Daphne Greengrass was not someone people would call trustworthy—conniving, determined mogul who would do and say anything for a good story, yes—but this time she had been absolutely right: the world did lose their shit. The morning her Special Edition of Witch Weekly appeared on the stands with a picture of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger (sharing a rather intimate moment) on the cover...Well, the title Forbidden Love: A Granger-Malfoy Union seemed accurate in describing the frenzy that followed. News of any important, urgent value was discarded to gossip about this impossible romance, independent wireless radio stations took callers to speculate on this new marriage (there were several thousands of people who agreed Hermione had been kidnapped, forced, or betrothed to Draco, for it could simply not be love the reason for such a union), and it awakened the monster that was the paparazzi.

After Greengrass and her photographer had snapped picture after consecutive picture before Hermione or Draco could react to her intrusion, Hermione foolishly assumed they had nothing to worry about. People certainly had much more pressing matters to worry about than a relationship between two strangers. Of course, these strangers were Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger—just because she failed taking note on how famous she was did not mean the Wizardying World was not pressed on knowing her every move. As a result, she was more than appalled that Monday morning she was not allowed to stroll through the front doors of St. Mungo's as she usually did after a coffee run at her favorite bakery. Blaise (Auror Zabini, actually, since he was on the job) and two other Aurors waited for her at the entrance, alongside a gang of reporters who began to hurl obscene speculations and invasive questions at her the second she crossed their line of sight.

"You're joking," she hissed at Blaise, pulling at her arm as his hand circled her wrist, leading her inside the building as the other Aurors controlled the mob behind them. "You're playing bodyguard under Harry's orders? Blaise! This is insane!"

Blaise rolled his eyes as he continued to lead her down to her office. "You know I go wherever the Head Auror sends me, but this time I volunteered."

"Why?" she huffed, but allowed him to push her past her office's door.

"I know a thing or two about being flagged down by ruthless paparazzi," he said with a shrug, looking away from her when her brown, warm eyes lessened in severity (Hermione had never asked about his past, but Blaise was aware she knew how unstable his life had been during his mother's trial). After checking to make sure her window was secure (and casting a good charm on it to repel any mental reporters who tried levitating a few floors up), Blaise added, "I told Draco he was on his own with this mess, but I didn't say I would not be there for you. If protection is all I can offer, then just take it, Hermione."

Hermione reached for his hand, squeezing gently, but said, "My marriage is not a mess."

"Isn't it?" Blaise laughed. "Hell, the world is upside down because of it. You know what they're saying? That you and Draco have been lovers since your Hogwarts days. Forbidden love during time of war, meeting in the aisles of the library, you begging him not to take the Dark Mark."

Hermione snorted loudly, releasing his hand as she made way to her desk. "Greengrass has quite the imagination, I'll give her that."

"It's amusing," he agreed, "but it isn't to Weasley. He punched the reporter who asked him how he felt about your affair with Draco while you two were together."

Looking up from her stack of patient files, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Blaise, waiting for him to say he was lying. He wasn't. She sighed. "Ron knows that isn't true. The media made the same speculations about him and Pansy. He's just upset that it's Draco whom I'm in a relationship with."

"Married," Blaise corrected. "He's upset Draco's the one you married. And possibly expecting a child with. Although I doubt he and Potter know that bit, right?"

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "I have a long shift today. Are you going to stay for all of that, or is there a murderer on the loose you need to catch?"

Blaise grinned at Hermione, giving a low bow that made her groan. "Thanks, by the way," he said before he exited the office, "the hibiscuses were appreciated."

"Of course. They're Luna's favorite flowers," she said, waving her hand for him to leave. "Go on now. Do some good in the world."

While Hermione could not do anything about the swarm of reporters outside of St. Mungo's (although she now considered bringing up a reform on the limitation of paparazzi to Percy next time she saw him), she was grateful her shift constituted working with patients in the long-term wards. The only gossip to travel among the wards was who had finally died (as ghastly as that sounded) or what flavor jello the hospital was serving for a snack. Their unawareness allowed Hermione to do her job without any irregular disturbances.

For eleven hours she forgot all about the outside world—until she entered the Healers' lounge and found Malfoy having a conversation with Healers Cho and Padma Patil-Chang. Well, having a conversation was not exactly what was happening; Padma was enthusiastically commenting about how she found out about his and Hermione's marriage while Malfoy bounced his left leg, uneasiness on his pale complexion, and Cho had a hand on her wife's shoulder, holding her back from launching herself at Malfoy for information.

Cho was the one to clock in on her, greeting her firmly as to bring the attention of the room on her.

Hermione had stumbled back a step, obviously startled, but she was quick to register that it was not in fact a trick of the bright light in the room. She blinked away from Malfoy, back to Padma and Cho; Padma was grinning at her, curiosity and excitement in her dark eyes, and Cho held on to her inquisitive nature, brow raised as she studied Hermione.

Clearing her throat in attempt to compose herself, Hermione walked over to Malfoy. She first thought about embracing him, but her arms were unresponsive to her brain's request. Instead, she leaned down to kiss his left cheek.

If he was surprised (or disgusted) by her action, Malfoy did not show it. He simply looked up at her past his blonde lashes, saying, "I finished in the office earlier than usual and thought you might like to grab dinner before going home. Unless you've already ate, that is."

Hermione forced herself not to gape at Malfoy. She could still sense Cho examining every twitch she gave and hear Padma bouncing on the heels of her feet; as such, she smiled at Malfoy. "That sounds lovely, actually. I just have one more patient before my shift is over. You can join me if you like."

Draco had a habit (a talent, really) of thinking himself the only person in a room, but he, too, could not ignore Chang and Patil drowning them in attention (was their marital surname hyphenated, Patil-Chang or Chang-Patil? Or did they use only one? He'd have to ask how this actually happened). For that reason, he stood from his seat, throwing out the paper cup of tea he had been given by a beaming Patil (fine, Padma) without another glance at the couple.

In silence, he and Granger walked down the cool, white corridors of St. Mungo's. It was uncomfortable, just as he expected it to be given their predicament. He guessed her uneasiness stemmed from the commotion their marriage had caused, but his came from knowing he made this happen. He glanced over at her, wondering if he was actually feeling remorse for leading Daphne Greengrass into 'accidentally' discovering them in order to exploit the publicity that would follow.

Answer: fuck you, Olive Crabbe.

Usually not shy of the media hustling him everywhere he went, Draco found himself not entirely appreciative of the storm of paparazzi shadowing him. In the past he thrived in the attention he was given because it was his own actions they lusted over, but now this hysteria involved someone else, someone Draco could not control. Yes, he found their conspiracy theories entertaining to hear (because he was sure it would piss off certain members of the Golden Trio, if not all), but his name now came attached to Granger's. They spoke of him like he would never exist again without her. It also did not help that his father—once completely intolerant of the press, but now had stopped to pose for every flash of photography when someone asked him about Draco's marriage—reinstated that the union had only brought happiness to the Malfoy family. Odd as it was to hear the word happiness leave Lucius Malfoy's mouth, his foresight on that matter was spot on; the partners at Malfoy Industries were buzzing at what it meant for them now that Draco was married to the most respectable witch in the Wizarding World.

He just could not explain the itch that came with this development.

"Look at the bright side," Olive had said to him that morning, handing him a shot of whiskey as he marched into his office with a glower that could kill. "You won a hundred galleons when Ginny Weasley maimed half of the Appleby Arrows."

Draco drowned the shot without so much as a wince. "I won fuck all. Granger donated it soon as George Weasley popped around to give her the winnings."

"Merlin," she huffed. "That woman is a saint. Tell me again why she married a devil like you?"

Draco narrowed his silver eyes at Olive, breaking his two-shots-a-day rule by yanking the crystal bottle from her hands. He threw the cap and the shot glass out his office window, knocking back the amber liquid like it was water and he was dying of thirst.

"Jesus fuck," Olive gasped, eyes wide after a moment of studying his reaction. As his secretary, she had to learn every off-putting detail of Draco Malfoy's personality to determine how the rest of their work day would develop. While she had learned how he acted when he was angry, frustrated, or simply annoyed, this was a flash of something she had seen only once before. And that was the day she showed up in his office, asking him for employment as a favor to her deceased cousin Vincent Crabbe (oh, hell yeah she had used that excuse to manipulate him into hiring her). "You feel guilty!"

Draco kicked his feet up on his desk. "Piss off," he grunted. "Cancel my meetings and go clean toilets."

"Oh, no, no. The only shit I'm dealing with today is yours," Olive returned with a determined stare before she took out a small, metallic device from the pocket of her trousers.

When her fingers typed away at record speed, Draco raised a brow. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Telling Cyrus not to wait up for me. This is going to take all day." A ding sounded from her phone, making her laugh loudly before glancing back up at Draco. "By the way, Cyrus says he always knew you had a conscience. And how do you feel about a toaster as a wedding gift?"

Draco flipped her the finger, about to take another swig from the bottle, but she had marched over, yanking it out of his grasp. "That's it," he hissed, "you're fired."

Oliver snorted, unimpressed by his threat. "Do you think I've lasted this long working for you because the pay is good? I can't even afford to buy you that bloody toaster without my husband's help, you cheap twat. Need I remind you people don't want to work for a dickhead like you? So," she waved the whiskey over his face, "you get this back once you admit you're feeling guilty about telling that Greengrass bitch about 'Mione."

"'Mione? Since when the fuck is Granger 'Mione?"

"Since I decided I want us to be best friends. By the way, I don't forgive you for not telling me she was the one you drunk-married. Now focus. You, remorse, go."

Draco attempted snatching the bottle but she was quick to swat his hand away. "I don't need this bullshit, Crabbe. I already have an Evaluator."

"Yeah, this weekend wasn't easy for you, was it? Luna mentioned she showed up to the match with Zabini."

Standing from his chair, Draco shoved her back. Before Olive tumbled down, he saved the bottle from crashing against his dark, tiled floor. "Fuck that loony bint. Fuck Blaise and his secret shags. And fuck Granger for not giving me a divorce."

Draco was six shots in when he established that he was not guilty for helping Daphne expose his marriage to Granger. He had (as had everyone who had known before the world did) tried to convince her to have the marriage dissolved as quietly and quickly as possible, but Granger had refused. He had given her an out—he did the right thing. So if she had made her choice to remain by his side as his wife, then it was her own fault she get swept up in the crossfire of him trying to sign a new business under Malfoy Industries. With such responsibility, Draco had to find any method to assure Tierra Pura would flourish as he promised it would. If that meant listening to his father to use the respectability Granger's name gave, then that was that.

About more than halfway down the bottle of whiskey, Draco could not shake off the same unrest he had felt during the semi-finals. Thinking about Granger, thinking about her friends, about how consumed they were with one another, with each other's happiness and well-being, allowing him to be by her side without (loud) protest...

"Listen," Granger spun on her heels, pulling Draco out of his thoughts as they came to a stop at a new section of St. Mungo's. "The patients in this ward have suffered disfigurement and don't take kindly when they are stared at like they aren't people. If you don't think you can handle that, please wait for me here. I won't take long."

The burning reverence in her brown eyes intrigued Draco. He had known her to be incredibly righteous (annoyingly so), but this was something else. This was overwhelming wardship. It was enough to make him nod, letting her know he would follow where she went.

Upon entering, Draco expected to find adults the ones who had been maimed someway, somehow, but he had not expected it to be children whose faces peered up at them when the door swung open. Some of them were on their beds, reading books, coloring, or sleeping, while others were huddled at the far end of the ward, playing with toys that overflowed from a large, wooden chest. He was too busy counting them, registering how old some of them looked (the eldest had to be eight), when a little girl rushed up to Hermione, wrapping arms around her knees.

"Did you bring me a cookie, 'Mione?" the child asked with a giant, toothy smile.

Granger laughed, shaking her head. "Not today, sweetheart."

The little girl pouted, but seemed to accept she would go on without a pastry. She cast blue eyes on Draco, and it was then that he really noticed her. She was tiny, with blonde hair that was growing in different, choppy lengths, and had lovely, defined features that had been scorched. In fact, all of her had been.

"Is this him?" she asked, turning back to her Healer.

"Yes, Lottie. This is my husband. Draco," Granger flashed her brown eyes at him, a smile on her face, "this is Lottie."

"I'm her favorite person in the world," Lottie said to him as her hold on Granger's knees tightened.

Draco had to clear his throat to find his voice. "Really? I thought it was the beast she calls a cat. Or at the very least me."

Lottie laughed and Granger rolled her eyes. "Crookshanks is not a beast," she reminded with a grunt.

"That's an animal, silly," Lottie said to Draco. "But she said I can be her favorite person because you are her favorite prince."

He looked up at Granger, brows knitted in confusion. "Prince, huh?"

She turned away from him, but Draco still caught pink flushing her cheeks as she reached down to pull Lottie onto her hip. He watched her then, watched as she tenderly brushed fingertips over the girl's forehead, tucking blonde strands to the back of her ear. Despite her gentleness, Granger was unafraid of this small being and her broken pieces. Or maybe she did not think the child was broken despite her scars.

Granger carried her to an empty bed. Lottie was swallowed by the white sheets, but the blue in her eyes, innocent and happy, made her a beacon. She allowed her Healer to proceed with the check up as she chatted away, telling her all about the new book Healer Flint had read to them the night before.

Draco had known from Blaise that Granger had not followed Potter and Weasley into the Auror Department because she didn't want to continue doing what they had been doing since the fight of Good vs. Evil had begun. She wanted change, wanted to do something worthwhile. Not ignorant of the fact that Granger had been a useful weapon in time of war, Draco thought she still was doing what she did during the war. She was saving people. She was bringing hope.

"Daddy!"

When Lottie pushed herself up to her knees, waving a hand, Draco had turned to find a man entering the ward. He smiled hugely at the child, but when his own blue eyes found Granger, it diminished.

Granger pocketed her wand, keeping her gaze intent on Lottie. "Okay, sweetheart," she said in a whisper, "everything seems as good as it was yesterday. Just continue to take your potions, and that nasty cough won't come back."

"You hear that, Daddy?" Lottie squealed. "I'm getting better!"

"That's great, love," the man said, taking a few steps closer to his daughter's bed. His proximity made Granger stiffen. Either unaware or uncaring of that, he added, "You make her better, Hermione. Thank you."

Granger cleared her throat, still focused on the child. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lottie." She pressed a kiss on her cheek. "Now, is there something you'd like to say to me before I go?"

"I am beautiful," the child said after pressing her own kiss on Granger, repeating something that sounded close to a mantra. "I am a person. I am fire."

Granger smiled. "Yes, you are. Bright and burning like the sun." As quickly as the adoration appeared on her face, when she looked at Lottie's father, it was gone. "Visiting hours are for another thirty minutes. Please leave after that time so the rest of the children can get their sleep."

"Hermione—"

"I'm sorry, Mister Conrad," she took a step back, away from his intent on reaching for her hand, "my husband is waiting for me. Any concerns you may have can be addressed to our Head Healer, Cho Patil-Chang. Have a good evening."

Granger marched over to Draco, taking his hand to lead him out of the ward. They walked down the same corridor in a silence that was different, that was filled with her anger that pulsated against his palm. When he said her name, trying to reach her as she fumed, she startled him by pushing him against the wall, stretching up on her toes to press a furious kiss on his lips.

"For dinner," she said after she pulled away, "I'm thinking pasta."

They did not end up going to a restaurant for dinner. St. Mungo's was still surrounded in all direction by paparazzi, making it impossible for them to step foot outside. One of the Aurors (who Draco had learned Blaise had left for Granger) instructed them to take a Floo directly to their flat instead. Without breaking a mental sweat, Granger hooked her office Floo Network to Draco's flat; as soon as they entered, Granger headed for the bedroom to change out of her robes while he instructed Delta to take the night off (much to the house-elf's displeasure).

When she came back out, long, curly brown hair tied up in a messy bun, dressed in small, black shorts and an old Slytherin jersey she had taken from his drawer, Granger made way into the kitchen. She pulled out pots and pans from places Draco had not known his kitchen had; as she grabbed all the ingredients she would need, she seemed lost in her own thoughts, unaware that he still remained there.

"It's true, isn't it?"

Her shoulders gave a little jump at the sound of his voice. Casting him a quick look over her shoulder, she said, "What is?"

"A year ago I heard from Astoria that you were involved with a married man. I didn't believe it because, well, it's you. No one could get you to hand over your coursework to copy; the thought of you being with someone who was married was as farfetched as you and me getting married. But here were are."

Draco was sure Granger would not respond; she appeared to be quite content and focused on stirring the sauce with a large wooden spoon to pay him any mind. When she released a deep sigh, he thought he imagined the words that then came out of her mouth.

"Finn Conrad: charming and sweet on the outside, but rotten inside," she paused to take another breath. "I was on call when Lottie was brought in almost two years ago. Her magic had just began to manifest, and she had no idea how to control it. Neither did her mother, a muggle. She must've assumed magic from a child was not powerful, so she left her unattended. Next thing they knew Lottie's room burst into flames with her trapped inside...

"He was so distraught. I needed to call security to help me get Lottie out of his arms. Cho took her to surgery and asked me to stay with him, to sedate him if necessary. I sat with him, held his shaking hands, and asked him to tell me about her. I sat there for hours, listening to the adventures of this little girl, and I was marveled by her just as I was at how much he loved her. When Cho came out and allowed him to see Lottie, Finn asked me to be by his side. I didn't realize it then, but I was already willing to follow him anywhere he wanted me to."

Draco stepped further into the kitchen, removing the pot of boiling pasta from the stove with a wave of his wand. Granger pointed a finger at the sink where a drainer waited. Putting her silent instructions together, he had the pot overturned over the drainer as he asked, "When does the wife come to play?"

"He told me he hadn't been present because he no longer lived there. Divorced. I believed it, of course, because as time passed she never came to hospital and we...Lottie suffered a traumatic experience. With such event comes a loss of memory. When she finally started to recover, she began telling me all about her life. She told me all she could, even the story of her mummy and daddy going to celebrate their anniversary the night of her accident. She had been upset she could not go; that's why her magic flared."

Granger leaned over the now cooling sauce, pausing to wipe the top of her hand over her cheeks. Draco caught sight of her tears before the evidence was gone. "Heartbreak," she muttered, "I can deal with, but knowing I meddled with Lottie's family while she is surviving her accident...God, Malfoy. That shattered me every day."

Later that night, after dinner had been had and dishes had been washed in quiet companionship, Draco watched her climb into his bed. Although he had been the one to suggest a truce during their month trial as a married couple, he had built a barrier of ice to separate their individual sides. It was a line not even she had been up to challenge. Yet when she adjusted the covers over them, she looked at him, pondering something in more silence before the choice of crossing the dividing line occurred. Her arm tightened over his chest, holding him close to her warm, soft body, and Draco let her. He traced fingertips up her arm until she fell asleep.

No amount of alcohol would ever prepare Draco from accepting that fuck, yes, of course he felt remorse. Not only had he gotten so piss drunk that he ended up marrying Hermione Granger, bringing in the shitstorm that came with the Malfoy name as she dealt with her own shitty life, but now a part of him knew this was the beginning of the end.

How could he exist again without her?