Disclaimer: Okay- firstly, if I was J.K. Rowling and I owned ANY of these characters (besides Kyle, Tamryn, Brini, Maxx, or Delilah) I would hope that I would be working on the sixth book right now, rather than taunting all of you with Draco/Hermione romance fics. (If I could buy Draco I most certainly would, or if I could just rent him for an evening, ha!)

"When love beckons to you follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions

May wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams

As the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you

so shall he crucify you.

Even as he is for your growth

So is he for your pruning." –The Prophet Gibran Khalil Gibran

CHAPTER FOUR

In which a door runs into Hermione and Draco makes indecent comments about quidditch...

September 20, 2003

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, please state your name and business..."

The interior of the dilapidated telephone booth was more than a little packed as Hermione laid the broken telephone gingerly back onto its cradle and maneuvered to find herself pressed against a cracked glass window.

"Draco Malfoy," Draco began, his knee was pressed into the small of Hermione's back and he was struggling to keep his balance on one foot. He wondered aloud how Hermione, Luna, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville had all fit inside in their fifth year.

"Visitor to the Ministry, please state your name and business," the cool female voice repeated.

"Alright, alright, keep your cool woman!" Draco spat at the telephone receiver, brushing a frustratingly rebellious strand of white-blonde hair from his forehead. "Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, our business is our- ."

"We're here to get married," Hermione interrupted.

"Thank you," the disembodied voice continued, "visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes." There was a click, a metallic rattling, and then two rectangular silver badges slid from the change shoot. Draco caught them smoothly in one hand and handed one to Hermione, who attached it promptly to the front of her robes. "Hermione Granger, Eloping" read the badge as it sparkled faintly in the dusty dawn sunlight. Draco looked at his appraisingly for a second before attaching it to his own chest.

Hermione was once again surprised to see he looked nervous... twice in two days she thought to herself, absent-mindedly fingering her own badge. "Visitor to the ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the atrium." The floor shook and the booth began to sink slowly into the pavement, metallic walls were rising up by their feet and then flying out over their heads into the gathering darkness. Hermione glimpsed a patch of graffiti reading "Yon Honder was here" in sloppy scrawl before the shaking compartment was filled with golden light that rolled over their feet and then up over their heads as the doors slid open like elevator grates onto a huge, sparkling atrium filled with the few morning workers who were running sleepily through the many dark-wood doors or tumbling reluctantly out of the magnificent silver fireplaces inlaid into the highly-polished walls.

Hermione stepped resolutely out into the hall and took off towards the visitors' desk, her sneakers squeaking slightly on the hardwood floor. Draco followed warily, jumping slightly every time another morning- dusted wizard fell out of a nearby fireplace. She paused at the fountain of magical brethren, snorting derisively at the smiling little house-elf and (Draco could have sworn) angrily kicking the little brass plaque before pounding off again down the hall, her legs moving like determined machinery as people ducked shyly out of her way.

"Hi, visiting?" a woman with a plastic smile and nails like crimson claws grinned through a caffeinated haze as Hermione approached. She didn't wait for an answer, "Oh! Getting hitched? You know my friend Georgia got married last May, or was it June? Yes, July. Anyway, she got married to this real bugger, you know the type, and now she's married to this prince named To—"

Draco cleared his throat loudly and she broke off, "Oh, right." The woman (a large badge on her peacock blue robes read 'Erica') giggled nervously and produced a long golden wand from her pocket. She stepped out from behind the desk and wove it half-heartedly over Hermione and then Draco, every once in a while saying things like "I'd like to get married someday…" or "My cousin Mary Anne..."

"Well, you're clear there," she finished cheerfully, swinging around back behind the desk and producing a golden instrument that looked a bit like a dangerously uneven scale. "If you'd just put your wand there." She beamed as Draco laid his wand on the golden dish she'd indicated. There was a long moment when the scale vibrated and then a short white receipt slid from the slit at the bottom and Erica ripped it off.

"Eleven-and-a-half inches, dragon's heart string core, yew, been in use ten years, is that right?" she asked, Draco nodded and she deposited the receipt on a pile of similar white paper before giving him back his wand. "Next." She beckoned Hermione forward and gestured to the golden scale.

Once again the instrument whirred before a short white strip of paper rolled from the inner sanctums of whatever went on inside that scale.

"Nine inches, hippogriff feather core, been in use ten years," Erica read. "Yes," Hermione confirmed, taking her wand and then leading Draco away from the desk.

"What is wrong with you?" Hermione exclaimed after he had once again swung his glare over the lobby. They stepped over the threshold and into the elevator, a few pink memos fluttering around the ceiling.

"Nothing..." he croaked, leaning lower into his knees.

"Don't lie to me," Hermione snapped, leaning into his shoulder, "something wrong and I'll be damned if I don't find out."

"I know that." He sneered, regaining a little of his composure.

"Then you might as well tell me." She grinned, absent-mindedly twirling her fingers in his hair.

"I might... and I might let you wriggle like a worm on a hook. You're very sexy when you're frustrated you know." He smirked.

"I am not!" She cuffed him playfully on the shoulder.

"Yes, you are, you bite your lip and become all flustered, I wouldn't be surprised if you could melt a whole Quidditch stadium when your flustered," he replied sarcastically. She instantly stood up straighter and stopped biting her lip, "I wouldn't do that to a Quidditch team," she muttered, blushing to the roots of her hair.

"Sure, you say that now…" He laughed "…but who knows what you'd do if dear old Malfoy was being this naughty on an actual Quidditch pitch, you might even shout."

"I wouldn't." She huffed.

"I am so sure."

"The atrium" the familiarly cool female voiced intoned unnecessarily, and the golden grille slid shut. There was a sudden lurch and the floor moved upwards with unnerving shakiness.

"Besides," she added after a moment, "if we were at a Quidditch match, we wouldn't be on the pitch anyway."

"Department of Mysteries," the female voice stated, Hermione glimpsed the nondescript concrete hall that had haunted her nightmares for years (though not so frequently anymore) before the grille slid shut again and the lift carried them further upwards.

"We should go to a Quidditch game sometime," he replied, ignoring her grimace as they headed away from level nine.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Yes, we should go see the Cannons, that's where Weasel's working now isn't it?"

"Draco!"

"Right, sorry."

"No you're not," she snapped. She rolled her eyes and stopped twirling his hair around her fingers.

"Level ten, Department of Local Magical Representation, encompassing the Minister of Magic's office, Local Magical Law Enforcement Headquarters, Department of Local Trade, House of Records, Registry of Lawyers, and the Department of Magical Argumentation." They stepped off of the lift together, this floor was decidedly less crowded than the others, though all that they could see of it was the room that they now stood in, which was empty except for a batty-looking old woman writing steadily behind a polished wooden desk. She didn't look up as they approached.

"Er..." Draco nervously intertwined his fingers into Hermione's, the woman looked up.

"Oh!" she seemed to not have noticed them before and now lifted a small mirror off the desk, fixing her wispy white hair as best she could before turning back to them. "Yes?" she asked, blinking up at them from her.

"Er..." Draco repeated, scratching his temple nervously and once again unnecessarily scanning the empty room, as though looking for someone.

"We're here to get married," Hermione answered, eyeing him worriedly, he was looking very pale- even for him.

"Oh! How nice." The woman smiled congenially, "Do you need any help?"

"Yes." Hermione returned the slightly creepy smile and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "We've never done this before… er... where do we go?"

The woman chuckled and ducked into a lower desk drawer, surfacing a moment later with a thick packet of professional-looking papers.

"Here" She turned held out the papers. Hermione took them warily; they were surprisingly heavy. "Fill these out and then head down to the Minister of Magic's office." Hermione nodded distractedly and made her way over to an avocado green couch. She moved aside one of the knobby pillows and sat down, beckoning for Draco to join her, he did.

"How are we going to do all that and still expect to get married today," he moaned, still glancing nervously around the room. She ignored him and, brandishing her wand, pointed it purposefully at the packet.

"Emendate Obloquor" she muttered and the first line, which had previously read "Bride name: last, first middle" and then a long, glaring blank read "Bride name: last, first middle Granger, Hermione Jane". The rest of the packet quickly followed suit and filled itself in as well.

"That's handy." He nodded approval as Hermione pocketed the papers and rose again to her feet, stretching as though she'd been sitting much longer than she actually had. This was mostly for show; you could never be sure what was legal inside ministry walls. He followed her, doubling around for a quick sweep of the room ("What is wrong with you!" she asked again) before hastening down the hall after her, almost slamming into her when she came to a sudden halt fifteen paces from a ornately carved wooden door.

"Wait..." She seemed to be thinking furiously before she drew the forms out of her pocket, unrolling them as she went. "Marriage License and Ceremony Form" she read, "To be given to the Minister of Magic..." She swallowed, her lips pursed rigidly. She stood perfectly still, most likely to balance the rampant, screaming sirens that were exploding in her head like so many Technicolor fireworks. Draco had held out a strong, steel-like grip onto her shoulder before she had even turned around.

"We don't have to do this..." he whispered hoarsely, "but he's going to find out eventually." Hermione stiffened, why did he know her so well?

"He won't do it."

"You don't know that, he could let us in then do it then let us out, he might not pass us a glance, you never know." He loosened his grip. She swallowed again.

"He could."

"He could." She had turned around so that they were facing, and he was looking directly into her eyes as he spoke— "so are we gonna do this?". It wasn't a question, not really, and so she didn't answer. She merely turned around and continued down the hall; a bit slower than before, but with no less an air of confidence. He followed languidly, humming a wedding march as he went.

"Stop that," she snapped; he suppressed a smile and continued silently after her, though the organ was still playing along in both their heads.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He placed a hand on the small of her back; she had frozen before the Minister's door, her hand hovering inches from the doorknob. She nodded, grabbed the doorknob, twisted- perhaps more forcefully than she'd intended- and pulled, though the force that sent her flying backwards was caused by two people standing on the other side, who threw the door wide open and sent Hermione flying against the wall.

"Oh my god! Granger, are you okay!" the blurred and stretched face of Pansy Parkinson swam in front of Hermione's face. Hermione groaned and covered her eyes against the harsh lights that were growing in her blurred vision.

"Pansy?" she croaked, "What are you doing here?". She had a vague memory of someone shouting "Pansy Parkinson... run the other way," but it echoed and died and then someone was helping her onto her feet.

"I've gotten married Hermione! Isn't that great!" she squealed. Hermione's quickly gathering conscience registered that Pansy reeked of alcohol, and that a tall, dark haired man was stroking her hair. "Oh, I know it's a shock." She shrugged, grinning up at the unknown man, who was at least two heads taller than her.

Hermione merely squinted at them, her vision was quickly clearing but Pansy was still looking a bit wobbly.

"So what are you here for?" Pansy's diabolically sweet voice echoed in Hermione's head.

"Huh?" she suddenly didn't have the slightest idea what she was doing there...

"We're getting married." She turned to face Draco- oh, right. Draco, that's why she was there.

Pansy tried to repress a gasp, but too late, it had escaped and a disobedient hand had flown to her mouth.

"W-well... that's nice..." She was tugging at the hand of her new husband, who was staring stupidly up at the ceiling. "Come on!" She grabbed his hand and bolted down the hall, her stiletto heels clicking along the hardwood floors.

"Oh bugger!" Draco slapped his forehead and leaned against a nearby wall, "bugger bugger bugger!" He clenched his teeth as though waiting to be hit.

"What?" Hermione leaned into the wall next to him. He looked terrified.

"She's seen us, she knows," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

"So what! It's Pansy Draco, Pansy. Pansy Parkinson."

"I don't care that she's Pansy. She's a Parkinson. Her daddy was as much a death eater as mine. Granger, she knows," he hissed angrily.

"What does she know?" She stroked his hair soothingly, though she really wasn't sure she wanted to know what was troubling him.

"She knows we're here. Which means that he—"

"DRACO LUCIFER MALFOY!" a voice from the end of the hallway roared, Hermione whirled around. Lucius Malfoy was storming down the hallway towards them, and Hermione would not have been surprised if the lights flickered and died in his wake. As it were they did not.

"Yes father?" Draco whispered hoarsely, he hadn't opened his eyes yet and so managed to look calm as he leaned against the wall.

"I heard a rumor about you," Lucius reached out and grabbed Draco by the earlobe, dragging him across the hall and away from Hermione, where they hissed vehemently at each other for a minute or so before Draco jumped back and drew his wand.

"How dare you! How... how, you, how..." he spat. "You vile... you evil... you damned... you bloody... you... you..." he seemed to be debating over whether or not he ought to send a powerful curse at his unarmed father.

"I forbid it!" Lucius roared.

"You can't control me!"

"I'll cut you out of the will!"

"I'll cut you out of existence!" "Draco Lucif—"

"Don't you go using my full name on me, I'm not fourteen anymore!"

"Clearly, at least when you were fourteen you knew a little about respecting your elders."

"Did I?"

"I... I forbid it!" Lucius repeated.

"You can't!"

"Yes I can, you are a MALFOY and I am your FATHER. If you go through with this wedding… I'll…"

"If I marry her what?" Draco spat, and for a second Lucius was taken aback. Clearly he was not interrupted often, if ever.

"If you marry her I will personally drag you by your precious hair through Palais de Malfoi for the very last time, and I will personally rip out your intestines and hang you from the tallest tower, leaving you in agony to die after hours of hanging by your insides..." he hissed with an air of practiced menace and intimidation.

"You've been threatening to do that since I had hair enough to drag," Draco retorted cooly, though he took a noticeably large step backwards and his stomach seemed to clench- though only Hermione would notice that.

"And I have yet to have had an opportunity quite so opportune," Lucius replied, noticeably drawing himself up to his full height, which was still at least three-inches higher than Draco. "I must admit," he continued, "it would be interesting to see how long that ancient gargoyle might hold up, but what a waste of a perfectly good molding."

"Indeed," Draco took another step back towards Hermione.

"And so, you see, I can forbid it, or at least... prevent it happening in a whole host of ways." He sneered.

"You can't control me!" Draco repeated, but he was faltering... he was running out of fuel.

"If you're going to act like you're sixteen I'll treat you like you're sixteen. And a sixteen-year-old is very easily manipulated." Lucius was grinning wickedly; Hermione's fingers were itching to slap that cocky smirk off of his face...

"Well..." Soon they were going to start shouting again- and then the Minister would come out. That could only make things worse...

A geyser of words welled up inside Hermione; she was going to start shouting as well. No, she had to keep her cool... Draco ought to have kept his; and why couldn't he? Why did she have to stay calm? She was the one being insulted, why couldn't he break up the fight? It was his father. Even inside her head she sounded stupid.

There was only one thing for it... though Hermione hadn't intended on saying it, ever, until after they were married... but this seemed a dire situation enough, yes. She was going to have to do it.

"Stop!" she screamed, her voice echoing forebodingly in the narrow hall. There was no going back now- "I'm pregnant!"