"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, billowing away from breakfast in the Great Hall, moving through the Entrance Hall, waving to where Hermione, Draco, Harry, Ron, and Pansy were gathered at the foot of the marble staircase. "In my office, at once."

Hermione took Draco's hand in both of hers. "She knows about the engagement."

He nodded. "Snape. It's Snape who would have told her, that's for certain."

"Here you go." Ron was nodding knowingly, unconcerned about the tone of relief in his voice. "McGonagall will be none too pleased with your news."

Harry sprung to his feet. "Maybe she'll have a better solution. Something where no kids end up married. Let's go."

Hermione held a hand to his chest. "Thanks, Harry. But you're not coming with us."

Harry fell slightly backward. "Us? You're taking him with you and leaving us here?"

Draco seemed as surprised as anyone. "You want me to come?"

"Of course I do. That's what this," she waved the ring in his face, "is supposed to be all about. Especially if she's going to argue with me about it."

Ron slapped Draco hard on the back. "Get in there, mate. It's your first husband duty, and probably not the one you were hoping for. See how you like it."

"Oh, go on, Draco," Pansy added. "It's not like you've never been told off by McGonagall before."

Ron dropped an arm around Pansy, gesturing with his chin toward McGonagall's office. "Yeah, you know by now that even with Slytherins, she's not so bad. Remember? It was her that rescued you from life as a ferret. Made sure to transfigure you back with your clothes on and everything."

Pansy muffled her laugh against Ron's chest.

"Pansy - don't encourage him," Draco said, betrayed. "You said you never thought it was funny."

"No, of course it wasn't funny. McGonagall wasn't laughing, at any rate," Ron went on, Pansy swatting at him.

Hermione was backing toward the office, hauling on Draco's arm. "Come along. She's waiting."

Harry took one aggressive step forward as they left. "You hear her out properly, Hermione. If she says you don't have to do this then - "

"Harry, trust me," she called back to him.

Professor McGonagall's door stood ajar and Hermione tapped a knock against it as she nudged it open.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall announced. "And Mr. Malfoy, of course."

"Yes, professor. You've spoken with Professor Snape, and heard of our plans?" Hermione began.

She took a breath so deep they could see and hear it from across the room. "I have…" She invited them to sit down as she proceeded to repeat back to them everything she understood from her meeting with Snape. "Is this how you understand these matters as well?" she finished.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. You've got it. There's no other way for us to stay safe, and to keep Draco's family safe, and to keep Death Eaters out of the school, and - "

Professor McGonagall shushed her. "No need to say it all aloud." She fingered her hat brim, almost nervously. "I feel it my duty to remind you that there are riskier courses of action we could take, alternate plans we could try as means of weathering the crises you now find yourselves in. You do have choices. I need to be sure both of you understand this. You are not as trapped as you may believe."

Hermione took Draco's hand. "We understand. We're not trapped. We've chosen this."

Draco squeezed Hermione's hand but would not meet McGonagall's eyes now that they were more like a tiger's than a tabby cat's.

She pursed her lips. "Do excuse me for saying so, Mr. Malfoy, but," she said, leaning subtly over her desk, each of her movements as understated and refined as each of Snape's would have been exaggerated, "Hermione dear, you have a brilliant future, and…" She searched for words to explain how devastated she was to see Hermione choosing a lifelong companion while so young - and from such a family.

McGonagall didn't need to say anything more. Draco sensed her meaning perfectly, his bowed head hanging even lower, stooping beneath the guilt of being the one to dim the brightest witch of their age.

But Hermione was finishing McGonagall's unspoken thought. "And now I have someone brilliant to share my future with," she said.

McGonagall was touched enough to manage a pained smile. "You do, don't you now," she allowed.

She rose from her desk and moved to Hermione's chair, raising her to her feet and embracing her. "All the best to you, you brave, brilliant young woman." She released her and patted Malfoy on the shoulder as she moved to take her place behind her desk once again.

"There are," she said, "some logistical issues arising from your choice which need sorting. First and foremost: contraception."

"Oh, yes. My mother gave me pills," Hermione was quick to say. "From a Muggle doctor. I've started them already."

McGonagall startled. "Already? You don't mean to say - the Mitrian purity clause, it's - "

Draco was shocked enough to speak. "No, no. Hermione, why - "

"What? They take some time before they begin to work, so I started them early," she explained. "No, Professor, everything is - intact."

McGonagall shook her head. "Well, you will meet with Madam Pomfrey to discuss proper magical contraception regardless of your family's Muggle medicines. They all come with margins of error."

"So do spells, Professor," Hermione said. "No, I'm afraid I gave my mother my word that I wouldn't - be with Draco - without taking the pills. So I must keep my word."

McGonagall sat back in her chair. "Excellent," she said. "Good to hear that you are taking precautions and it's also good to hear you standing up to my influence. It wouldn't do for a married woman to be too easily cowed by her school teacher. Speak up for your family, Hermione. But may I suggest that if you're not prepared to say the word 'sex' in front of me, you may not be prepared to engage in it - "

"Sex," Hermione blurted.

Draco covered his mouth, faking a cough, unsuccessfully stifling a laugh.

Hermione kicked his foot as she pulled her shoulders toward her ears. "Sorry, Professor."

McGonagall laughed quietly to herself. "No apologies, my dear. Next most," she went on, "is the issue of accommodations. After a thousand years of operation through all kinds of social milieux, it should not surprise you to learn that you will not be the first married couple to ever study at Hogwarts. But you will be the first here in almost two centuries, meaning we currently have no ready residences for married students."

"We won't need much room. And there's lots of space in the dungeons," Draco said.

"I am not living in that musty green pit."

"Musty? You've never even been inside. And I'm not moving into that lightning rod of a tower after making an attack on the Dark Lord."

"All house dormitories," Professor McGonagall interrupted, "are out of the question once you're married. However, there are disused quarters for married couples on the seventh floor. They are not well-known, as word of their existence raises a threat of needing to use them, at least among some of our more romantically minded students. However, we will refurbish a portion of them for your use, when the time comes."

She leaned toward Draco. "Which brings us to our third issue: the timing of the matrimonial charm ceremony. I advise you to settle on this date before the end of today, Mr. Malfoy. In fact, consider yourself excused from your morning classes to do so. For all we know, the best time might be right now, and for the sake of the safety and survival of everyone involved, we mustn't miss it."

He nodded. "Yes, Professor."

She replied with a nod of her own. "Now, the next issue is quite delicate. It is that of your families. Mr. Malfoy, Professor Snape tells me that your mother has signed her consent for your wedding to proceed, but your parents themselves remain indisposed and will not attend. Is that correct?"

He shifted painfully in his seat. "Yes, that's true."

"As it is regrettable," she said, kindly. "As for your family, Miss Granger, you do not require their consent but the question remains of how much or how little you will permit them to be involved in the wedding."

"Well," Hermione began, "they gave me the pills…"

"Which is a sign that they wish you to remain independent from Mr. Malfoy by not becoming mother to his children, not a sign that they approve of you becoming closer and linking your life to his."

Hermione nodded toward her lap. McGonagall was right. She sighed. "We've decided to wait to have a Muggle wedding until we're in our twenties. And for now, I think we can pass a wizard wedding off as fanciful and irrelevant enough that my parents won't take it too seriously."

McGonagall frowned. "And you think having a marriage your parents don't take seriously will help you strengthen yourselves as a family - a family embroiled in a developing war and badly in need of support?"

Hermione sighed louder than ever. "I don't know, Professor."

She clucked her tongue. "I will invite the Drs. Granger to have dinner here in the castle tonight, with both of you, myself, and Professor Snape. You may dismiss Professor Snape and me whenever you like, and you may tell your parents as much or as little about the situation as you see fit. But I feel your parents must have the opportunity to speak with you before you proceed, whether they fully understand what's coming or not."

Draco's hand was suddenly sweaty in Hermione's grip, and his complexion had turned slightly green, but Hermione bowed her head and nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"It's a good thing you've agreed," McGonagall said. "I've already begun trying to reach them, but without success. They haven't gone on holiday, have they?"

Hermione blinked. "No. They've only just returned from Christmas vacation. They'll be at the surgery."

McGonagall fingered the brim of her hat again. "I get no response there this morning. Blasted telephone machines. Not to worry, Miss Granger. I'll fetch them from London myself."

Suddenly, she seemed to be dismissing them, standing up and rounding her desk. Hermione and Draco stood with her, Hermione chattering quickly as she saw their time ending. "Professor, what about Harry? He's involved in the charm too, and in a dangerous way. How is he going to - "

"Leave that," McGonagall interrupted, "to the headmaster himself. Now off to class with you, Miss Granger. And to Snape's study with you, Mr. Malfoy."

She stood in the doorway of her office, watching until they went their separate ways.

Narcissa Black Malfoy was eerily comfortable with being bathed by someone else. Luckily for Ann Granger, a long career maintaining strangers' teeth meant she didn't find other people's wet bodies repulsive. Narcissa sat in a great, porcelain tub filled with water that somehow never cooled off and bubbles that never dissipated, almost modestly covered as Ann worked her hair into a foamy lather, easing out the snags and tangles.

As Ann worked, Narcissa told her - completely without the social filters and she would have had if she wasn't mildly mad - the entire history of the latest British wizarding war and the new uprising of the Death Eater movement.

Ann followed the snarled threads of the story as best she could. When Narcissa seemed to have finished, Ann gave a long, loud hum. "Well, whatever your people may have right, their PR machine is all wrong, isn't it?"

Narcissa turned over to read Ann's face, slippery as a white fish submerged in the bathwater. "A wot?"

"PR - you know. Their image is a bit fearsome, don't you think? I mean, I do enjoy my Tim when he's manly and forceful and all, but if he took to hounding people and calling himself a Death Eater - sends a rather grim message, doesn't it? Makes him sound less than heroic - more like a villain."

Narcissa blinked the water out of her eyes. "My Lucius is only trying to preserve our way of life. Our kind are a minority in this country - in this world. We're dying out. If we want a future for our son, then we need to, we have to..."

Remembering her son, her voice trailed off. Ann saw she didn't need to remind her of how these noble friends of her husband's had recently treated their son - or at least his legs. Instead, Ann took Narcissa by the shoulders, turning her around so she could rinse the suds from her hair before they crept any further down her forehead to sting Narcissa's eyes.

"I'm not sure you are dying out, Cissa dear," she said as she tipped a pitcher of warm, clear water over Narcissa's hair. "Why, look at Tim and me. Both of us are from families where magic is completely unheard of, and yet we managed to produce a witch as a daughter, in the usual non-magical way. And if our girl's accomplishments are any indication, she's a fine one too - the best in her class at school, good and better than any child raised in a magical family. If that can happen spontaneously to people like us, I don't see why the rest of you need to be bothered about survival. Now out you come. Look at your lovely skin. It gets prune-y in bathwater, just like mine would."

Snug in her dressing gown, Narcissa was absently reaching for the dirty dress she'd been wearing for days, when Ann insisted she wear something fresh. Her closet was vast and appeared to be full of nothing but lavish gowns. Narcissa blinked as she stepped inside, running her hands over the lush fabrics as if she was remembering something.

Ann stood behind her, puzzling over the racks. "You don't have anything comfortable to lounge about in?" Ann asked.

Narcissa blinked again. "What do you mean? These are the finest gowns, expertly made. Nothing could be more comfortable."

Ann laughed, but not unkindly. "Then you'd better choose one yourself. I don't know where to begin."

Narcissa had already begun to choose something. "I'll get one for you too, Ann darling. If you don't mind me saying," she said, "I simply cannot bear to see you dressed like a house elf any longer."

"A wot?"

"A house elf - nevermind, Ann. You won't have noticed them. Now wear this."

Ann stood looking at her reflection in the tall mirror in Narcissa's closet. She was dressed in the most ornate article of clothing she had ever worn, which fit her perfectly, somehow, even though she was a full two inches taller than Narcissa. It was indeed comfortable but left her feeling like she was dressed for a wedding. She thought of the man lurking on the main floor - the one Cissa called the Dark Lord - and hoped to god she was not. It was time to make another move toward protecting herself.

"Cissa," she began again, "have you got one of those - you know - those sticks, the magic wands, like my daughter and the men who brought me here use?"

Every time Narcissa answered a question with a blink, it was as if she woke up from her mad stupor a little more. She blinked again now. "My wand," she said. "Yes, of course I have one. But I can't remember the last time I saw it."

"Well let's have a look," Ann said, pulling up the pillows on the bed.

"Accio wand," Narcissa said instead. A thin, dark stick fastened to a pearly handle came flying from beneath an overstuffed chaise, settling effortlessly into the palm of her hand. As the wood contacted her skin, she drew in a quick breath, her lips parted, her eyes rolling back, before she straightened her shoulders and folded her hands over the handle of the wand.

Ann uttered a high, pleasantly surprised sound. "Well, that's one way to find things. That's the first of your spells I actually envy."

Narcissa smiled, but it was an expression different from those Ann had seen from her thus far. Her chin was higher, her mouth tighter, her eyes less open and wild, more hooded and guarded. Her Bertha Rochester demeanor was abating, and she was looking more truly like the lady of this manor. Ann didn't know whether to feel more hopeful or more afraid.

"Thank you, Ann," Narcissa said. "For all your help this morning. I'm feeling ever so much better."

"My thanks to you as well," Ann answered. "I must say Cissa, I'm not happy to have been brought here, especially now that I know for sure how little the man downstairs thinks of my kind. If I didn't have you here with me, this whole thing might be unbearably nightmarish." She glanced at Narcissa's new, somewhat haughty face. "I reckon it may yet be."

Narcissa slid her wand into a pocket in his skirts. "I wish I could promise you otherwise," she said. "But the situation here has gone out of my hands." She looked about the room, her mind working more quickly and slickly every moment. "Let's occupy our time as pleasantly as we can before they send for you, shall we Ann?"

She nodded. There seemed to be nothing more she could do.

"Your daughter," Narcissa began, "she's currently the best student in sixth year at Hogwarts, you say."

Ann smiled. "Yes. This year and every year. She's extremely clever."

Narcissa had strolled across the room, coming to stand over a vanity. She turned her back to Ann, lifting a quill from the tabletop - a rough black quill conjured by Severus Snape when he was last in this room, admonishing her to sign her consent to let her son be married under-aged. "And what do you call your clever girl?"

Ann laughed gently. "Everyone says it's an odd name. I've never thought so. No one from your world has ever said so either. Maybe being seized with a fit to give her a name like that should have been the first sign to me that she would come to belong more in your world than in mine. We call her Hermione."

Narcissa turned to face her, tapping the plume of Snape's quill against the palm of her hand. "My son is also in sixth year at Hogwarts. He is second in the class and heir to all of this - to all of Malfoy Manor."

Ann blinked. "Malfoy Manor," she said. Dieter Mandrake, Declan Malfort, Drago Malcolm - her breath hitched. "Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy," Narcissa echoed. "My only son, your son-in-law."

After her morning classes, Hermione came running into the Entrance Hall, racing down the stairs to Snape's study. The door was open and Draco stood over a large potion-mixing table that was covered with unfurled star charts, scratching away on a parchment, his back facing the door.

She skipped across the floor, hopping onto his back, kissing his cheek. "So?" she asked as he gasped and caught hold of her legs by the backs of her knees. "So when is our ceremony? How long do we have?"

"Have a look," he said, setting her down. "It's either here, which is the same week term ends - death week. Or it's here." He pointed to a sector of the chart right in front of himself.

He watched her as she leaned over him to read the point next to his finger. "There? Draco, that's - that's the end of this week."

He bent to whisper in her ear. "Yes."

"That's so soon."

"Yes, McGonagall said it might be." He was turning from the table, closing his arms around her, moving his hands along her back, his fingertips in the groove of her spine, moving from her waist into her hair, everywhere. "Are you ready?"

She rose onto her tiptoes. "Yes."

He pressed his cheek against hers. "For all of it?"

She tipped back to nip his bottom lip with hers, laughing. "You heard me say 'sex' in front of McGonagall. I passed the test."

He sighed, his voice sounding through it, making it more like a moan. "By the stars, Hermione," he said as best he could with her mouth playing over his. "By this Sunday night, we'll - "

"But not yet," a stern voice called from the back entrance of the office. It was Snape himself, returning from his morning classes. "Enough of that. Mr. Malfoy, report to Professor Firenze to check your work."

"Yes, sir."

Hermione was nodding, following Draco out. "Excuse us, sir."

They dashed out the door, where Draco hoisted her onto his back again, carrying her away, up the stairs.