Hermione picked up her mobile. Never before had she needed to have the device constantly on her person, but she'd promised her friend to answer any and all concerns, day or night.

"You're famous," Sasha stated bluntly when Hermione answered. "You're a war heroine."

"One of many."

She'd fielded a call every night this week from Sasha. It seemed the other woman would spend her day reading some of the materials Hermione gave her, then would call Hermione in the evening with all the questions she'd stored up as she took in more information.

"Nice try, Hermione," said Sasha flatly. "But you helped end a war. You and two of your friends."

Hermione scowled into her mobile. "That's a massive oversimplification, but it unfortunately means I do attract rather a lot of attention in the wizarding public."

"Right, like I said," chuckled Sasha. "You're famous."

The first night's line of questioning began with the second wizarding war and the Battle of Hogwarts. Each night carried a different theme as Sasha studied the different facets of recent and ancient magical history.

The third night's topic was blood hierarchy.

"This pureblood shite… is this actually real? People really believe all this? This is barking, truly."

"Very real," Hermione affirmed sadly.

"I'm… I'm tired of this. Theo and I… we've already had the hard conversations about skin color but I just…" she sighed and seemed to hesitate before asking, "How did you and Draco move past the blood issue?"

Her question caught Hermione off guard and stunned her silent for a moment.

"I read about his family too," confessed Sasha. "I know why he and Theo are friends."

"We've talked about it," divulged Hermione. "At length. You should do the same with Theo if you're up to it. It takes a lot of mental and emotional fortitude to overcome that type of brainwashing, but if you allow Theo to tell you his story, you can decide for yourself if that's enough for you."

The fifth night's topic was magical genealogy and inheritance of abilities.

"If we have kids will they be like Theo?"

"You won't know until they're about 6 or a little older. It's impossible to know until they begin having instances of accidental magic and it won't be officially confirmed until they receive their Hogwarts letter."

"And if they're Muggle?"

"Then they will live just as fulfilling a life as their own mother," Hermione stated firmly. Sasha didn't respond for a few moments. "Thank you, Hermione."

On the sixth evening, Sasha called with a confession.

"I caved and called Theo. I wanted to hear it from him that… that being a Muggle doesn't matter to him. That he wanted me for me. That I'm not a rebellious phase or a fetish or a social experiment or… or… just a way to prove his horrible dad wrong. I wanted to know if we had kids and they didn't have magic… that he'd love them just the same. That it didn't matter if my blood or their blood wasn't 'pure.'"

"What did he say?"

"He said… well he said a lot of things… but he told me, 'You are pure in all the ways that truly matter.'"

Hermione thought she heard a quiet sniffle as Sasha said goodbye and hung up.

On the eighth night, Sasha called with a statement.

"I want to do it. I want to marry Theo. The first available slot at your Ministry."

While Hermione felt beyond relieved that some happiness could be wrung from this harrowing situation, the week-long stint as a de facto Muggle Liaison Officer and pseudo relationship therapist had run her ragged.

She'd handled the heavy daily conversations with Sasha, anxious few Floo calls from a concerned Theo, several messages from Harry and Ginny about visiting baby James, double date night requests from Charlie and Oliver, a new project in her department on werewolf legislation, a letter from Headmistress McGonagall with questions about volunteers for the launch of the orientation portion of her fund at Hogwarts, and Padma wanted her at the fitting for her wedding robes, and… Hermione. Was. Exhausted.

Not to mention the constant whinging in written form courtesy of Draco and their two-way journals.

I know I owe Theo an awful lot, but this type of moping is rather extreme.

How unethical are unsolicited Cheering Charms?

What about Draught of Living Death? Just until this is resolved?

Theo is driving me mad with all this sad Muggle music he insists on playing day and night. I'm going to blast his stupid device thing to bits.

Granger. Please. Come over tonight. Please love.

Theo isn't going to mind, we'll be quiet and cast a Silencing Charm or eighty.

I miss you. I love you. I miss every part of you, please for the love of Merlin come see me tonight.

Of course I'm being a good friend! I've yet to hex his mouth shut even though he won't stop harping on about all the ways he cannot live without his girlfriend. He's honestly hopeless. Now are you coming over tonight or not?

It's not rubbing his nose in our relationship if he doesn't know it's happening.

I do not strut about with a stupid self-satisfied smirk on my face after we shag, don't be ridiculous.

I really hate sleeping without you, you know. I love you.

You absolutely do hog all the blankets, you're rather rubbish at sharing.

All right, I take it back, please please please let me have you tonight. I love you.

I'd be so good to you Granger. I know you miss me too. I know you miss my tongue all over your gorgeous cunt. I know you miss my cock inside you. I know you read this message and are probably very, very wet for me right now. I want to hear all those pretty little noises you make when you come. Fuck, I miss you coming all over my fingers, my face, my cock.

Damn it Granger, my balls have been blue this whole bloody week, and I don't care how many scones you ply me with each morning. I. Need. To. Fuck. You.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his theatrics even if it simultaneously amused and aroused her to be needed in this way.

She felt the strain now, more than ever, from being pulled in so many different directions both physically and emotionally. Still, she couldn't deny the thrill it gave her when Draco stepped through her Floo the day after Theo reunited with Sasha and dramatically announced, "Longest bloody week of my life."

He dragged her to bed and made good on all his salacious written promises.

April 2009

In a cramped Ministry office on a Tuesday morning, Hermione dabbed at her eyes with a monogrammed hand kerchief as Theo and Sasha were wed by a bonding official.

They arrived at the Ministry together, flushed and nervous but with barely contained excitement etched on their smiling faces. Sasha's head turned this way and that, keenly interested in the casual, every day magic around her at the Ministry, as opposed to fearful of its unnaturalness.

Though the flying memos and people in robes with wands fascinated her, it would only be for a few moments before her gaze reverted back to Theo; her intended husband more wondrous to her than the world of magic she'd only just discovered.

Draco may have rolled his eyes and called her a "meddlesome little thing" but the rushed aspect of the marriage rankled Hermione and so, in an effort to make the event special, she'd roped in a few guests available on short notice to witness the brief ceremony.

Despite Draco's surly thoughts on the matter, Theo seemed sincerely touched that Harry, Ginny with baby James, Ron, Astoria, and Dennis waited inside the drab office with the bonding official.

And as James Potter made occasional gurgling noises and several of the room's occupants stifled sniffles (specifically Hermione and Astoria, and though he'd deny it later, she heard some suspicious sounds from Ron), Theo and Sasha became husband and wife.

From beginning to end, the entire process took all of ten minutes, but to the newly wedded couple, their joyous expressions signified that this was the most momentous ten minutes of their lives. The happy pair profusely thanked everyone who took time out of their work day to bear witness, and Draco offered to foot the bill for a wedding brunch. Ron immediately changed his tune about returning to the joke shop straight away.

Hermione regarded the entire assembled group fondly; an odd mix of backgrounds and social classes sharing a meal and celebrating an unlikely union.

Astoria had Sasha in stitches as she confessed to all the horrible society events Theo had taken her to over the past year while they both conducted their fake courtship scheme and Hermione could tell the two women were well on their way to becoming fast friends. She'd never seen Theo smile so much.

Two weeks later and the smile still seemed a permanent fixture on Theo's once serious face. The Notts returned from their Moroccan honeymoon as blissful newlyweds and Theo delighted in being the scandalous talk of wizarding society. A flurry of quills raced to dedicate as much print space as possible to the saga of one of the former most eligible and wealthiest pureblood bachelors in Britain and his new Muggle wife.

"You're a trendsetter," he smugly informed Draco over lunch one weekend. "First your relationship inspires the young Greengrass heiress to run off with her secret, Muggleborn beau, next you encourage your childhood friend and fellow Sacred-Twenty Eight member to wed a Muggle. Where will you lead this rebellious contingent of purebloods next Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco scowled in response. "I hardly think it's appropriate to refer to myself and Granger as a trend."

"Hmm, true, that is rather offensive, despite what my dear mother would say on the subject. Which, as it turns out, is an awful lot for someone who claims to never want to speak with me again, and yet the letters keep arriving. And speaking of mothers, yours sent us a rather lovely set of crystal champagne flutes with her well-wishes."

Draco shared a surprised look with Hermione as she wondered if she'd ever be able to puzzle out the motives and actions of Narcissa Malfoy.

Some days, Draco missed the time in his life when only he and Hermione were privy to their relationship, despite the lovely feeling of the world at large knowing she'd chosen him.

Hermione's parents had changed their tune about him, but that also meant they wanted more time together. Narcissa required their attendance at her dinner table or for afternoon tea regularly. Draco was often dragged to the Burrow for Sunday meals. They'd already had a couple stilted, yet pleasant, teas with Andromeda. To say nothing of her (all right, fine, their) friends who also insisted on a slice of time.

Hermione was wont to cave to these social demands, and Draco was wont to follow wherever she led, which is how he found himself as the sole representative of Slytherin house in their current setting.

It was a rather boisterous Friday evening at the Hog's Head, as fifteen or so of their Hogwarts classmates had taken over the back half of the pub, much to Aberforth's chagrin, even if they collectively bought a whole lot of alcohol.

Many of the assembled group had tears of laughter rolling down their faces, as Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas regaled them with their latest drunken adventure and mishap at a Muggle tattoo parlour.

Seamus rolled up his shirt sleeve to show off his recently acquired body ink: an oddly misshapen gray hippopotamus.

"He kept shouting 'a hippogriff, I want a hippogriff mate!' at this poor Muggle bloke, but we were so far gone he assumed this git wanted a hippopotamus," recalled Dean.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste as she regarded Seamus's arm. "Why's it so blurry and faded? I thought you said this was a new tattoo!"

Seamus looked puzzled at her question. "Plain ink, innit? If you've got magical blood in your veins it won't take quite right without the right spellwork. Me cousin owns a magical tat place so I'm having him fix the shape and colorin' for me. Better him than sittin' through rounds of Muggle laser removal, seems right painful!"

Hermione nodded thoughtfully and sat back in her seat as chatter resumed around her. Draco, usually quiet and reserved during these nights out anyway, contented himself with observing her. The "I'm having a rather brilliant thought and must think this through every angle possible" look occupied her face and Draco knew it was only a matter of time before she shared it aloud.

She'd now reached the frantic muttering stage.

"No… no surely not… unless he wanted a guarantee, an absolute guarantee it wouldn't ever go away… massively hypocritical… borderline brilliant, to be honest… still, it's disgustingly evil… but why…?"

She looked swiftly at Draco, then grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him to standing.

"We've got to go. Ron, is Harry home?"

"He has a newborn, Hermione, he's only ever home," Ron lamented wryly and Padma swatted his arm.

"Great, thanks," she muttered distractedly and pulled a confused Draco through the Floo back to his library.

She conjured her otter Patronus. "Take this message to Harry Potter, please: 'Hi Harry, please meet me in Malfoy's library as soon as possible. Not an emergency, but an urgent question.'"

Hermione then took off for the towering shelves of books while Draco stood confused in front of the fireplace.

"Granger, what are you—?"

"How was the Dark Mark branded on your arm?" she questioned brusquely from her place amongst the stacks.

Draco's mouth snapped shut and he clamped a hand reflexively over his sleeve-covered arm.

"I beg your pardon?"

She returned to his desk carrying an impressive armful of tomes. She opened one on spells used in ritualistic markings and carvings, tracing a finger along the table of contents. "Your Mark. What was the ceremony like? Which spells did Voldemort use?"

She buried her head in the book while Draco stared at the top of her hair. His grip twitched on his arm.

"Oh it was a right laugh," he growled bitterly. Hermione's head snapped up at his tone. "Yes, quite a fond memory, Granger, would you like to hear the happy tale?"

Her face fell immediately. "I—I wasn't thinking, I just… I'm sorry, this has all been rather insensitive of me."

She abandoned her pile of research and approached him. She laid a hand on top of the one covering his arm and offered contrite eyes. "Forgive me, please. Will you let me see it? I think I've had an idea."

He clenched his jaw and looked away, the goodness in her eyes unbearable to him in the moment. Draco felt her unbutton his cuff and roll his sleeve to his elbow, then the brush of her fingertips as she caressed the skin of his forearm.

"Unbelievable that he thought to… and no one would have known… the implication alone would have been ludicrous…" she murmured to herself.

Potter chose that moment to stroll through the Floo, his eyes widening behind his glasses at the odd scene before him. Draco realized then why she'd thought to call her friend: the leading living expert on the twisted inner machinations of the Dark Lord's mind.

"Erm, hi. What's going on?"

Hermione dropped Draco's arm. "Harry! Listen, I've had an idea. Do you remember all those awful tattoos Sirius had? They were all from Muggle places, weren't they?"

"Course I do," chortled Harry. "And yes, he quite proudly found the shoddiest Muggle tattoo parlours just to further piss off his parents."

"I think Voldemort used non-magical ink as part of the Dark Mark ceremony."

Silence fell once she'd voiced this theory and Harry threw an uneasy glance at Draco, who answered him with a challenging glare.

"Erm… like just regular ink you mean? What's the difference?"

She bounded over to the desk and flicked through a few of the books. "Obviously I don't have any tattoos, but Seamus mentioned that without the proper spellwork, something about the magic in our blood doesn't allow for just any ink to remain. I found a few books that confirms he's right: wizarding artists will add a few elements with magical properties to the ink prior to either needling or branding with a wand, and then they've got to perform a complicated combination of transfiguration and charms as the ink flows for the rendering to become the desired design. It's really quite fascinating and I'd love to watch a magical tattoo artist at some point to see how it's done."

She paused for breath and slid a book towards Potter.

"Now, in regards to the Dark Mark, I've found the spell for ritualistic marks, as well as the imbued charm for Summoning and Apparition. The glowing of red or black is a simple enough feature, but the Apparition feature he used to summon his followers to his exact location is fantastically complex and more than a bit Dark. However… ah! Here it is!"

She walked quickly around the desk and shoved another text under Harry's nose. "Read this passage there. Do you see? That's why Sirius's tattoos looked so blurry and why Draco's Mark never fully faded even though Voldemort died. If you want the ordinary ink removed, you have to resort to the 'barbaric' methods of Muggles."

Harry looked up at her and blinked after a few long moments.

"Of course… and his followers would never know… because they'd be ignorant to Muggle methods, or would claim to be anyway."

"Precisely! The magic in the Mark died with Voldemort, but remember in Fourth Year when Professor Snape said it was back and growing stronger? Because Voldemort hadn't truly died yet thanks to his horcruxes. The Mark was tied to Voldemort's magical core and life force but now, with that completely gone, the tattoos should have been removable by basic magical methods. Which means his sick mind thought of a way to ensure his followers would always bear his Mark lest they wish to commit a blasphemous act against his teachings."

Harry nodded as he read further along in the book in his hands. "And so in keeping with his way of preaching blood supremacy while simultaneously defying it."

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "Those last few years when your visions of him were strongest… did you ever see a Death Eater initiation ceremony?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Never saw one of those, but I imagine it—"

"There was a spell. Similar to Morsmordre. Then a lengthy incantation from his hissing mouth and a Vow element to it on my end, but I can't recall the exact phrases because after he'd dipped his wand in some ink and placed it to my skin I thought I was going to die because it burned so badly."

It came out of his mouth harsh and acidic and louder than he intended and Harry and Hermione both jumped and snapped their heads in his direction.

"Now if you two have quite finished discussing one of the worst things to ever happen to me as if I'm not standing mere feet from you, perhaps you'd like my insight? The one carrying this permanent shame on his arm?" Draco thrust his arm towards them, seething in a mixture of anger, guilt, and a familiar prickle of envy.

He'd felt as if he were back at Hogwarts, in the library with the useless forms of Crabbe and Goyle by his side while he watched Potter, Granger, and Weasley out of the corner of his eye. They'd be a few tables away, quite ignorant to his glare, the three of them chattering away or plotting an exciting bout of rule-breaking and looking so Merlin-damned happy in the presence of one another that it made his lip curl as his heart secretly ached.

"Malfoy, sorry, I didn't mean—"

Potter came to his senses first but Draco cut him off.

"And I'll thank the two of you not to waste your time and mine. Don't you think I've tried everything short of chopping off my own arm?"

He didn't add that when he used to get high on certain potions he'd even gone so far as to dabble in some questionable Transfiguration.

"Draco," Hermione piped up. "Seamus gave me the idea and I called Harry over just to confirm my theory. We can remove the rest of your Mark if you go through one of the standard Muggle processes for tattoo removal." She gestured to his arm. "It's the one step no one would have considered and Voldemort counted on that. He wouldn't have thought any of his followers capable of lowering themselves to using Muggle means to remove it."

Draco stared back at her and opened and closed his mouth several times. All those long nights he'd cradled his arm and glared at the besmirched skin. All the research into theoretical potions and glamours and skin-altering charms. He swallowed the combination of hope and misery that lodged in his throat.

"I can… we can… get rid of it? You won't have to see it anymore… when you look at me?" He voiced desperately.

Hermione's eyes shone and she turned briskly to Harry with a dismissal. "Thanks Harry, for your help."

Potter, astute enough to recognize the emotional turn in the conversation, nodded at the both of them before taking his leave.

"Draco," Hermione approached him slowly. "I need to make something very clear. I love you. I will love you with the remains of that Mark on your arm. I realize now my… rashness may have come across poorly."

She came to a stop in front of him and took his hand with a gentle squeeze. "I love the man you are today and I will love that man tomorrow, bare forearm or not. I simply wanted you, for once, to have the choice. It's your body."

Marry me.

The thought burned right through his brain, cried out in his heart, and imprinted onto his soul.

She stared right fucking through him with those brown eyes as she patiently waited for him to form any sort of response. She probably assumed he needed time to work through some complicated emotions about using Muggle methods to remove his Mark, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Because of course he'd get rid of it. He'd walk through fucking Fiendfyre if it meant erasing the horrifying brand from his skin. Of course, removing it wouldn't come close to atoning or erasing all the horrible awful sins of his past, but gods, if he didn't have to suffer a panic attack every time he even thought about removing his shirt, then he'd jump at this small modicum of absolution.

And fuck, the glorious way she'd phrased it. "I simply wanted you, for once, to have the choice. It's your body."

Marry me.

Draco sucked in a breath. "When can we start?"

With his simple acquiescence, she squared her shoulders and started prattling about researching proper outpatient facilities and the types of aftercare he'd need; throwing around odd words like "dermatologists," "laser surgery," and "anesthesia."

But Draco barely heard a word.

That beautiful, wondrous, haunting vision that allowed him to conjure a corporeal Patronus always liked to lurk just at the edge of his mind, and only with practiced Occlumency could he ever fully suppress it.

Oh but it flew free now. It ran rampant across his vision and he could only nod mutely and agree with whatever Granger said because he was on another planet.

A white dress, a wide smile. Hermione's hand clasped in his as some faceless bonding official waved a wand around and declared them bonded for life.

Tattoo removal will take about anywhere from six months to a year over multiple sessions, Granger stated, poring over another book, and he'd need weeks of recovery in between sessions.

A year. He can do that, he thought to himself. It'd be well worth the wait if he could find a way to have a clear forearm on his wedding day.

Well fuck. Now he needed to plan a marriage proposal.

I am okay with this.

May 2009

"You seem agitated today."

Draco immediately ceased bouncing his knee and glared at Healer Browning.

"I am not agitated, I simply…"

Truthfully, there was nothing simple about the way he felt at all. He sighed and carded a hand through his hair.

"You're married," Draco stated bluntly to Browning.

"I am. Forty-one years next month."

Draco nodded and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment.

"How does one… well… how do you propose to someone?"

"Are you considering proposing to Hermione?"

"Yes."

Scratch, scratch.

"What is customary in your family?"

Draco snorted. "A courtship period sanctioned by both sets of parents followed by contractual negotiations between families and then a formal betrothal announcement. So, in effect, the exact opposite of anything I or Granger would want."

"What do you think she would want?"

Draco frowned as he considered how Granger would ideally like to receive a proposal. Should he involve her father? Will he need to ask his permission for her hand? No, he could hear her little rant in his head already about feminism and autonomy and how she certainly didn't need any man's permission to decide whether she wanted to marry Draco.

"I know what she wouldn't want. I think."

Scratch, scratch.

"I can give you general advice, of course, but perhaps your question about her preferences might be best posed to the people who know her best."

Shit. Once again, Draco would be indebted to Harry fucking Potter.

I am okay with this.

The Potters' cozy cottage was much too twee for Draco's taste and while certainly more of a home than that dreary Grimmauld Place, it was apparently in the genes of both the Potter and Weasley families to not own a single piece of matching furniture. Said hideous furniture also had garish crocheted blankets in any and every color draped haphazardly over it all.

And the walls. The walls were so busy that Draco had to actively stare at one for a good thirty seconds before he could even discern the paint color beneath the myriad framed photos, assorted knickknacks, and quidditch paraphernalia that adorned just about every inch of available space.

"Remind me never to hire you as a decorator, Potter," Draco sneered in greeting.

He shrugged in that careless way of his and it killed Draco a tiny bit inside that it was no longer so easy to rile Potter up. He needed to craft more biting insults in future. Unfortunately that future wrecking of Potter's emotional stability must be sidelined for the time being, because Draco had come to this tacky abode in need of a favor.

Draco still took a small amount of pleasure in flourishing his wand to cast an obvious Scourgify before folding himself to sit on one end of a lumpy sofa.

"Er… do you want tea or something? Gin's just going to put James down then she can join us."

"Tea is fine," Draco said tersely and inspected a scratch on the leg of the coffee table.

Ginny strolled in from the kitchen, arms full up with her blanketed infant. As Potter passed by to fix tea, he pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek, then bent down to delicately peck the top of his son's head. Draco internally blamed Granger for making him so soft that he let the moment occur without a single quip or sneer.

Ginny beamed at her husband then at Draco. "Say goodnight to Uncle Draco, James!" And she actually lifted a tiny fist in Draco's direction in a mockery of a wave.

Draco cocked an eyebrow and drawled, "When your sprog is capable of speech, he may address me as Mr. Malfoy."

Ginny chuckled and swept the infant down the hall to the nursery, though Draco heard her murmur to her son, "Uncle Draco is a dramatic little thing but Auntie Hermione thinks he's fit so you'll just have to endure his posh nonsense."

Draco decided it was best for his emotional health to not dwell on the fact that the offspring of a Potter and a Weasley would eventually refer to him in any sort of familial way. This line of thinking also reminded him of the reason he'd sunk so low as to show up here in the first place, and behind Granger's back no less.

He'd told Hermione he needed to attend an after-hours meeting with the coaches of the Wasps to discuss bringing up a reserve player or two to the starting lineup, and though he loathed lying to her, he hoped the ends would justify the means in this instance.

When both Potters had settled on the loveseat across from him and all three had prepared their tea to their liking, Draco cleared his throat and launched straight into his mysterious request to meet with the couple without Hermione. I am okay with this.

"I want it made crystal clear from the outset. I am not seeking your permission nor your approval. I simply thought it… prudent to ask your advice on how best to approach Granger about… about…"

Fucking Salazar, he couldn't even say it, how in the blazes was he supposed to ask her if he couldn't even say it aloud to Potter.

But then Ginny gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh my gods Malfoy," she whispered from behind shaking hands.

Harry looked between Ginny and Draco, obviously confused. "Erm, what does my wife know that I don't?"

Ginny dropped her hands and shot him a withering look of disbelief. "Honestly, are you serious Harry? Malfoy here is feeling a little weak in the knees for Hermione."

"Ahh… okay…?"

"As in one knee. He's going to go down on one knee in front of her."

"Okay?"

"He wants to propose to her, you dolt!"

"Oh!" Harry flushed in embarrassment at being a beat behind. Merlin's sack, this man was in line to be head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in a few years?

"Well that's ah… that's great, I suppose? What do you need us for?" Harry asked.

Draco sighed and inspected his nails to buy some time. "Do not mistake me, Potter. I do not need you for anything."

Neither Potter disappointed him then, both indulging in eye rolls. "I simply thought it wise to seek the opinion of those closest to Granger on her preferred ring style."

Ginny and Harry exchanged a look; the look of a married couple who could conduct an entire conversation with but one specific glance. "Go on, we need him," Ginny urged Harry.

Harry grimaced and cast an uneasy glance at Draco. "Don't leave and don't get offended. If you want to do this right for Hermione you'll listen."

With that cryptic pronouncement, Harry stood and abruptly disapparated. Draco blinked at the sudden disappearance and then demanded of Ginny, "And just where has the idiot gone to—?"

But Potter had already returned with a pop and he wasn't alone. Ron Weasley stood with him looking confused and to Draco's utter disgust, friendly.

"Oh hey Malfoy. Hey Gin." The ginger git didn't bother with any other pleasantries and instead made himself quite at home by going through to the kitchen.

"Excellent you've got tea on. Padma's at Parvati's tonight… think they're talking about bridesmaid dresses or some other wedding planning stuff…"

The sounds of various cupboards being opened and rummaged through could be heard out in the sitting room. "You still have those chocolate biscuits? We're out at ours."

"Cupboard above the stove," called Ginny. Draco silently fumed at the couple in front of him, both of whom looked infuriatingly nonplussed at his glare. It was bad enough he'd debased himself in front of Potter but apparently his humiliation needed to include the Weasel King himself before he could seek the advice he needed.

Ron ambled back into the room with a mouth and hand full of biscuits, a mug of tea, and an affable grin that Draco so very desperately wanted to hex off his face.

"So," he settled in an armchair and through a mouthful of chocolate crumbs asked Draco, "Harry said something about you needing help with a gift for Hermione?"

"Yeah, a rather permanent gift that'll live on her left hand," quipped Ginny with a snigger.

"Shut it Ginevra."

"Do you want our help or not?" interjected Harry.

"I came to you Potter. You and your wife! Isn't that enough? I didn't come here to be mocked and I certainly didn't come here for you all to unite against me and tell me I've got the wrong end of the broomstick or that I'm not good enough for her or—"

"I got as far as ring shopping," Ron interrupted quietly. "For Hermione." He cleared his throat and locked eyes with Draco.

"Obviously things didn't work out for us… the timing was never quite there to go further but yeah," Ron sighed and sat back in his chair. "I put a lot of thought into the ring I'd get her."

Draco exhaled slowly and swallowed his pride. "What do you think she'd like?" he asked the other man gruffly.

"No diamonds," Ron said quickly.

"Unless they're conflict-free," Ginny piped up.

"Er… what?"

The other three laughed warmly. "Ah, I see she's yet to gift you with her rant on blood diamonds," chortled Ron. "Unless it's a family piece, you better make sure the stones in that ring are ethically sourced."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Family vaults likes yours though, mate… why not use heirloom jewelry? I bet you'd have your pick of about a dozen Malfoy or Black betrothal pieces just gathering dust at Gringotts."

Draco shook his head, as he'd already considered and negated this plan.

"Given the history and blood supremacy views of the people who wore those rings, I highly doubt it'd be appropriate for Granger. I don't think she'd appreciate that legacy on her hand, do you?"

"Fair point," conceded Ron.

"I think you should design it yourself," suggested Ginny. "Knowing you put that kind of thought behind it… well I think that would mean an awful lot to her."

It appeared Granger's overly sentimental friends did have a use after all. "So I need to think up a design on my own, and commission an ethically sourced ring to present to her?" Draco summed up and the rest of the group nodded.

"And no public proposals," Ron said suddenly. "She hates that kind of attention."

"I wasn't born yesterday Weasley, obviously I'm not about to ask her via the quidditch stadium scoreboard," he sneered.

"When do you plan to do it?" asked Ginny.

Draco stood abruptly. "Well I've got what I came for. Cheers, you lot. And if I find out anyone here told Granger about this little conversation I've got your demises all planned out," he threatened and strode toward the fireplace.

He heard three disbelieving scoffs behind him. "I'm sure we could handle any dastardly revenge plot from the likes of you, Malfoy," snorted Ron, unimpressed.

"Not if I write to Molly and let her know you ruined this for me and Granger," Draco volleyed back.

Stupefied silence.

"I hate that Mum likes him," he heard Ron mutter as he disappeared through the Floo.

A/N: Thank you so much to anyone who still reads this story, I appreciate every interaction with it, and with me, more than you know. As we approach the end, all your comments here, on tumblr, on discord, all of it makes this such an amazing experience. Thank you.

Next chapter will be up on October 31. Oooh Halloween!

Come say hi or drop an ask on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.