It was the weight of their desires, and a darkness that lived in Draco that spoke to something terribly disturbed and lustful inside of her.

It was her own sense of superiority that had doomed her-doomed her into believing that she knew everything there was to know. Her own vanity had elevated her ego, and made her blind. But she was wrong.

So very wrong.

And she wasn't ready to acknowledge or question a truth that Draco hadn't confirmed himself. She didn't want to speak the words out loud or even think them-words that might change her life forever, regardless of the fact that she wasn't even sure how it was possible to begin with.

It didn't make sense, and all Hermione wanted to do was yell what the bloody hell is going on and this isn't possible, but it was also the only conclusion that made even a tiny bit of sense.

Instead of yelling, Hermione Malfoy took another sip of her drink, masking all the doubt and fear.

"Everything's going to be different," Hermione looked out the window in their hotel room. Nay, their home. She wished that Christmas holidays could last forever. The way the cold and the snow sunk into their bones, Hermione thought that was a way to reshape their souls like honey and the rays of the sun.

"Nothing is more different than it was before,"

"No. Everything's completely different," Hermione stressed, but she didn't explain. It was petty, but Hermione was okay with that. She figured, let him be the one in the dark for once.

Let him be in the dark about her thoughts for once.

---

Minerva's body shook fiercely, as the cold seeped into her bones. She couldn't hear anything, see anything. She was completely submerged in the fury of him, and he was everything.

Lord Voldemort was everything as he'd always been.

Her screams echoed around her, and her heart thudded in her ears.

If this was how she was going to die, Minerva wanted to ask him to kiss her again; she wanted to die with abandon on her lips and his dark greatness blinded by the light of love.

But she wasn't dying. Not anytime soon.

Voldemort watched her body convulse from crucio, screams like red lipstick on her lips, and smiled.

Because the truth of it all was that she might have been submerged in the fury of him, but hearing the woman he loved scream was the closest to heaven he had ever been, or would ever be.

He never forgot that this was the only way monsters could be close to precious jewels-through death and mayhem.

---

The beginning of a new year meant the return to Hogwarts, but it felt strange, distant and cold in a way the return to Hogwarts had never felt; fear was rampant across the wizarding Britain, which meant parents preferring to keep their children close at home; the end results were more empty compartments on the train than usual, the quiet seeping into everyone's chest like a cold draft.

Hermione sat with Draco, relaxing a bit after the lighter hustle and bustle of the platform–the anxiety that something would go wrong had pushed against her shoulder blades the entire time they'd been walking towards the train.

"It's so empty," Hermione noted as she watched the last few stragglers launch themselves at the train through the window.

Draco nodded absentmindedly as he pulled out a book from one of the trunks overhead. "It'll only get worse, mark my words"

Hermione was a little surprised at how cavalier he sounded. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Should it?" He responded acerbically, and Hermione didn't know how to respond beside an overwhelmingly harsh yes.

Instead she said nothing, and looked out the window quietly as the train slowly departed the station.

"You know the ministry won't survive the attack," Hermione whispered. She wasn't sure what the Order had finally settled on to prepare, but she knew deep in her bones that it wouldn't be enough.

"We've had this conversation, Granger-"

"No we haven't! Not really. You being neutral isn't a conversation. It's a non-answer-"

"We need to worry about us, not the-"

"The people who'll be helplessly slaughtered, and controlled-"

"Merlin fuck, here we go!" Draco shouted harshly. " Is this train compartment cursed? Last time we were in here you were in fine form then too."

"Can you focus on the issue?"

"Can you be sensible? Or is the fog of self-righteousness too dense to allow sensibility to penetrate?"

She was in the wrong for attacking him, but he was in the wrong too. She knew it wouldn't solve anything, but she couldn't be there with him at that moment.

She turned her back on him and walked out of the compartment. Draco watched her leave him and he twirled the wedding band on his hand. He wondered if one day she wouldn't return, but shook his head. Everyday the secret he shared with his father became more apparent, more true.

I'm scared of losing the love of my life.

His eyes roved the countryside-the magnificent hills and plains of his precious country. The green covered by heaps of snow almost blinded him, and Draco sighed.

War would change the landscape, the serenity that came with looking at the highlands. Shadows would befall his precious Great Britain and no stone would be left untouched, no mountain would be left bereft of blood. Real outright war would change everything, and he knew that the one thing he couldn't lose, refused to lose, was her.

He stood and walked out into the hallway. He could only see one or two kids in the corridor passage, and it felt strange, how subdued everyone was. Like the smell of coming war had invaded their every sense.

He peeked through the window pane on each door, until he finally found what he was looking for.

"Potter, Weasley," Draco nodded politely once he opened the door and he amusedly realized that it might have been the first time in his whole life that he'd called Ronald Weasley by his actual name. Even now he was tempted to throw out a random "Weasel" but held himself in check. He remembered his father's advice about the Weasley's the night of the winter solstice: They resent us enough as it is. You'd do well not to antagonize them.

"Malfoy, "Harry nodded, relaxed, though he was acutely aware that Ron hadn't acknowledged Draco at all. After a moment, Harry kicked Ron not-so-subtly, and after rubbing his shin, he grumbled out a sneering "Malfoy."

Draco held in a sigh; he didn't know what to do with Ronald Weasley, but he felt the weight of his life on his shoulders. It seemed that Ron didn't quite know what to do with him either, because before Draco could utter another word, Ron stood and walked around Draco and out the compartment with a quick and awkward "I'll be back" to Harry.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, but Draco truly wasn't interested in the drama of the golden trio and however it pertained to him.

"Have you seen my self-righteous wife?" Draco asked Harry without a preamble.

"Isn't name calling the lowest form of wit," Harry joked.

This was new territory for them, and he was testing the waters. Before, they'd been enemies; after Draco's marriage to Hermione, they'd grown slowly into less hostile acquaintances-swaying between strained amiability and tolerated annoyances; after the Winter Solstice, and Draco's edict, they weren't friends but they weren't hostile either.

They were bonded, somehow. Beyond the oath that ran in Harry's blood for generations beforehand, beyond Hermione that seemed like the connecting string between them. It was a strange bond and Harry wasn't sure what to do with it but test the boundaries of it.

"Sarcasm, actually," Draco raised an eyebrow in that supercilious manner of his, and sniffed arrogantly. "But, to the point, if you will, Potter."

"She popped in a moment ago, but didn't say where she was going," Harry leaned forward on his forearms. "When are you going to tell her the truth? The whole truth?"

Draco pursed his lips. This wasn't why he stopped in, and he didn't care to have this conversation at all.

He responded in a clipped tone. "I'll tell her when she needs to know."

"She's going to find out on her own if you don't," Harry warned.

Draco sighed, because he knew there was wisdom in Harry's words-more truth than he wanted to admit to.

"I heard there was an incident at your place?"

"It's not mine-"

Draco cut him off with a pointed glance that clearly said he didn't give two fucks about Harry's emotions regarding his inheritance from Sirius Black.

"Not really," Harry sighed harshly. "Moody made a comment though. I didn't realize he knew."

"Assume everyone knows and no one does."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "How exactly does that make any sense?"

Draco shrugged, "It's the Slytherin way. If you have to assume that everyone knows and no one knows then you'll adjust the way you speak. The more ambiguous your words are, the less incriminating they'll be because only those who do know will actually know what the hell you're talking about, and those that don't will assume you're talking about something else."

"That sounds really exhausting."

"What's exhausting is trying to keep up with the moral whiplash of your best friend."

"I'm guessing you're fighting about the upcoming attack?"

"More like I'm saying that we need to mind our business, and she's throwing my prophecy in my face every ten seconds."

"But your prophecy does-"

"I suggest you stop while you're ahead, Potter." Draco glared.

"How long are you planning to bury your head in the sand?" Harry glared right back, and in moments like this, he remembered why he hated Draco so much for so long.

"I'm not burying my head, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes. If it wasn't Hermione coming at him, it was Harry fucking Potter, now it seemed. Draco truly wondered what the hell had happened to his life that he wasn't even surprised. "I'm choosing my battles. Not every battle is one you have to fight. And the Dark Lord attacking the Ministry? There is no chance that they're not aware it's coming. If they aren't willing to fight for themselves, for the oaths they took to protect our government and democracy, why in the bloody hell should I?"

Harry looked into Draco's eyes, and didn't understand how someone who could love Hermione the way Harry knew Draco did, who could give an edict to those beholden to the Malfoy name that would protect Harry against Voldemort and certain Death Eaters killing him simply because of the blood that ran through his veins, could also be one of the single-most selfish people he'd ever met.

"Because it's the right thing to do," Harry said firmly.

"If you think anyone but you and Granger care about doing the right thing," Draco shook his head. "Then you're more naive than I thought."

Draco turned around and left, but Harry couldn't shake the look of almost pity he'd seen in Draco's eyes.

---

The returning feast felt like a blur, but there was also something so sad about the fact that this would be one of the last times that she returned to Hogwarts on the train, the last time she'd see the lights of Hogwarts lighting up the night sky from afar.

Everything felt bittersweet, yet tainted because of the darkness surrounding them all. Even McGonnagall looked more haggard than usual sitting on Snape's left, and Hermione had been convinced that the woman's stoic composure was impenetrable.

Sitting in between Ron and Harry like she had from her first year, even before they were friends-it felt special somehow. It felt like a different type of coming home.

Ron patted her shoulder and she turned to look at him.

"It's going to be weird, not coming back," Ron voiced her thoughts.

She smiled and nodded. "I can't imagine a September when we're not riding the train here."

Harry bumped his shoulder against hers and smiled softly. "We'll get through it, though. Time makes most things better, right?"

"Do you truly believe that?"

"I have to. Hope is the only thing guiding me at this point."

Harry was joking but Hermione could see the truth in his eyes. She wasn't sure what he saw in hers, but he gave her such a sympathetic smile, that Hermione figured she seemed pretty pitiful.

The food was as fantastic as ever, but as the night winded down, and everyone rushed to their dorms, Hermione found herself flanked by Tilly and Pansy on the way to the dungeons. It was strange, and yet, Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on it. War did make the strangest of bedfellows, and that was true enough. But her and Pansy were barely amicable on the best of days. .

"How was your break?" Tilly asked amiably.

"It was okay, glad to be back though," Hermione answered warily. Something was off, she could feel it.

Tilly rambled in that excited manner of hers. "Okay? I wish I'd been able to attend the winter solstice. Your ascension! I heard it was magnificent!"

"I've never seen tears given as sacrifice," Pansy curled her lips in distaste.

"Appalled you had to actually show emotion for once?" Hermione rebutted dryly.

Despite the melancholy, this petty squabble with Pansy felt good, normal. But, the feeling disappeared as soon as it rose, because Pansy didn't react. Hermione could see the way she clenched her jaw so as to not react.

Since when did Pansy Parkinson hold her tongue? Hermione gave her a strange look, but tried to ignore it as Tilly rambled on about Blaise's overreaction to her going anywhere outside of the family grounds during Yuletide.

Hermione wasn't sure what seemed to be bothering her, but something felt strange. She was tense in a way that had nothing to do with the Carrow siblings roaming the halls, waiting to continue their terrorization.

"Is it just me or does something feel...different?" Hermione interrupted Tilly's non-stop chatter.

"Well, I suppose after your ascension, everything's different now, isn't it?" Pansy sniffed, her nose particularly high in the air.

Hermione didn't see at all how that was true, yet she saw it all too easily in her interactions with the Weasley family since the Winter Solstice. She felt a chill creep up her spine, but she steeled herself against it. Hermione could feel the echo of her conversation with Draco and her revelation that seemed too farfetched to be real.

"Everything's going to be different."

"Nothing is more different than it was before."

"No. Everything's completely different."

Hermione walked on silently towards the dungeons. Tilly and Pansy shared a look that wasn't quite concerned, but grated on Hermione nonetheless.

When they arrived at the Slytherin Dormitories, instead of heading straight to her married suite, Hermione sat in front of the fireplace. She gazed into the fire, wondering what she was supposed to do now.

Daphne sat across from her, silently assessing her. Pansy and Tilly spared them an inquisitive glance, but everyone was too tired to linger in the common room. As the glow of the fireplace kissed their skins, Daphne and Hermione let the silence settle between them.

They weren't friends, but they weren't particularly intimate enemies either, like Pansy and Hermione. Instead, they were impassive associates that shared a dispassionate and lukewarm reception to the other.

"How was your break?" Hermione asked casually, for the sake of being polite.

"I think most agree your ascension and the Winter Solstice was a highlight," Daphne took out what looked like a gold feminine cigarette box, which had rolls of Dirigible plum leaves.

"What are you doi–" Hermione started, but cut off when Daphne took one of the rolls out and placed it to her lips. Daphne switched her wand in a quick incendio movement, and the end of the rolled Dirigible plum leaves lit up. Hermione spluttered, "You can't smoke that!"

"Of course you can," Daphne said unconcerned. "Have you met Lovegood?"

"Wait–what?"

"You didn't think the girl was just naturally like that?"

Hermione stared at her dumbfounded. "Luna gets high?"

"I've never seen that girl not high," Daphne laughed huskily, as she leaned back, puffing smoke in the air. "I'm pretty sure the Lovegood grounds are one of two–perhaps three–places in all of England that grows Dirigible plum trees. She's got a lifetime supply for free. The rest of us have to pay a small fortune for a pound. The rates Ernie Macmillan charges are practically criminal."

Hermione genuinely didn't even know what to do with that information. She wondered if Harry knew, but then shook the thought away. Even if Harry didn't know, she wouldn't be the one to tell him, and if he did know, she wouldn't be the one to pass judgment on Luna or Ernie for apparently being Hogwarts resident drug dealer. Hermione cleaned Draco's blood soaked clothes on a constant basis–she had very little room to judge Luna or Ernie.

She felt so tense, especially after her blow out with Draco on the train, that she couldn't help but eye the little thin golden box.

"Want one?" Daphne offered indifferently.

Hermione hesitated. She wanted to say yes, but she also had never considered drugs as a remedy to anything before. She'd seen a few Hufflepuffs smoking mandrake leaves, but she wasn't sure what they were supposed to do.

"What's the difference between mandrake and Dirigible plum leaves?" Hermione asked curiously.

Daphne scoffed. "Please, mandrake is so mild that you just get a nice floating feeling for ten or fifteen minutes. A bit like you're floating in water. Dirigible plum leaves relax you while showing you the world from a different perspective for hours."

Hermione itched to try it, even just for educational purposes.

"What are the side effects?"

Daphne shrugged, clearly bored with the conversation. Hermione decided that one inhale wouldn't kill her to see what the fuss was about.

"I'd like to try it, but I don't need a whole one to myself," Hermione explained, but the look of sheer revulsion on Daphne's face at the idea of sharing made her regret her words immediately.

She'd never felt like a Mudblood before. Despite how many times Draco had called her a Mudblood, she'd never truly felt like one until this moment. The look of utter repugnance on Daphne's face was as if a toad had asked to kiss her; it was unfathomable at best and repulsive at worst.

But she couldn't take it back. Instead, she doubled down.

"C'mon, hand it over," she demanded and Daphne's hands outstretched instantly.

Daphne's eyes hardened, and Hermione couldn't really understand why if the girl had handed it over so willingly. Except it wasn't truly voluntary; once Hermione had given the command, the blood that flowed through Daphne's veins wouldn't let her disobey.

Hermione wrapped her lips around the makeshift cigar made of Dirigible plum leaves and took one deep inhale. Instantly, she began to cough, and passed the roll back to Daphne who took it gingerly, and set it aside. Hermione was too busy coughing to notice or care.

After the coughing fit, Hermione blinked and the world was a vision of purple, red, orange, and different blues. She saw lights that she hadn't known existed, and bubbles of blood full of baby snakes floating in the air.

"What the–" Hermione muttered as she looked at the world around her. Her body felt like it didn't belong to her, as though she were a trolly simply being pushed along–but she wasn't moving. She was still, on the couch, with the Dark Mark hovering over the common room fireplace languidly.

"Relaxed?" Daphne teased, but there was a hard edge that Hermione couldn't put a finger on.

"I'm never fully relaxed," she answered slowly. It was true, but she wasn't sure she'd meant to say that. She continued without really wanting to, but then again, she did want to. "Aren't you afraid of the war? For yourself and your future?"

Hermione pondered what Daphne was made of.

Daphne sneered, "Afraid? The last time I felt fear, my Lady, was when I was seven. True fear doesn't settle the same way as apprehension, or nervousness does. It creates a crack in you that never truly heals."

Hermione felt the same chill from earlier as she walked.

Am I not kind?

Am I not merciful?

"I see you've felt true fear before," Daphne's keen gaze caught what Hermione wished to hide forever.

"The Dark Lord is…" Hermione was at a loss for words. How could she describe a man that wasn't really a man at all?

"Yes, I suppose he is," Daphne smiled grimly. "Then again, Death Eaters in general are…too."

"Your father–"

"Was a Death Eater? Oh no. He never would have had the stomach for it. But his best friends were. His king was and is," Daphne chuckled darkly, and Hermione thought there was a touch of madness in the girl.

But then it struck her. His king was and is.

"Who was his king?" Hermione's eyes were wide with shock and fear. Wizarding Britain had a ministry, not a monarchy, and yet there was a truthful ring that coincided too much with the tidbits she'd received from Moody and Bellatrix.

"Lucius Malfoy," Daphne said with an innocent shrug, but there was a burgeoning malicious smile gracing her patrician features.

Hermione wanted to stand and walk away, but she also wanted to turn and ask her flat out. That was the thing about Daphne Greengrass, she took immense joy in the discomfort of others, but she was also the most apathetic person Hermione had ever met. The same way that Daphne could revel in the shock and horror of someone because it amused her, she could turn her back to chaos happening right in front of her simply because she felt that she wasn't involved.

Today, apparently, it amused Daphne to poke the new Queen who clearly hadn't realized or been told the extent of her reach and position yet. Especially after she'd abused her power so casually for a Dirigible plum leaf that she'd already been offered.

Hermione took a deep breath and stilled. "Who's the king now?"

Daphne raised an aristocratic eyebrow. "Who do you think?"

With that, Daphne gracefully stood and went up the staircase, leaving Hermione annoyed and gob smacked simultaneously. What in the hell was the purpose of that conversation? Well, perhaps there was no purpose–simply imminent amusement for Daphne and retribution on the clearly oblivious new Queen Malfoy.

Hermione stayed on the couch for another ten minutes, contemplating the ways the embers in the fireplace jumped and danced. Finally, though her body felt a little like jello, she stood and walked slowly up the stairs, staring at all the random shapes she could see clinging to the walls.

As Hermione walked into her and Draco's suite, she saw Draco, Theo, and Blaise lounging on the couches in front of the quaint fireplace, a glass of wizardian bourbon in each of their hands. Hermione didn't wish to disturb them, so she tried to quietly make her way towards the bedroom when her ears caught their conversation.

"Rossi's a coward, but he won't go against the Zabini family," Theo shrugged nonchalantly, though Hermione swore she saw a tiny creature that looked alot like a fairy entering his ear.

Malfoy leaned his forearms on his knees while a small pink toad with furry opposable thumbs tried to climb his head. "There's incentive for the Italian ministry to join the fray–remember Grindelwald?"

"If they don't join now they might not be given a choice later on," Zabini conceded.

"Even without that in play, you know as well as I do that your position will decide their position," Draco leaned back and the furry toad was dislodged.

Hermione's gaze locked with Draco's.

"Who's the king now?"

"Who do you think?"

In his eyes she saw a world that she couldn't decipher, even if she had a thousand years. She wondered if he saw the same in hers. But Draco raised his glass slightly to her as Theo prattled on about some ministry problem.

It was a silent recognition and understanding that they each fought Voldemort in their own way. The reassurance in his eyes made Hermione's heart burst, and in that moment she forgave him for everything he was, wasn't, would be and would never be.

---

That same night, as students reunited with friends after the Holidays, and the war seemed so far away, Minerva McGonagall walked tensely throughout the castle, the shadows looming more dangerously than ever before, Hogwarts seeming darker somehow as she patrolled the halls for any straggling students.

McGonagall kept touching her wrist as she walked the halls of Hogwarts, her small heels echoing off the walls. Every touch to the bracelet she wore was a reminder of her choices, her burdens, her constant state of imprisonment.

"You have a choice my dear-we always have choices," Voldemort had whispered to her, his lips close to her ear.

As she walked through Hogwarts, she didn't feel like she'd had much of a choice.

A hand latched on to her upper arm and turned her swiftly around. Snape's severe glower stared down at her, and McGonagall wanted to sneer at the audacity.

"Did you need something, Severus, or is accosting me during my rounds simply entertainment for the night?"

Severus pointedly looked at her wrist. "Is that what I think it is?"

Minerva sighed, and looked away. Not for the first time, Severus was reminded of her age, of how much life she had lived and had seen lived and snuffed out like candles in the wind. He dropped his hand, and they stood there in silence.

"What do you know?"

"I've heard the rumors," Severus treaded lightly. "As much as anyone in the inner circle who'd been part of the first war. I...also know where I've seen that bracelet before...who it belongs to."

"Surprised, Severus?" Minerva raised a condescending eyebrow. "That after all this time, he's still just a man driven by lust and obsession?"

Severus ignored her comment. He saw it for what it was: a distraction.

"I'll research-try to find out if it does anything besides what is common knowledge."

"It changes nothing," Minerva looked Severus in the eyes, and her strength struck something inside of him. It was the kind of obstinance that reminded him of Marietta.

"That changes everything," Snape shook his head.

"I am as trapped as I have always been by him," Minerva acknowledged haughtily, her nose high in the air and her lips pressed between a sneer and an unamused smile. "This is simply another way–another choice given by him. Either I took it willingly, wore it by choice and then only he can remove it–let him call me to him whenever he pleases through this bracelet–or refuse, and be locked up in a chamber until the end of the war to be tortured by his cruel affections. This bracelet is just another form of caging me, of tying me to him endlessly. This state of being is nothing new to me. The only question is…"

Minerva paused, and let the whistle of the slight breeze in the castle sing between them for a moment without interruption. She looked into Severus's eyes, and wondered what he was made of, that he could serve Voldemort, surely revere him to an extent, and yet hate him enough to betray him over and over again. She wondered if her and Severus were made of the same thing.

"Will you tell?" she asked quietly, but her eyes held the same haughtiness that always drove Severus crazy with aggravation during staff meetings, and which he was sure must've made her impossible to resist for a man like Lord Voldemort.

"Your secret is safe with me, Minerva," Severus bowed his head slightly.

Minerva scoffed, "You are not doing me any favors, Severus. This," she waved her wrist and repeated, "changes nothing."

It was a blatant lie, but it was all Minerva had to hold onto. Severus saw this, and thought of Marietta curled up on a sofa, waiting for him in their quaint house. He understood the desire to hold on to the impossible.

No one could live without hope. No one could survive this war without it.

And the truth of the matter was that Severus and Minerva: they were survivors.

---

February came faster than anyone had expected, with the hustle and bustle of classes, dodging the Carrows, and worrying about the current war at large. For some, February was like death chasing them, because the time to choose a wife was nigh.

"I'm running out of time," Ron groaned a week and a half before Valentine's Day; so close to cupid's day saw the giggling at an all time high, but so were their hungry gazes and smiles that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at the dramatics. Apparently, Luna was of a similar mind.

"You could just petition for Lavender," Luna mentioned helpfully. "I think I saw some Fufflenickles swirling around her head. They make people fall in love easily, did you know?"

Hermione nodded absentmindedly as she simultaneously did her homework, though it was a concerted effort to ignore Luna's talk of Fufflenickles-she was not going to let Luna's talk of imaginary magical beasts ruin her morning. (Even though she sort of understood where Luna got all those ideas after she'd tried smoking Dirigible plum leaves, Luna's casual talk of imaginary creatures still rankled. Possibly because the girl must have a constitution comparable to Hagrid to be smoking Dirigible plum leaves on a constant basis; Hermione had spent the following day bedridden, throwing up so violently that Draco had demanded she go to Madame Pomfrey to rule out pregnancy; finally, to have some peace Hermione had to admit that she'd tried the drug, and had vowed to never touch the damned thing ever again.) She refocused on the salient point in Luna's comment. "That's a fair idea, actually, about Lavender. You two do have history. It'll certainly make for an easier match, I'd think."

"Merlin, woman! There's a difference between good history and bad history!"

"Hmm," Luna interjected thoughtfully, and Hermione already knew Ron wouldn't be amused by whatever Luna said next. "Well, there's no law that explicitly says it must be a witch you marry."

Ron spilled his drink, and Hermione rolled her eyes again, exasperated at his dramatics and the mess he made.

"Really, Ronald" Hermione huffed as she tried to clean up the area.

"What kind of suggestion is that?!" Ron practically shouted. Men married men often enough in the wizarding world that no one batted an eye at such relationships, and Ron wasn't offended at the insinuation that he could be sexually interested in other men. But the suggestion that Ron would willingly give up his legacy, his chance at having blood born children was too much for him.

"It's one that gives you options, actually," Draco walked up behind them. He'd caught the tail end of the conversation, and though he wanted to tease Ron about not being the first born son, therefore not being duty bound to procreate in the name of the family, he knew that would be a bad move. Instead, he tried to be helpful without being cruel, which was genuinely a feat he thought deserved an award for.

Ron, Luna, and Hermione all turned to look at him with various emotions on their faces.

"The law says that we must marry someone of a different blood status, but they put the law together shabilly. There are glaring holes, and issues such as protecting one's lineage in matters more than just blood that aren't addressed," Draco shrugged.

"How does marrying someone of the same sex give him time?" Hermione asked curiously.

"It'll fulfill the basic requirement of the law-his marriage to a Halfblood or Muggleborn. But he cannot procreate with another man without supremely dark and illegal magic, and the law cannot require him to just abandon that desire to see his progeny in the world," Draco paused as an owl delivered some letters to him. He continued absentmindedly as he looked through the letters in his hand. " It's actually written into law from the early days of our government, I think. Any law that requires British Wizarding citizens to abandon their most basic instincts to procreate, to provide for themselves and their immediate family, and to protect their health is unjust and therefore automatically void. It's the reason why The Dark Lord's people can't just push a law that suddenly demands Muggleborns can't work in Wizarding Britain, or not marry at all, or reinstall some Muggleborn-only gladiator games."

"I'm still lost," Ron groaned.

"What are we talking about?" Harry appeared and sat down at the table with a curious glance.

"Law," Luna said airily as though that explained everything. Perhaps, high as she undoubtedly was (and Hermione was flabbergasted that she'd never noticed), it really did explain everything. Harry smiled softly at her, and it gave Hermione pause. Before, she was sure her heart would've clenched at the sight. Simply because it was clear that theirs was a love that was gentle, a kind of love that Hermione would never know. But, somehow, that piece of hers who'd desperately wished for something different between her and Draco was beginning to disappear.

She looked away, and caught Draco's eyes, which bore into her. They saw into her truth, and there might've been some guilt swirling in the depths of Draco's eyes. But she gave him a small reassuring smile that quietly told him there was no need for guilt, not for that. She loved him, even when she hated and criticized him. She still loved him.

"I'm running out of time to petition for a wife. If the end of the month comes and I haven't petitioned for anyone, I could be fined and sent to azkaban for rehabilitation," Ron shuddered. "Or worse, slotted into the Lottery pick for a wife, and who knows what kind of hideous girl I'd end up with!"

"Well, what about Lavender?" Harry tried to be helpful.

"Merlin! Not you too!" Ron threw his hands up in the air.

"There are other ways, Weasley," Draco drawled, ready to move on from this tedious conversation and go on his way.

Hermione turned to Ron, and tried to simplify Draco's law jargon. "Malfoy's suggesting that you find a wizard of a different blood status and marry them. Once you marry them, you can petition the court that you require a witch in your marriage in order to fulfil your basic desire to have natural born children. Once they say yes, you can take all the time you need to find a wife, and you don't need to limit yourself to half-bloods and muggleborns."

"Merlin's balls," Ron sat astounded for a moment. It was brilliant, and a wonderful way to get around the spirit of the marriage law, which brought Ron up short. He turned to Draco, and eyed him warily. "Why didn't you do this then? If it allowed you to keep your bloodline intact, why didn't you take this route?"

Draco huffed out a small laugh. "I can barely deal with the wife I've got. A marriage of two has me running up the walls, with how difficult Granger can be. I'd never last in a marriage of three. Plus, can't have any doubt of whose blood runs in that kid's veins."

Hermione gave an affronted screech, and Luna's laugh tinkled around them. Despite how much Ron disliked Draco, he nodded.

It was a subtle nod to the truth of who Draco Malfoy was-king-and who his child would one day be. There could be no doubt for him or for those beholden to his crown, and Merlin knew there were ways to trick parentage-dark, and forbidden ways. But, viable, and these ways weren't so lost in time that enough people didn't know it was an option. Once the doubt was there, it could never be removed, and a threat to the monarchy was a threat Draco wouldn't-couldn't-tolerate. But Ronald Weasley didn't have those boundaries. It was a door of hope kept ajar, giving him time, and Ron never thought he'd find hope in the advice of Draco Malfoy-the ferret.

Yet, he wasn't just the ferret anymore. He was his king, whether Ron liked it or not, and perhaps that was all this was. A king looking out for his subject.

Ron didn't know what to do with that so he looked down at his plate of food, completely oblivious to the fact that Draco had long since walked away.

Hermione was surely more than enough for one person. But perhaps, if Ron could find someone that was easy going, someone that was Hermione's complete opposite, they would leave enough space for someone else to join their marriage.

Yeah, Ron thought. This wasn't the worst idea, at all.

---

Later on that same day, Hermione was walking towards Advanced Arithmancy when Neville approached her with the biggest smile she'd ever seen on his face.

"What's got you smiling like Snape just got fired?" Hermione joked. Neville laughed, and swung his arm around a bit as though he was barely controlling the urge to hug her.

"You are!"

"Me?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't Harry or Ron," Neville continued to smile, but Hermione was getting more confused by the second.

"Neville, I'm about to be late for Arithmancy," Hermione said sternly. "Please make sense."

"I just want to thank you for petitioning the Wizengamot on my behalf to extend my time to find a wife," Neville's face was full of gratitude and relief. "I've been having one heck of a time trying to find someone, and add to that the pressure from Gran to step up as Head of House since Malfoy and Nott have already, and I think Zabini is stepping up in a couple of days officially–well, I was really in a bind. So thank you."

At that moment Hermione remembered the list of names she had to memorize at Draco's behest, and her own surprise at some of the names on the list–Neville Longbottom and Augusta Longbottom being among them.

She could've pressed the conversation, but she knew that Neville didn't know anything beyond what he'd just given her, so she smiled and pretended to be gracious.

"Of course, Neville."

Neville walked on with a clear spring in his step, and after a brief pause Hermione went on her way too.

She decided that unless she wanted to take up drinking consistently like Draco or smoking like Luna and Daphne, she needed to learn not to tackle certain things on some days and today–today Hermione Malfoy nee Granger just didn't have the energy for whatever argument would spring about from asking Draco about what Neville just told her.

Hermione had decided to officially take the week off to focus only on her studies. Except Neville's words kept nagging at the back of her head. A headache started to form as though there were tiny sledgehammers working on the back of her head. By the end of the day Hermione slipped into bed with such a pounding stress pain in her skull that she knew she wouldn't be able to let it go, but darkness swept her in its embrace in seconds.

The next morning, as Hermione walked out of the shower and began to get dressed, she broached the subject that had been persistently painful and worrying since yesterday.

"Why does Neville think that I petitioned the Wizengamot to extend his time to find a wife?" Hermione glared at Draco in the mirror.

"Because you did," Draco smirked smugly as he buttoned his black slacks.

Hermione felt the overwhelming urge to smack that self-satisfied look right off his face like she did in third year, but she couldn't find her favorite fluffy socks. "Unless someone has performed a strong enough memory charm on me, I guarantee you, I did not."

"Well," he shrugged nonchalantly as he ruffled through a draw. "You did, by proxy."

"What?"

"Me, I'm your proxy Granger because we're married. Do keep up."

Hermione grit her teeth and turned to stare at him. "Does this have to do with that list you gave me?"

The mornings were always a bit chaotic, but today was more so than usual, though Hermione wasn't sure why.

Draco didn't answer, and Hermione couldn't look away, though she was still half naked and was already running late for breakfast. "Neville's name was on that list."

"Glad to see you memorized it," Draco nodded as he went to grab his belt from on top of the chair by the closet.

Hermione huffed, but saw that she wasn't going to get anywhere on that. She decided to pivot on the other annoyance on her mind as she finished getting dressed. .

"Neville also mentioned that Blaise is becoming Head of House?" Hermione inquired snappily. She was irritated that Blaise was Draco's best friend, yet she'd had to find out from someone else.

"Yes, two days from now," Draco nodded absently, as he searched for some ministry paperwork he needed. "Where the bloody hell are the files for the proposal on changing access requirements to the Department of Ministries?"

"You put them in the closet the other day," Hermione walked around him to the drawer with the ties. "Said you didn't want to look at it for another month."

"I really shouldn't," he sighed harshly, but went to dig into the closet.

Hermione tried to refocus the conversation. "And Zabini?"

"He'll ascend to Head of House in two days. It's a dangerous call to do it now instead of after graduation, especially with Tilly pregnant, but we've all had to make tough choices." Draco nodded, and gave a shout of triumph as he found the paperwork. "Those bastards in the documentation department would've been supreme arseholes if I had to go in today and ask them to give me another copy. You'd think I was asking them to make the duplicate by quil instead of magic."

Hermione's hair was still wet from the shower, and they were both running late but she didn't want him to leave without having answered her questions–truly answered them.

"Draco," she said quietly and Draco stopped tying his tie.

He walked towards her and before she could say another word, he kissed her. His kisses were honey and bourbon, sweet and intoxicating in a way that would always be better than any drug. A throaty moan escaped him as her hands slid up his chest. Time meant nothing as their tongues fought for dominance, their souls danced to the beat of the other's heart, and if they weren't careful neither of them would get to class or the Ministry on time.

"Why won't you give me a straight answer, Draco?" Hermione asked when their lips parted.

Draco teased, "When has anything been that simple between us?"

"They don't have to be this hard, not if you don't make it so."

Draco bumped his nose against hers, and whispered "I love you," as though that fixed anything.

"I know," she gripped his triceps. "But loving each other means we stop hiding, but all you seem to do is hide."

"Am I the only one hiding?" Draco kissed her ear softly, and grabbed his tie that had fallen during their embrace.

Hermione wasn't sure how to answer that, and her silence was more telling than anything either of them could've said.

---

Three days later, The sky was bright as Harry walked to Hagrid's hut. He figured after the tense conversation he'd had with Remus and Hagrid over the break, he should make some amends.

"What's been going on over at the Malfoy Manor" Remus had asked casually over a cup of tea, but Harry had seen the glint in his eyes. Had remembered the way he'd asked without remorse for Harry to spy on Hermione.

He remembered the way his resolution to never betray his friendship the way the marauders had betrayed theirs.

"I don't know," Harry lied. He might not have been aware of every miniscule detail, but he definitely knew more than he let on. But all he could hear in his head is Charlie Weasley asking him "What do you think is the right thing to do?"

Harry still didn't know the answer, but he knew that it wasn't betraying his best friend, the light of his life.

After that blatant lie the conversation had devolved fairly quickly, with Hagrid inadvertently giving Remus the opening to try to guilt Harry. The guilt hadn't gone over well, particularly because his mediocre occlumency shields had failed him the night before and his emotions had been raw from being launched into Voldemort's mind full of love and rage simultaneously.

The dark hallway was alight with candles, illuminating a grimy dungeon that was full of shadows and sadness. In the corner was a figure shrouded in darkness, their features hidden by the dark.

But the fear was palpable in the air.

Voldemort's velvet voice echoed in the dungeon. "Have you made a choice?"

"What choice?" the voice croaked. They sounded familiar, but Harry couldn't quite place them, not when their voice was so hoarse and pain filled. "You have never given choices, not truly."

"All I have ever done is give you choices," Voldemort growled. The rage was building, but strangely, so was the love. "Today your choice is whether or not to wear the bracelet. I have never lied to you. You simply have always chosen wrong."

"There are no right choices, Tom," the voice said weakly. Their will was crumbling. Their resolve was weakening, but Harry couldn't do anything but watch, entranced at the way Voldemort saw so much beauty in such despair. "Not for us. The only right choice would have been if we had never loved each other."

Something stuttered in Voldemort's chest, and Harry realized too late that it was his heart as pain flooded him before the rage took over and Harry was pushed out of his mind.

That conversation had stayed with Harry, and he wondered what the Order truly knew about Voldemort and his past. This question haunted him constantly, even as he strolled towards Hagrid's hut, enjoying the cool air.

Hogwarts took to February with a regal snowfall that blanketed the land, and chilled everyone down to their bones. The castle and grounds looked beautiful, untouchable, impervious to the horrors of the world. But beauty didn't bring peace–instead, it brought a slow building chaos that grumbled to the beat of steps on concrete. Harry pondered on the burgeoning chaos when he saw Ginny's figure from a distance.

Ginny ran to him, waving the newspaper in her hand, a face full of hope. Harry remembered Luna's words to him during the break.

"People always long for a different river, a different waterfall, and wake up one day and wonder why they waited so long to drink from the stream they had," she smiled gently. "I think we can do better than that. I think the least we can do is try."

Sometimes, with Ginny's wild hair flowing in the wind like that–fire on the wind, Harry thought he could love her.

"Have you read this morning's newspaper?" Ginny gasped as she reached him. Harry shook his head. Before he could explain that he'd been too busy that morning to have a look at it yet, Ginny shoved it in his face.

Harry looked down, and his eyes went wide. "Is this real?"

"It's real."

Before Ginny could say anymore, Harry took off like lightning in the middle of a storm.

---

Meanwhile, Hermione was snapping at everything that moved. Beyond the fact that Draco hadn't given her any answers when she'd confronted him the other morning, she was beginning to feel like the whole world was mocking her behind her back.

Ginny had made one too many sarcastic and snide comments along the lines of "Yes, Queen Hermione" and "If the queen says so," that Hermione was ready to explode. She hadn't mentioned it to Draco, however, for a variety of reasons.

The largest reason was that Ginny was her friend, and she didn't want him turning his critical gaze on her–not when she wasn't sure what the outcome would be.

On top of that, Daphne had taken to constantly calling her "My Lady" with such a sarcastic tone that Hermione wasn't sure if she was referring to Hermione's lack of knowledge being the Lady of a Most Ancient and Noble House, or if she was hinting at something more–something that'd been hinted at before by others.

But it was this exact same doubt and confusion that spurred Hermione to stomp her way through Hogwarts after breakfast, beyond the common room, and caused her to barrel her way through her suite door.

"Merlin's sake," Draco frowned at her, his wand tight in his hand. It was clear that she'd startled him, but Hermione didn't really care. "Is there fiendfyre loose in the castle?"

"Of course not," Hermione ground out as she threw her belongings onto the nearest chair.

"Then why in Merlin have you come stomping in here like a raging hippogriff?"

"I've had it, Malfoy," Hermione said harshly.

Draco's frown deepened, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. "Had what exactly?"

"Had it with the secrets!" Hermione practically screeched. Her whole body vibrated with the intense need to lash out. "Everywhere I turn, I get the feeling that everyone knows more about my life than I do."

"You're being preposterous," Draco rolled his eyes, though he knew she wasn't wrong. He could think of many people who knew her biggest secret that she didn't know she had.

"Don't do that," Hermione walked up to him and poked him in the chest with an accusatory finger. "You think that I'm blind and deaf, Malfoy? You think that people call me the brightest witch of my generation because I need the ego boost?"

"Sure as shit doesn't help mitigate that ego, though, does it?" Draco snapped right back.

Fuck, he hadn't meant to go on the defensive, but it was the truth of their relationship: there was always this push and pull, this fire that burned so easily between them–too easily.

"What do you want from me?" Draco tried to move away, but Hermione didn't want any space between them.

"The truth," she pleaded, eyes searching his face for answers. "I just want the truth, Malfoy. Whatever that is."

"There are some truths that you're not ready for–"

"Bull and you know it!" Hermione pushed him away, but he quickly invaded her space again. "I'm ready for anything you throw at me. I'm not the problem here."

"You're right," Draco said quietly, and his quiet admission took the sails out of her anger and indignation. "You might be ready for whatever secrets I share, but I'm not ready to give them up."

Draco lifted his hand that bore the ring of House Malfoy and gently moved some wisps of hair from Hermione's face. She turned her face and kissed his palm; she kissed his palm because he was her husband, her love, her prisoner and warden simultaneously. He let her because it felt good to be worshiped sometimes, too.

The silence and his admission settled something between them for a moment.

"What am I doing wrong?" Hermione whispered achingly and Draco felt like a cad for making her doubt herself. "What can I do differently that would make you trust me?"

"I don't trust myself," he pulled his hand away, and there was enough self-loathing in his voice that Hermione almost recoiled. He turned from her, faced the fireplace that seemed to always be witness to their battles and burdens and continued. "I know you can be trusted, Granger. You're the epitome of trustworthy, but…a person's upbringing isn't some arbitrary thing that happens. It's a methodical process of indoctrination that isn't so easily broken. It's the reason why you hate everything about Voldemort whilst so many might dislike his methods and the thought of chaos, but don't disagree with his ideology."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I was raised to more than just hate you–hate is easy to overcome. I was raised to fear you, and somewhere inside of myself," Draco paused, unsure how to admit such a horrible truth to the love of his life.

"You do," Hermione finished for him, pain and despair clawing in her chest.

Her eyes welled with unshed tears, but she held them back. She wanted honesty. Perhaps not about this, but this was the root of everything. Draco feared her, and Hermione wasn't sure what to do with that. She felt as if her heart were breaking.

Draco turned back around at her whispered words, and he found himself dying to touch her, hug her, console her for everything he was and everything he could never be.

"Hermione," he started, but he wasn't sure what he could say that would salvage the broken pieces that laid between them.

"I love you so much," Hermione whispered brokenly, and Draco's restraint broke. His arms engulfed her tightly, and if he could he would've crushed her into him, bound her to him in a way that she could never escape him like diamonds seared into his skin.

"I know," he kissed the crown of her head as though he were kissing the clouds of heaven.

"There isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you," she continued into his chest; her words were sharp knives piercing into the very depths of him. "But no matter how many walls I break down between us you just put up more."

"I know, I know," he repeated as he held her tighter, because frankly, he wasn't sure what else to say. She was a hundred percent right, he just didn't know how to change what was so ingrained into him by pureblood society, his parents, the fabric of the world that enclosed him and propped him up. "I know that sorry isn't enough–"

Hermione tried to pull away at his words, but he wasn't letting her go. She knew it was futile to try further so she settled for tilting her head up and gave him a withering stare. "I don't need your sorry's Draco. I don't even need every secret you have hidden from me. I know that's expecting too much, asking for more than you'll probably ever be capable of giving me."

"So what are you asking for that I could give you?"

"A little piece," Hermione practically begged; her love had no pride, no arrogance or resentment. To her, love was hope carved into tiny colorful murals that together etched a likeness of him in kaleidoscope; it was a journey fueled by pain and hope that led to a life of purpose–purpose in one another, for the happiness of one another–so that even if darkness covered the entire galaxy, the only light they could still see was the love they shared. "Just a slice of what you share with Voldemort is all I'm asking for. A small sliver of what you give to him."

Though unspoken and unacknowledged, Hermione had intrinsically understood that Draco, like all Death Eaters, opened himself brutally to the mercy of Voldemort's gaze. She understood that there was a trust and acceptance between Dark Lord and Heir that he didn't have with her.; she never begrudged him that, even though it disturbed and pained her in equal measure. She never resented him for that because that was her expression of love–open, accepting (though she failed often), and guileless.

But to him, love was selfish and brutal; it was a tsunami that crashed into them mercilessly until their stripped bones were the only pieces of themselves left unshattered by the struggle; it wasn't a journey to share, but a marathon to endure filled with sweat, blood, and tears until the earth swallowed them whole into the darkness. To a Death Eater who revels in the suffering and blood, love could only ever be a burden to bear and impose.

Just a slice of what you share with Voldemort is all I'm asking for. A small sliver of what you give to him.

But Draco felt as though he gave everything to the Dark Lord, so what could be left for his wife. But perhaps for her, for the love of his life, he could try.

They were nose to nose, eyes clashing, souls meeting and breaking in a hurricane of love and pain when the door to their suite burst open.

"Potter, a closed door is typically a sign to not just enter someone's residence," Draco bit out.

Hermione glared at Draco's rudeness, but she knew that if they didn't finish hashing this out right then and there, they never would. She turned to Harry. "Could you give us a few minutes, Harry?"

"Sure, but," he took a deep breath, as though he were bracing himself. "Have you heard?"

"Heard what?" Hermione felt her heart speed up. There was a light in Harry's eyes that she couldn't place but made her smile in response.

"Zabini's taken an official stance against Voldemort."

"What?" Hermione whispered in shock.

Harry looked at Draco, and his smile was glorious. "The Zabini's practically control the Italian Ministry. If they're against Voldemort, then the whole damn country is."

"We're not alone anymore?" Hermione felt her heart in her ears.

"We're not alone anymore," Harry grinned so large, surely his cheeks would hurt later.

Hermione turned and locked eyes with Draco who leaned casually against the sofa.

"This is your doing," Hermione remembered the conversation she'd walked in on the first night back at Hogwarts after the break.

Draco shrugged, though there was a small smile gracing his lips. "Like I've said before, good things happen to those who wait."

"You've never said that."

"No, but I have said to be patient and pick your battles."

That was true, but Hermione didn't care to give him credit when she felt that his crimes often outweighed his triumphs. Nevertheless, she felt her chest expand with hope and her love for him unfurl in her stomach.

Draco watched the various emotions cross her face-felt the way her magic swayed in reaction to all that they were in any given moment.

Pick your battles, he'd told her and his words were a battle cry in his soul because he was always willing to fight for her when he considered them battles worth fighting. He wished, unbidden, for just a moment that for this she loved him a little more. (he knew she loved him, but he didn't care–he wanted her to love him more, desperately, until her entire being whispered his name on a loop that she could never escape; until her body returned to ashes and dust).

He wasn't sure she did, but he couldn't help the desperate love that forced him to feel such impotent hope.

He turned away from himself, from the emotions she called in him effortlessly, and locked eyes with Harry.

"I've done my part, Potter. The question is are you ready to do yours?"

Harry's stomach lurched, and his emerald eyes sparkled with the naive hope of a lost child that hadn't realized that the world would never grant a wish without taking something in return.

Everything has a price.

"I'm ready," Harry nodded, determination etched into the lines of his face.

---

Sooo, what do you guys think? Worth the wait or not really? Anywho, Love it? Hate it? Let me know and Review! **Reviews are love**