Two hours earlier...

Draco often had tea with his mother in the early evenings as dinner was prepared by house elves. Tonight was just the same, including the brand of tea. Normally, he liked to change it up by having the house elves make a cup different than the night before. However, ever since the discovery of this marriage law and who his betrothed would be, he was a wreck. Everything set him on edge and not even a calming potion could help. He needed to relax, and so he had settled for an overdose of lavender tea in the mornings, afternoons, evenings, and before bed. Whether it was working or not was up for debate.

"Have you and Miss Granger set a wedding date yet?"

Draco fumbled with his cup, and tea spilled on himself, the armchair, and onto the floor. A house elf was there in a flash to clean up the mess and to present a fresh cup of tea.

"Mother, you can't sit in a room with me, quiet as a mouse, and then come up with a question like that."

Narcissa innocently smiled as she put her cup to her lips. "My apologies. I was merely curious."

"Yes, well, you'd might as well stow all of your curiosity away. Granger and I aren't going to be planning anything anytime soon. While it's inevitable, there's no point rushing into it in that case."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right. Although, one might counter that argument by saying that there's no point in prolonging the marriage if it's, as you say, inevitable."

Draco snorted and leaned back onto the couch cushions. "You know very well there's good reason to postpone it. She doesn't want to kill anyone, and I'm not going to make her."

"It doesn't matter what she wants. She's betrothed to you now, and that's just as good as a marriage. Besides, whether you like it or not the curse has taken effect."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The curse is in effect," Narcissa repeated. "Your father told me of your and Miss Granger's insistence on fighting the curse, so I took matters into my own hands."

"Matters into your own hands?" Draco echoed. He could feel his cup wanting to fall to the floor again, but he had enough control to set it on the coffee table before that happened. Once his hands were free, Draco swallowed thickly and said, "Mother, I need you to explain to me exactly what you did."

Narcissa didn't respond right away. She briefly looked pass her son and at the grandfather clock that stood behind them. Over the past two days she had used her contacts inside the Ministry to keep watch on her future daughter-in-law. It gave Narcissa an idea of the witch's habits such as when she left work, and judging by the time, everything should be nearly complete.

"Mother."

Narcissa's attention reverted back to her son who was impatient for a reply. With a calm sigh she finally answered him. "An Imperiused vagabond has been sent to Miss Granger to attack her."

Draco had heard his mother clearly, yes, but he still had trouble comprehending her. The grandfather clock ticked loudly in his ears, and so did the rushing of his blood. In a sudden moment of clarity, Draco rose to his feet and bellowed loud enough to break the sound barrier.

"How could you do that?! You could kill her!"

"The witch spearheaded, and survived, a war as a teenager," Narcissa said matter-of-factly. "Surely, she could handle one close-range encounter."

"You don't know that!" Draco shouted. "The woman's good with a wand, yes, but everyone's entitled to a slip-up. She could be dying right now for all we know!"

Narcissa kept a careful eye on her son as he yanked on his hair, ruining the careful management he dedicated to it daily. She watched him pace in front of the couch a total of three times before he groaned and called for his wand. It took a couple of seconds, but the wooden vessel came flying through the air and into his open hand. Draco was grumbling furiously to himself now, and he was on his way out of the door when, all of a sudden, he stopped. Narcissa tilted her head slightly, staring at his back as he stood completely still, his arm limp and his wand barely secure in Draco's loose fingers.

A soft smile had drifted onto Narcissa's face, but she didn't want to be overexcited. Instead, she took a deep breath before rising to her feet and casually walking over to her son. She was standing in front of him now, and although Draco's face wasn't entirely a depiction of "blank," he wasn't completely here in the moment either. Narcissa's smile was more than a ghost now and she let it free.

"Looks like your future wife is still sharp with a wand," Narcissa said. Draco's dazed expression waned, and he finally saw his mother. He nearly recoiled when her hand slipped onto his shoulder, and he hated what she said next. "It's an interesting effect, isn't it? Suddenly, nothing else matters but the one you love. Artificial love at its finest, yes, but it doesn't stay that way. The curse opens a door to feelings that you never thought existed. You'll live out the rest of your days happy, drunk in love,-"

"-and covered in blood," Draco swallowed.

"Metaphorically speaking," Narcissa nonchalantly replied before adding on a whim, "or literally. Things can get quite messy once in a while."

"Messy?" Draco repeated. He huffed and finally shook his mother's hand away from him. "How can you be so calm about this? It's not natural."

"I never said that it was. Give in to the curse, Draco. Not only will you feel better, but both you and your spouse will reap the benefits."

Narcissa brushed pass her son and slowly made her way down the hall. Her voice echoed back to him in a chilling manner as she gave her final words, "Tell Miss Granger, welcome to the family."

All of his life, Draco had heard about the family curse. He knew what it would do if it was activated, and he knew what it would do if it wasn't. Regardless of this foreknowledge, he didn't know how it would feel. It was one thing to be described, but words had severely undermined it all. He had known the exact moment that Hermione had killed that vagabond. It was just as his mother had said: nothing mattered. All he wanted was to get to Hermione. It was like a veil had come over him and blurred out everything in his life except for her. Artificial indeed, but Draco was quite enamoured with this falsified version of love.

Despite wanting to go where she was, Draco waited for Hermione at her home. It was bound to be a nightmare at the crime scene and his presence there would only complicate it. Thank Merlin that he was privy to her home address from their first meeting at the Ministry. He apparated to a designated apparation spot near her house, a narrow split-level that he assumed could hold two bedrooms at best. He hoped that it was dark enough that no neighbors saw him using his wand to enter Hermione's house. Once he was inside, Draco flicked on the lights, sat on one of the armchairs and waited.

That "waiting," however, was more difficult than Draco could have imagined. It wasn't to say that he was impatient (although, there were times where he could be), but this curse… It made his want of Hermione abnormal and desperate, and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands with the hope to distract him from his discomfort.

Draco was ignorant to how much time had passed since going to Hermione's house, but he was fully aware when the sound of apparation filled the living room and the very brunette he was anxious to see had come home. If Draco had thought that he would feel calmer when he finally saw Hermione, he was sorely mistaken. His anxiety had disappeared, yes, but a longing for the witch had replaced it.

"What took you so long?" Draco asked. He picked himself up from the armchair and walked over to Hermione. It was upclose that he could properly see the damage that had been caused indirectly through his mother. Her neck was horribly bruised, and when Hermione turned her neck to one side, Draco could make out the faded image of fingerprints.

"I was questioned by Aurors," she replied. "It was self-defense."

"A death is a death so long as it was you to do it." Draco let his fingers trace the outline of Hermione's bruises, and he felt her shudder underneath his touch.

"We're not married yet. Why do I feel this way?" Hermione said as Draco explored the discoloration of her neck with his hands. "The moment he died, I didn't care. All I wanted was to see you."

"You're betrothed to me," Draco answered, recalling his mother's words. He was holding her wrists now, and he observed how bloody her hands were. "That makes you mine."

Draco may not have known Hermione well, but he knew when the wheels were turning in the witch's head. Whatever it was, she had apparently come to a decision, and moments later her lips were coaxing his mouth into a kiss that deepened within seconds. Draco didn't resist, and he doubted that the curse would let him. In fact, the curse changed everything about him when it came to moments like this. Intimacy was a fine wine to be tasted, savored, and allowed to linger. Every touch predetermined to exact the right amount of pleasure, to tease, and to frustrate. Draco's current actions, however, were nothing of the sort.

Quick work was made of Hermione's pants and Draco yanked them down, his nails grazing the outside of her thighs and causing her to wince. She retaliated with a sharp bite of his lip, and he inhaled at the pain, subsequently numbed by her tongue and her hand sliding up his groin to meet the top of his trousers. A guttural groan escaped Draco's mouth when she did, and the damn witch repeated her stride with her hand. Impatient, Draco grabbed her by the shoulders, his cock twitching at the gasp she emitted when he did, and pushed her onto the couch behind her. She landed with a soft bounce and created a beautiful image of wildly tossed hair, legs spread, fingers gripping the side of her underwear, and her bottom lip tucked neatly between her teeth.

Draco watched with eager eyes as Hermione slid off her own underwear and let it fall to the floor in a soft flop. That was all the catalyst Draco needed to free himself of the rest of his clothing before joining her on the couch. He led a parade of kisses, nibbles, and tongue swipes from the curve of her jaw, between her breasts, across her stomach, and between her thighs. Merlin knew that he wanted to stay there the longest, relishing just how much his witch bucked her hips, how tight her hand gripped his hair, and how delightful she tasted. It was Hermione herself that had urged him up, and for a split second Draco paused as he looked into her face and analyzed her.

Before that fateful day at the Ministry, it had been years since he had seen this woman, much less thought of her. They loathed the idea of being forced to marry, and they both feared and abhorred the curse that they were doomed to share. Now here they were, cursed to be in love and destined to carry the weight of death. Draco's only care had boiled down to an obsession with his witch's lips and the way she felt underneath him as slipped himself into her, as her legs wrapped around his torso and drew him in closer, and the sweet nothings they whispered about loving no one else but each other. Deep down, Draco knew it wasn't real, but it felt real, and he'd be damned to let it go.

Started this fic as part of a Halloween fest last year, and welp, here goes an update on Halloween LOL.

Happy Tricks and Treats!
-WP