In another life that hadn't been derailed by the marriage law, Draco doubted Granger and Pansy would have grown close. Yet, that was a scene that greeted him frequently as he landed in their fireplace, or if he visited the orphanage. From Weasley, he knew that when they were caught late at the Ministry, their wives were making the most of it while getting drinks in Diagon Alley.

Granger deserved to be happy, and it seemed that Pansy could plaster a smile on her face that was sure not to come off within a few hours.

Sometimes—well, frequently really—he wondered what it was they discussed while together. Did Granger mention him? As easy as it had been to slip into a routine with her that led to snogging more often than not, she was not extremely forthcoming with him. Surely she could be just as nervous as he, but she was supposed to be the brave one.

Time at work had morphed into before and after the deadline of the law. Now he knew that each day would bring more arrests for those that refused to complied—and he toed a thin line when he admitted to one witch that he understood—while complaints began to pour in. It wasn't enough that the Ministry had created a clause in the vows taken, so a spouse could not hurt another.

There wasn't a clause they could create that would eliminate all abuse.

"They act like the only thing to be concerned about is a husband beating his wife," Ron snarled. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he held the same posture as Draco's regular partner—who had come down with an illness circling the building. "Or a wife attacking her husband."

Draco nodded. Cases were never so cut and dry, and with a set of complicated circumstances such as their present, the law had only grown murkier. Even then, the pair of them had just left another residence where a wizard had convinced his new wife to cut ties with her family, and it had been the father to contact the DMLE with the concern.

"They say he can't hurt her, but…"

Not for the first time—not even for the first time that morning—Draco wanted to strangle whoever had believed it was a good idea to only jot down physical abuse. Later when he returned to the DMLE, Charlus Smith would be sitting outside Draco's office, the same spot he'd taken hours earlier, and Draco would explain that his daughter was safe, which was a technicality.

That witch certainly wasn't fine, and her husband had done a wicked job in isolating her from anyone that might call out his lack of good behavior.

He'd already decided to stop by again as a welfare check before the week closed.

"The next flat is up here," Weasley motioned over their heads. "Maria didn't write down a name, just the address and," he squinted. "Family concerned. They haven't heard from her in five days."

Peeking over, Draw saw that five had been underlined twice. He climbed the stairs with Weasley a beat behind him, and kept his hands free of his pockets in case he needed to draw his wand. This building was one Aurors were often called to. Personally, he'd had a vase hurled at his head on the terrace up top, and Draco wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

There was a pink notice on the door, indicating that the tenant inside had been late on paying rent, and Draw saw that it hadn't been the first time either. Still though, there was no name, and he wondered who was running this place.

"You gonna knock, or…?" Weasley shifted.

Rapping his knuckles on the door twice, loud enough to be heard inside this flat and probably both flats on either side of it, Draco stepped backward. Footsteps sounded on the other side, light, and he could see a partial shadow under the crack at the bottom of the door. His lips parted, and he drew a breath to announce themselves as Aurors, but the door swung open.

His stomach dropped.

"I assumed it would be Aurors," Astoria muttered, and there was a grim line to her lips. "But I didn't think they would send you."

A low, strangled sound forced its way free of his throat, and Draco looked her over once, then twice. She was smaller than the last time he'd seen her, and really, the woman before him looked nothing like the witch he had previously been engaged to. With dark circles beneath her eyes, and a loose muggle shirt that must belong to her husband about to fall off her shoulder.

He checked for bruises, but he knew there wouldn't be any.

"Your family registered a complaint because they haven't heard from you." Draco said. He had no idea how he hadn't already heard about it from Theo or Daphne directly, but he was certain that this memo in particular had been placed on his desk by no coincidence. "Astoria, what the fuck are you doing here?"

She angled herself away from him, and he expected a biting retort.

Astoria gave none.

"I live here, you fool. I'd hardly be here for the lovely ammenities." Acid dropped from her tone. "As for why I haven't spoken to my family, they're not pleased by my choice in wizards."

"Is Marcus here?" Draco asked.

She shook her head. "I doubt he'll be back today. He left earlier for a practice, and he'll be traveling for a match tonight."

From the Daily Prophet, he knew that Marcus Flint played for the Montrose Magpies, but he knew that Flint seemed to live in the wings as a reserve that never saw actual game time.

"Why aren't you traveling with him?" Draco said, and he was glad that at leas tup until then, Weasley had stayed quiet.

"Spare me the concern," she bit out, flexing her fingers on the door trim. "In fact, now that you've seen me in one piece, you can leave." Astoria moved to slam the door in his face, but Draco's foot shot out, wedged between the door and the trim.

"Astoria," Draco breathed. "Contrary to whatever you might believe, I know you very well."

Her features were pinched. "Then you'll know that I don't want to talk to you." She pressed the door forward again, putting all her weight on his foot.

His expression didn't change.

"You have to leave," Astoria said, and her anger had chipped. "I'm perfectly well, and I don't want to explain to Marcus why Aurors were here, especially you."

He couldn't overstay his welcome when Astoria would file a complaint that would just look odd, and he'd done his job to see that she was fine.

Just like the other witch though, she was not fine.

"If you need anything," Draco growled, "call the DMLE. You hate me, that's fine but it's fucking clear that you're not well, Tori." He pulled his foot back. "For the love of Merlin, call your sister too. She's probably losing her mind."

The door slammed shut without another word from her.

"So," Weasley exhaled. "That went well."

"Fuck off."

"Right, right, I'll get on that, Malfoy."

The door to his office cracked open near the end of the day, and he was caught with his face in his hands by his wife. Granger froze just inside the doorway, still partially standing in the corridor. "Is this a bad time?"

God, he couldn't think of a better time.

She closed the door quietly behind her, and settled in the chair across from him. Always enticing without trying, Granger slipped her pumps off before crossing one leg over the other. "You look terrible."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

She always had that effect on him.

"You know just what to say to a bloke, don't you?"

It earned a laugh, and she cocked her head to the side, curls falling over her shoulder while she shifted in the seat. "I thought if I caught you before the end of your day, you might like to come to dinner."

He lifted a brow. The medium sized stack of parchment on his desk was still just as important as it had been before she arrived, but he found himself not nearly as motivated to work through it before the end of the day. "What's the occasion?"

"I'd like it if you would tell me what's wrong first," Granger tucked her fist under her jaw, eyes searching his face, and if there had been any possibility of pretending there was nothing, it was gone in that moment. "I bumped into Ron on my way here."

The sound that came from Draco was a non-commital one, a hum really.

She glanced at her fingernails before looking at him again. "He was out of sorts too. A curious thing since the two of you patrolled together this morning while Harry is sick."

"We had to pay visits to recently married couples who've shown strain." Granger didn't ask what that meant; she probably didn't need to, but he explained it anyway. "The DMLE has received several complaints from concerned families so far. Weasley and I were assigned to that today."

Brows furrowed, Granger's lips parted.

"It seems there was a mix up with our intern, Maria. We were sent to see someone I'd rather not have seen, but I'm certain it was put on my desk by request of a friend." He pinched the bridge of his nose, still not able to get the sight of Astoria—pale and so miserable looking—out of his head. "We saw Astoria."

The reaction in her was immediate. Granger straightened and folded her hands in her lap. "Is she—"

Slowly, Draco shook his head. "The match prevents either of them from physically wounding the other, but I suspect that she isn't fairing well beneath this law. No one is," he rushed to add. "I would have spoken with her more, but she was eager to kick me out, and slammed the door in my face."

While smoothing her skirt, Granger stood and came around his desk. She leaned against the edge, and and bent down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I see. Do you think it was Theo, or possibly Daphne who reported it?"

"Without a doubt, but I haven't figured out why neither of them would have come to me directly." Draco watched her sit in the center of his desk, legs carefully crossed so he couldn't chance a peek under her dress—which he was severely tempted to do.

He choked when she ran her foot along the inside of his calf, and then his thigh.

There was a cruel curve to her mouth, and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of the desk.

"What are we going for dinner for?" Draco asked, all while running his hand up her calf, light catching on the few rings that adorned his left hand. He was pleased with the way she shivered, and slid his palm even father then, letting his fingertips press into the soft skin of her thighs. "I've thought about this, you know."

By the slight narrowing of her eyes, she knew exactly what he was referring to, but Draco watched her lips frame the words anyway. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Don't you?" Draco slid closer to her, still seated in his chair, and allowed his fingers to wander. Her dress bunched at her hips, and they would need to be careful so as not to leave lines, or others would know exactly what they had gotten up to behind the closed door of his—technically shared—office. "Most of my fantasies start out like this, with you sitting on my desk while looking so utterly sinful."

It was the slow curve of her mouth that always got him—when she smirked, when she smiled—because in moments like this, knowing how she wrapped her lips around his cock was all he could think of.

"I've envisioned you spread across my desk," Draco squeezed the inside of her thighs, just slightly so his eyes could track the way her chest rose and fell. Pulling her into his lap, Draco's hands rested on her arse, kneading the soft flesh there as his nose skimmed her collarbone while he placed open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder. "What's the occasion, Granger?"

Her lips were still parted as she wiggled her hips, and Granger leaned backward to undo the buckle of her heels that circled her ankles. "As you know, I still want to make a difference. Some of that is easier now that I don't have the Ministry as my employer."

Draco traced a slow path over her calf.

Granger continued with a bit of difficulty, her lips framing the words as her breathing grew heavier. "I had wanted to work in the Department of Care of Magical Creatures."

"Yes, I remember." It had been the reason for his surprise when he'd learned she had accepted a position as an Unspeakable after graduation. "You haven't applied for that, have you?"

She snorted. "Absolutely not. I would never work for this Ministry again. However, the fact that I don't may have landed me in a position that's given me an edge."

He lifted a brow.

Leaning closer, Hermione asked, "Draco, what is my last name?"

"Gran—"

She shook her head, a pleased smile tugging at the edge of her lips. "I believe my last name is Malfoy now. Surely you haven't forgotten. You were there, afterall."

He wondered if he would ever grow used to how it felt to be teased by her again. He wasn't sure he'd grown used to it the first time either. "Are you telling me becoming a Malfoy has given you an edge, darling?"

"Mmm," she pressed her lips together. "Slightly. More than that, Lucius has agreed to help me. Do you realize how many people are frightened to tell your father no?"

Draco laughed, and he watched the corner of her eyes crinkle the tiniest bit as she smiled. "I do. What has he done?"

"Not long ago, he caught me drafting something with the Wizengamot in mind. I had no intention of sending it; there has to be a level of support before you can present as an outside source, which I didn't have." Lacing her fingers together at the nape of his neck, Granger told him, "He wouldn't listen when I told him he didn't need to help me. Rather, he insisted that it was his duty to help me. There was a monologue involved, old-fashioned and sweet, really."

Outside his office, he could hear the office going through the motions that came with the end of the day. "You're stalling for a grand reveal, and now you have me curious."

"Wolfsbane," she said quietly and waited for his reaction. "More accurately, making it affordable."

In Hogwarts, she had told him about Professor Lupin, who she knew by first name, and how closely she'd adored him as their professor, This subject was very dear to her, designed with her former role model in mind.

Reaching up, he tucked a curl behind her ear. "He would be proud of you."

"We've gained the backing we needed," Granger said, a bit sniffly as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "We'll present it to the Wizengamot in two months."

Draco wiped away a tear that fell with the pad of his thumb and leaned his forehead to hers. "You brilliant, brilliant witch."

He took her to dinner, and had planned to sweep her off her feet the moment they arrived home, but it hadn't gone that way. Not even close, in fact. First, Granger had invited his parents. A perfectly acceptable move, given the fact that his father had helped make this a reality—even though Lucius remained steadfast that it had all been Hermione. Or, should Draco say, it would have been an acceptable move had Granger not insisted they stay a bit later.

Honestly, Draco wasn't even sure how they had ended up in the Leaky Cauldron. While it was a pub he frequented, it was a far cry from the upscale restaurant they had just left.

As he sat back with one arm slung over the back of the booth, Draco swallowed the fact of how unlikely it was he would be taking his wife to bed.

"I don't think I've ever seen Lucius drink quite so much." His mother sat beside him, fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. She wore a wide smile, and she'd since pulled the pin from her hair to allow it to tumble around her shoulders. In all of the years he'd seen his parents in public settings, specifically his mother, he'd never seen her hair down. "Are Hermione's curls natural?"

He nearly groaned.

"Miss Granger," his father's voice cut through the tension that had settled over them, his tone mockingly polite. "I assure you I have no problem holding my alcohol."

Hermione waved a hand, her cheeks pink and flushed, and her lower lip was swollen fro where she'd dug her teeth in earlier in his office while they— "Yes, yes." She muttered. "As such a dignified man, you could never be bested by a lady, is that it?"

Snorting while swallowing firewhisky was a painful thing, Draco would have liked to point out. The impersonation of his father's nasally drawl was spot on. Even his mother laughed.

"Perhaps you might stop your prancing and bloody get on with it," Narcissa finished her wine.

No one but him found it odd that his mum had said bloody, or the fact that his wife and father were now in a drinking contest. A contest that Hermione had demanded.

"Darling, why don't we keep this in our wine cellar? It's delicious,"

Lucius reached across the table to pick up the bottle by the neck. "Sweet—Cissy, this is elf-wine."

She nodded happily, snatching it back to pour another glass, all the way to the brim. "Brilliant, isn't it? Don't look so put out, Lucius. As I recall, you're usually delighted when I've been drinking because I pull your hair."

Hermione snorted.

Draco wanted to be struck down where he sat in the booth. To Granger, he mouthed, "This is your fault."

"Do you like when I pull your hair?" she replied silently.

Yes, he did but he'd prefer not to think of it as his parents discussed their own preferences in front of him.

By the time the challenge came back around, Lucius had been whispering in his mother's ear, and Draco wanted to escape.

Shot glasses lined the table, and Draco could confidently say he'd never seen his father drink from one. Always firewhisky in a glass, with ice. Apparently, everything he'd previously expected from his parents had gone out the window though. His mother swayed in her seat, already tipping another glass of wine to her lips, a wine that she apparently did not handle well.

His father continued to goad Granger while they both drank, and Draco wasn't even sure what they had promised to the winner at this point, or if they had even gotten to that point before drinking.

He wasn't truly annoyed. It was true that his plans had possibly been dashed, and replaced with holding his wife's hair while she retched in the loo when they did get home, but he didn't mind that either. All he could think of, was how this would have never happened had he married Astoria. There would have been formal dinners, and Sunday brunches. It wasn't that either of these were particularly terrible; they had been what he expected after leaving this witch before graduation.

Now, Granger sat across from him with her cheeks flushed, and blood pooling in her lower lip while she made his father laugh into his drink. She grinned, and giggled while telling his mother her hair was so pretty when it was let down, and Draco watched all of this from the outside.

Often he felt guilty for being so happy in the position they had found themselves in. Granger felt it too, he knew.

It was inexplicably hard in the moment to drum up any sense of guilt.

As the odds turned in his wife's favor, and a glass slipped from his father's hand, the liquid spilling across his robes, Granger grinned at Draco. "Have I won?" Her voice was slurred, at best. "It seems you can't handle your alcohol, Lucius."

"I'll concede to that," Lucius said. "Draco, you might carry your witch to the Floo."

"I can walk." Even she didn't sound like she believed it. "Probably." From across the booth, Hermione slid her foot up his calf, having kicked her heels off, until it reached his upper thigh. "I think I'd like to go home now."

His mother and father had already risen as well, but Lucius reached into his robes before pressing four galleons into Hermione's waiting hand. "As promised."

"Better luck next time," she chirped.

They stumbled together. Fingernails bit into his shoulder, and she hooked an ankle around his leg, which caused them to fall onto the sofa, very nearly landing on the floor instead had he not shifted their weight.

Her lips traced the pulse in his throat, tongue running across it while she hastily dealt with the buttons of his shirt. Pushing it backward, she ran her hands over his chest, soft flesh meeting hard lines of his abdomen, and Granger knelt between his legs. "Do you want to hear a secret?" she whispered.

Hermione's hands stilled over the button of his trousers.

"I think you may want to keep your secrets for now, sweetheart. You're notoriously loose-lipped while you're pissed." He threaded his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face, and watched her lean into him. "Tell me in the morning."

She shook her head. "I've wanted to tell you for a few weeks, and I think it would be cruel if I kept it from you for any longer. You've already—" she swallowed. "You've been so patient with me."

It felt like something momentous, like something she ought to say while she was sober, but hadn't had the courage to say until she was drunk.

Gryffindors.

"I mean it now, and I'll still believe it in the morning."

He drew a breath, and pulled her upward, pulling her into his lap where her thighs bracketed his hips. Draco swiped his thumb across her lower lip, back and forth, and whispered, "Tell me then, pretty witch."

Her cheeks were already flushed, but they filled with even more color then. "I want this life with you. I never want to lose it."

Draco could hear the echo of his heartbeat between his ears.

"I hope they overturn the law, I do," Granger continued. "But I want this still, with you."

He crushed her curls between his fingers, and sat up to kiss her. Draco felt a heavy breath push against his lips as she cupped his face in her hands.

"It's hard, you know, trying not to fall in love with you," Granger managed, each word interupted with a a slide of their lips. Barely that kisses that made his hands shake where they held her. "So, I've decided to stop trying. It's inevitable, falling in love with you."

He caught her lower lip between his teeth, and watched her eyes widen. When he pulled away, he found her trembling in his lap. "Let me say it," he murmured, nose pressed to her throat as he gently kissed the flesh there.

Granger tugged her shirt over her head, nodding fervently, and he unclasped her bra before flattening his palms on her back. "Only this time," she murmured, her hips rocking against his. "Next time, I want to say it first."

He almost laughed. "You're suggesting we take turns?"

"Are you truly going to argue with me while I'm topless?"

"Isn't arguing the thing we do best?" His hands shifted down her sides, fingers brushing the swell of her breasts.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Oh, I think there are a few more things we do well." Granger's pelvis ground against his. "You were going to tell me something."

Arguably, this was not the way he'd planned this, and of course there had been a plan.

Draco held her face in his hands, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. "Fuck, I love you." He would have told her what a fool he'd been, again, that he'd made so many mistakes, again, but she slanted her lips over his and kissed him every time he tried.

"Draco—Draco!" Through a sleep induced fog, with the side of all the alcohol he'd gulped down, Draco had the absent thought that this wasn't the way she usually called out his name. Apparently, he'd voiced that outloud too, since she snorted. "You're a prat. Wake up, there's a summons from the Ministry."

He cracked one eye open, and found Granger's face hovering over his, her hair mussed and tangled. "What time is it?" Craning his head back, and bumping it against the armrest of the sofa, he saw that it was still dark, and the moon was still high. "Have you read it?"

She shook her head. "I'm not meant to."

"I'll end up telling you anyway," Draco sat up, and carefully swung his legs over the side of the sofa.

Granger rolled her eyes, pressed the summons into his hand, and sat in front of him, her legs tucked under her. She'd pulled on his shirt, only buttoning it halfway.

The image it gave—how it revealed her breasts and her nipples through the thin fabric—was mouthwatering.

"If you keep staring at me like that, you'll never make it out of the flat, Draco."

He tore the seal from the scroll and pulled it open, eyes narrowing.

"Is it terrible?"

It was.

It was the sort of mission she shouldn't know about, but he'd tell her anyway. She'd been right not to open it. The summons had been sent by Robards, and he imagined his partner was receiving it now, and likely Weasley too. "It's good that you didn't open it, or it would have hexed you."

For a moment, Granger didn't say anything at all, and by the time she opened her mouth, he'd already started again.

"There's a hit-wizard who operates out of Russia who has been spotted in Devon. He's number three on the Ministry's watch list." Draco explained all of this very calmly as he summoned his uniform from their bedroom, and ran his fingers through his hair. "It seems that Potter and I will be sent, as will Weasley if the standard of a three man team holds."

"Three?" Her voice had shot up in pitch, and she wrung her hands in her lap. "That doesn't—that hardly seems like enough."

"There will be teams of Aurors in the vicinity, should we need them," Draco tried to reassure her, but it failed. "The less bodies, the better, Granger." He winced. Bodies hadn't been the right word to use. "Strictly speaking, I'm not meant to tell you this, but this isn't the first mission of this kind I've been sent on."

She didn't say anything.

"I'll be safe, and I'll be home in no time at all."

"I don't doubt your abilities, but—" Granger sighed. "If this is a hit-wizard, I think of how you'll defend yourself if he's aiming to kill and you three are aiming to arrest—"

He was not supposed to tell her.

Yet, he worried if he didn't, it would feel like lying, and if he did, that she would look at him differently.

"When the British Ministry sends a team to neutralize a threat—for an individual such as him—Aurors are given clearance to eliminate the threat through whatever measures we're forced to take." To his relief, she wasn't horrified.

Instead, she nodded. "I know you're not meant to tell me, but thank you for doing so anyway."

He kissed the top of her head, and stood to dress. "I don't know when I'll return," Draco said. "The Ministry won't be able to give you any information, since you're not meant to know. Weasley may tell Pansy; she may bring it up to you."

"I'll call her in the morning. We spent most of our time during your last mission together to fill the space. I may need her more than she needs me this time." Granger forced a laugh. "Be careful, and come back in one piece." She sighed then. "I'm not going to wait around like a doting house-witch, who's husband has gone off to fight an evil wizard."

He smirked. "Of course you aren't. That certainly doesn't sound like Hermione Granger."

She was rattled, he knew. Another side effect of her potions was frequent mood swings as her body adjusted to them, and her lower lip wobbled. "I'm not that upset. It's these ridiculous—"

Pulling her into him, he chuckled. "I'll do my best to be back before your appointment this week."

With her head still tucked under his chin, she nodded without a word, and let him rub circles across her back.