A/N: Thank you to all of you for reviewing. As always, thanks to Emily and Hillary for being superstars. And Hil, watch for a PM sometime tomorrow. Also, much love to mjmusiclover for being cool and to JillianUnleashed for leaving lovely detailed reviews. A few of you commented on Lucius not using a contraceptive…? The way I see it, Malfoys aren't used to having to do things for themselves, so he just never thought about contraceptive charms. Narcissa got preggers once out of necessity and after that she took care of things. So he was an unreasonable arsehole (though admittedly sexy) as always and just assumed that he didn't have to worry. So then he was mad at himself and mad at Hermione and lost it and Crucioed the hell out of her. Btw – Crucio won't harm the baby. I know yankeerose was concerned.

Chapter Seven

For As Long As We Both Shall Live

Honestly, it's not to me whether or not I think Daddy's gone batty. You're still a Malfoy and you still need to act your part. I swear to Salazar, Draco Malfoy, that if you're not ready promptly at eleven today, there will be hell to pay. You know what you have to do, and you will do as you are told.

Draco moved slowly that morning, his ears still ringing from his aunt's Howler. He knew very well what was expected of him today, and all of it made him slightly sick. He ran a hand over his unshaven face and sighed. This might be the last time he sat at his kitchen table alone, a bachelor. The thought was horrible – almost as bad as the thought of what was expected of him. Oh, Merlin. He had to share his house… Not that it was a problem of being ready or not. The house elves had done their work well, and while he'd never live in the equivalent of The Manor, one could not accuse Draco of failing to live in style.

The last time he'd been this irritated with his life, he'd been the alleged "Prince of Slytherin" and all he'd had to do was write a letter to his father. Everything had fallen into place exactly the way he wanted it after that. But he wasn't facing a bunch of moronic second-years, and he couldn't complain to his father. Especially not since his father had created the whole damn situation.

He shoved his empty coffee away from him, across the table, and forced his stiff limbs up to his bedroom, where he stood in the doorway for a moment surveying. He had three guest rooms, but he didn't doubt he knew exactly where Granger would be sleeping. It was improper – totally against the rules of a marriage (especially a Malfoy Marriage) – to make her sleep in a guest room. He didn't often make the bed, and he saw now that the house elves hadn't gotten to it yet. The covers on his side were still flipped down, revealing the silky green underbelly of the rumpled sheets. He wondered if Granger made her bed every morning. Would the elves still do it anyway? What if she wanted his side of the bed?

He groaned, pulling his pajama shirt over his head and stalking to the closet. The idea of having to share his closet made him positively whimper with fright. His clothes… his clothes all in order by dye lot and by blend. He couldn't imagine anything pink, or maybe a thong flung across his neatly folded pants…

But Granger wouldn't wear pink, or thongs, or (horrors) pink lace thongs. He felt his cheeks grow hot when he realized he'd let his mind wander a bit too , he pulled his best white Oxford shirt out of a drawer and started to pull it on – first onto his right arm, then to his left.

When the movement of his left hand caught his eye, he sort of trailed off and left his shirt on half-hanging, looking more closely at his arm. He rarely looked at his Mark. He didn't like thinking about it. He wore long sleeves and tried to ignore it when he got dressed. But there was something striking about the way it stood out now, crisp black lines against smooth white flesh. He could still smell the burning of his skin when Voldemort had branded him. Bellatrix pretended to hold his hand soothingly while his arm caught fire. He'd screamed then.

He remembered quite clearly the day he'd found The Mark on his father. Draco had been little, playing in the tub with his favorite rubber snakes. Lucius' sleeves were getting all wet up until then, and he'd just unbuttoned them at the wrists to roll them up.

"What's that, Father?" young, naïve Draco had asked, jabbing – er, pointing at the scary black scribble on his father's arm. His father hissed and swatted him away, saying that it was none of his business, and that he would understand when he was much, much older.

Draco wasn't four anymore, and he still didn't understand the Dark Mark. He loathed it. And he still couldn't understand what about it actually made people want to follow it. He'd been stupid when he'd let Voldemort mark him as one of his own.

Well… No. He'd been grateful. Of course he'd been grateful. Because "Draco, the Dark Lord has given you all that's important in your life, and you should remember that he could take it all away just as quickly."

Draco finished putting his shirt on so that he wouldn't have to look anymore.

Narcissa had always gone out of her way to avoid looking at Lucius' Mark. He wondered what Granger would think. Not, of course, that he cared what Granger would think. But he remembered his horror at finding the Mark for the first time (nothing compared to the horror of seeing it branded into his own flesh) and he knew it would be rough. Especially if she'd been with his father.

He focused quickly on knotting his tie before his mind could wander too far down that dark, scary path.

Instead, he found himself thinking about the less-than-ideal alternative. The baby. His "child"-to-be. Or, if you rather, his half-brother. Draco was ninety percent sure that the baby would be a boy, if only because, nine times out of ten, Malfoy babies were born male. His grandfather had once told him in all seriousness that Malfoy men had superior sperm, specifically evolved to carry Y Chromosomes.

Draco didn't know how much contact he would have with the baby after it was born – or how much contact he would want to have with the baby – but he knew one thing. No child deserved to have the kind of childhood that he'd had. Not even his father's bastard. In an ideal world, Granger's baby wouldn't grow up terrified of the brand on his "father's" arm, wondering in horror if at some age he would sprout his own. Or having to hear his "father" get up in the middle of the night and know he might not be back for hours, even days, and that when he came back there was a chance that he'd be bruised and battered from unspeakable activities. And have to fear that he might not come back at all.

No, Draco barely considered himself a prime candidate for fatherhood. He had no better a profession than had his own father, even if his ideals were a bit muzzy. But it's not like he'd ever try to claim Granger's brat his own. At least not seriously.

So it didn't really matter, did it?

***

"Granger."

"Bellatrix."

The two women stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them not quite sure what the other was expressing, but knowing that there was something there all the same. The intensity between them burned. Hermione fiddled a lock of hair nervously. Bellatrix sighed and tossed her head.

"Right. So." For the last time, she set Hermione's dress-of-the-day carefully down onto the bed, and Hermione had to lean up against the wall to keep standing. Her heart stopped at the same time as it started racing. Her stomach dropped and flip-flopped. Her breath came in short, quick gasps.

A wedding dress. She wiped her suddenly sweaty hands on her pajama bottoms. Maybe not a wedding dress. They couldn't seem presumptuous and come like they wanted to get married. Oh, no. But there was very little doubt that she would be marrying Draco Malfoy today, in that very dress. Wedding dress or not, it was still unnaturally swishy-looking, definitely floor-length, ruche-bodice-ed, and cream colored. Even if they didn't outright ask for a wedding, the dress would speak for them.

"That's not very subtle," she managed, her voice trembling.

Bellatrix's eyes bored holes in the offending garment."Yes, well. Apparently Lucius has always wanted to see you in cream and this is his last chance to do it." .

Hermione's stomach turned again. "Did he really say that?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Bellatrix stalked over to the windows and pulled the curtains open sharply. "Just get dressed, Granger. No one is in a good mood today and being late will just piss us all off more."

Hermione looked at the dress for a long moment, and then sagged in defeat, moving over to pick it up. "Malfoy here yet?" she asked dully.

"Don't call him Malfoy," Bella snapped reflexively. But her voice lagged. "He does have a first name."

"So do I," Hermione murmured, shooting the older woman a quick, frantic look before shimmying out of her top and trying futilely to cover herself with her arms.

"No, he's not here yet. Which is just as well because your hair is a bloody disaster today. You really would do better to cut it all off. But I wanted to talk to you a bit before you're all set to go. Don't give me that look, Granger, because I already had this talk with Draco. It's not just you who gets this treat, trust me." She rolled her eyes with a look of exaggerated torture. "You wouldn't normally hear me saying this, but I do think that Lucius has gone a bit bonkers."

Hermione stopped trying to wriggle modestly into the tight satin dress and stared at Bellatrix in unconcealed shock. Had she just accused Lucius of going a bit bonkers? Since when had the word 'bonkers' ever been heard coming out of Bellatrix Lestrange's mouth? And for the love of Merlin, why now? She already had to worry about an angry daddy-to-be Death Eater and his Hermione-hating son. She didn't need to deal with another Death Eater gone nutty…

"So, what's this talk?" she said uneasily, when it was clear that Bellatrix had gone off into her own little world, frowning and muttering things.

"What?" The woman's dark head snapped up and her eyes fell upon Hermione's half-clothed state. Her thin mouth curled in disgust and amusement, and she shook her head as if to clear it. "Oh. Right. Your Lord Malfoy says I'm to instruct you on what is expected of you today."

She'd been wondering –the full story – how they were supposed to convince Voldemort that she and Malfoy actually wanted to get married. She nodded faintly, resuming the struggle to fit her arms through the sleeves of her dress.

"The story" – and here Bellatrix's lip curled again in a clear indication of just how little she approved of the story – "is that you with all your 'charm and beauty' managed to seduce my nephew while he was over for tea. Lucius was out that day – Draco came to visit Aunty" – the face she made here was almost a leer – "and I was apparently easily enough distracted that the two of you ended up fumbling around in a bedroom together. Hence the baby."

"Hence the baby…" Hermione murmured, knowing full well that it would take a lot more than duty and honor to make a Malfoy marry the girl he'd knocked up.

"After that, the two of you somehow managed to sneak some time together behind all our backs, and for whatever reason actually fell in love."

She stopped fumbling with her zipper and stared at the woman again. In love? What, did they think that Voldemort was daft? Apart from the fact that she and Mal – Draco couldn't be together without getting testy, there was the sheer improbability of Draco Malfoy ever under any circumstances going for The Mudblood.

Bellatrix leered. "Yes, Granger. You heard me. In love. Now I've given this same talk to Draco so he knows what type of behavior to expect in you. He's all but given his word to do the same. You can't just go along with Lucius' story. You have to act your parts."

Hermione's jaw may have literally dropped. "You want me to act like I'm genuinely in love with Malfoy?" she gasped.

"Draco."

"Malfoy." She paused for an imperceptible moment, waiting for the inevitable slap. The slap never came and the moment passed more quickly than it had come. "Yes, you are to act as if you are genuinely in love. It's not just lust, Granger, but love. Although lust played a big role in getting you where you are today…"

The jab didn't even bother her. Her brain, usually so adept at calculating its way through sticky spots, was stuck on repeat, throwing the same phrases at her over and over. Seduced Malfoy. Baby. In love. Voldemort. Seduced Malfoy. Had sex. Have feelings. Voldemort. Copped up Malfoy. Offspring. Romance!!! Voldemort.

"So," Bellatrix was saying, "that's that. I'll leave you to your own devices then. I hear brides like to be alone before their weddings." And then she left Hermione to her broken-record thoughts.

***

The air at the Malfoy Manor was thick with tension come five-till-eleven. Hermione sat ramrod straight at the edge of an armchair in the drawing room, smoothing her skirt and her hair compulsively. She looked anywhere but someplace in particular, her face ashen, and her lips moving in what may or may not have been mouthed words. Lucius paced the strip of stone in front of the hearth, his fingers trailing on the mantle. Every time he turned back to face her, he would stare at Hermione for a long moment, memorizing everything about her: her hair, her eyes, her cheekbones. Her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. A long time on her breasts, then down to the curves of her waist and her hips, the slim line of her legs, down to the high-heeled feet that poked out from the end of the sweeping skirt of the damn dress. Bellatrix fumed indiscreetly, shooting nasty looks intermittently at each of them, and peering out the curtains when she wasn't giving them death glares.

Draco himself felt a bit peaky as he climbed the steps up to the wide veranda, and his hand shook when he reached up to knock on the door. While he waited he straightened his tie self-consciously, the pounding of his heart in his throat making the collar of his shirt seem so tight that it might strangle him. When he heard the doorknob turn he smoothed his hair mechanically, then let his hands drop in horror when he realized that he was going to all this trouble for the mudblood.

"Draco," Lucius said silkily.

Hermione's heart did a silly little flippy thing before picking up in double time. Not really aware of her actions, she stood on shaky legs and grabbed onto Bellatrix's arm so that she wouldn't fall over. Bella shook her off irritably, and the two of them made their way out into the foyer. But Hermione was trembling like a leaf, and each step took an eternity. She knew that just around the corner stood Draco… She couldn't breathe. Oh, Merlin. Oh sweet Jesus she was fucked. She was not just about to go meet Draco Malfoy, her about-to-be husband.

Oh! No. This was wrong! All wrong! It was supposed to be Ron!

The miniscule part of her that was still Hermione Granger, locked up somewhere in the dark recesses of her brain, rattled the bars to her cage and tried more desperately than ever to get out. She screamed obscenities. She ripped out her hair. She, in a very un-Hermione-ish move, broke down and started sobbing. But the new, docile Hermione 2.0 fixed a shaky smile on her face and let her feet carry her out into the hall on autopilot. The clacking of her heels was uneven with the uncertainty of her step..

Draco's breathing hitched when he saw Granger totter out of the drawing room. She looked lovely, really, with that satiny cream draped across her slender frame, setting off the high color in her cheeks and contrasting with her hair, which had been tamed into smooth, dark curls. He almost smiled with endearment when she bit her lip uncertainly and looked first toward his father. Well. She was a right sight more attractive than his father, that was for sure.

Hermione, for her part, felt all the oxygen leave her lungs with a painful whoosh when she saw Malfoy's dark suit and tie. His pale face shone with nervous energy, and his eyes seemed to flash a brighter silver than normal. Her fiancé? Her knees decided then to give out, and she found herself caught in a sudden tangle of Malfoy Arms as both Lucius and Draco reacted instinctively to scoop her back to her feet. She ended up holding tightly onto Draco, relieved when Lucius let go. And then when she realized that her hands were on Draco's chest, his on her waist, and she was looking up to meet his eyes, she flushed and reclaimed her body quickly.

"Well." Bellatrix tapped her toe irritatingly. "Are we all ready to go, then?"

Lucius clapped his hands together, then brushed his fingers lightly across the small of Hermione's back. "The car is waiting," he said. He nodded to Bellatrix and Draco. "After you two, then." And when they were through the door he nudged Hermione not-so-subtly toward his son. She stumbled into him, and he caught her, again automatically. This time she held onto his hand, after Bellatrix glared at her murderously.

The four of them clambered awkwardly into the usual long black car, although Hermione wondered if the inside had been magically expanded to fit them all. She found herself squished between the two Malfoy men, which was awkward. Awkward because Draco held onto her hand woodenly and stared straight ahead, and awkward because Lucius was playing distractingly with her hair and his hand kept drifting too low over her collarbone. She wanted to ball her hands into fists but Draco's hand was right there, and he winced twice when she squeezed it too hard.

"You're together," Bellatrix hissed, when they clambered out of the car. Hermione looked over at Draco, who looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand brusquely, and she grimaced lightly before stepping closer to him so that she was almost tucked into his body. They shuffled awkwardly, unused to each other's body in such close proximity, up the steps and into Voldemort's little palace.

It was different last time. Last time, there had been a whole crowd waiting for her, ready to humiliate her. But this time, it would almost seem that their arrival had been unexpected. There wasn't a swarm of angry men in black capes ready to watch her suffer, and she was glad for it. As they dragged themselves into Voldemort's – oh gods, what to call it but a throne room? – their awkwardness took a new meaning. She almost felt like she was playing the part. Shy. Cringing into Draco. Bellatrix snorted.

"Miss Granger!" That high, icy voice again. She had to bite her lips to keep from whimpering. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."

Her knees were trembling. "My Lord," she said quietly, looking down, at her feet, and her hand wrapped around Draco's. Draco's thumb smoothed over her hand again, more gently this time.

"And Draco, too! What a lovely surprise. What could have brought you all here? Lucius?"

Hermione felt Draco stiffen beside her, and felt something oddly akin to pity. Imagine having to call that thing your master.

Lucius was his usual smooth self. He clapped a hand on Hermione's shoulder affectionately and smiled fondly at Draco. "My Lord, who can explain what sort of behaviors two teenagers can get themselves into? Perhaps it would be better for them to explain themselves."

Lord Voldemort inclined his head ever so slightly toward Draco, who licked his lips nervously. He always had a problem with those unnatural eyes. He knew he wasn't supposed to look at them anyway, but he knew they were there, glinting at him, watching him through oddly catlike slits. He tried not to shiver.

"My Lord, I…" He looked over at Hermione, trying to smile fondly but probably ending up grimacing. The look of encouragement that she shot him was not so much a friendly push, but a frantic "Please go on before he hexes us to pieces" sort of encouragement. "My Lord, I'm afraid that I haven't…" What the fuck was he supposed to do, say that he'd "lost his virginity?"

"I blame it on Granger," he said pathetically.

"Me?" Hermione cocked one eyebrow coolly and Draco wondered if maybe he'd underestimated her levelheadedness and her superior acting abilities. She just had spent five weeks with his father. "Oh, you can't deny that you were a willing participant, darling."

Voldemort's lipless mouth twisted into a sort of grin. "Go on, Draco. Explain yourself."

Granger and my dad have been shagging like bunnies and now she's pregnant and he's too bloody stupid to take things into his own hands. "Gr – Hermione and I had the fortune of ending up in a room alone together a few weeks ago," he said, missing calmness and managing more of a pathetic squeak.

Hermione smiled dazzlingly. "Draco can be quite alluring when he's left to his own devices."

He jerked his head down and stared at her in surprise. She smiled up at him coyly, and something twisted in his gut. Ugh. Granger was… flirting with him? And rather well, too. If she weren't herself…

Her eyes flashed a warning at him and she elbowed him sharply. "My – my own devices?" he spluttered. "It's barely my fault that you're so charming."

She laughed, and it had an edge of hysteria. "Oh, would you listen to him…"

Voldemort cleared his throat softly. "Draco," he sighed. "After all the work your father did to raise you well, is this really how you've turned out?"

Lucius sniffed derisively. "My Lord, speaking from personal experience, I know how much of a seductress Miss Granger can be. I'm sure that, like most seventeen-year-old boys, he had that rush of hormones. We're not proud of him, but…"

Bellatrix pinched Draco hard in the ribs. You have to mean it. "That's not true!" he said hotly. "That's not true, Father, and you know it. What Hermione and I have is more than lust and a quick grope in the dark."

She squeezed his hand warmly.

Voldemort merely laughed. "I suppose you mean to tell me, Draco, that you've fallen in love with Miss Granger? Forgive me if this seems far-fetched."

His cheeks burned but he lifted his chin high and set his face determinedly. "In love? Yes, My Lord. I would say that I'm in love." He heard Granger's quick, frantic breaths beside him, and felt the way she gripped his fingers so tightly. He untangled his fingers from hers lightly and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. "I'm in love, but I also need to take responsibility for my actions."

Bellatrix sighed loudly. "Responsibility? Is that what you call this? You were barely responsible then, and this is just your cover-up."

Voldemort was grinning widely. All four of them were almost positive that he wasn't buying a word of what they were saying – world's most accomplished Legilimens, and all that… but to their surprise, all he said was, "Why don't you explain, then, Bella, if you have so much of an opinion."

"My… nephew got Miss Granger pregnant," she said evenly. "We're asking that he take responsibility for his actions and not leave a Malfoy half-breed out on the streets."

"So it's a matter of honor?"

"Except we're lucky that he actually fell for Hermione." Lucius clapped his hand on Hermione's shoulder again, brushed the side of her face, and stepped back. "I know, My Lord, that it's not our place to ask you, but considering the circumstances…"

"You want Miss Granger and Draco to get married." If it weren't for – ugh. Merlin – his voice, he might have actually sounded considerate. He looked down from his throne to where Hermione cringed into Draco, and smiled lazily. "Ah, Lucius. You disappoint me, my old friend. And you, Draco. You really need to work more on your Occlumency."

Hermione almost smirked when Draco looked abashed. "Yes, My Lord."

They all waited for a horrible moment as Voldemort smiled down at them, and then he clapped his hands. "Just for you, Lucius. It's what friends do for each other, isn't it?" The Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucking-Named grinned jollily. "Of course, you'll let me keep an eye on the happy couple for my own personal reasons."

Lucius bowed deeply, and Hermione thought for a moment that she might have seen his face relax with relief. "Of course, My Lord. You are most kind."

"I suppose you're both ready now?" Voldemort asked Hermione and Draco. They both blinked up at him in shock.

"Now?" Draco managed.

"One would think that people as hopelessly in love as the two of you wouldn't have issues with that, don't you think?" Voldemort snapped. "Both of you. Kneel. I'll do it myself."

Draco knelt ungracefully and Hermione sort of tumbled over into him. He caught and steadied her, and then took her hands. His own were cold and dry, but she was sure that hers were hot and sweaty. Great. She felt the very epitome of the beautiful, blushing bride right now. Her heel caught in her skirt and she almost pitched forward again. Voldemort stood above them, his moment of frustration gone as quickly as it had come, looking amused again.

"All situated?" He twirled his wand in his long, white fingers. Harry had talked about Voldemort's hands once – she'd thought he was just chattering, after a dream he'd had. He always woke up terrified. But there was something about them, so long and spindly… like the hands of a pianist. A killer pianist.

Draco squeezed her hands to get her attention, and she looked at him distractedly. She caught his eyes burning into her face, piercing and silver. There was color in his high cheekbones, and his jaw was tight and square. She supposed that brides were supposed to appreciate how handsome their husbands were, right before they said I do. Calling Malfoy handsome might have been a bit of a stretch, but… she supposed she could have done worse, considering.

She squeezed back and smiled nervously, her stomach flipping over again. Her heart was pounding so fast that her chest was moving up and down.

Voldemort set the tip of his wand over the place where their hands joined, and he cleared his throat dryly before he started to recite.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, take Hermione – is it Jean? – Granger to be your wife – to live together in the magical bond of matrimony?"

"I do," Draco said, through gritted teeth.

Hermione felt herself growing hot. Voldemort babbled on contentedly, spewing a twisted version of the traditional Muggle vows. From the look of surprise on Lucius' face, and from what little she remembered of her reading, wizards didn't normally bind with Muggle words.

"I will," Draco mumbled.

Something hot coiled around her hands and she looked down, surprised to see a thin band of golden light twisting around their interwoven fingers. Her brain made the connection very quickly. An Unbreakable Vow. Well, fuck.

Voldemort inclined his head toward her slightly. "Do you Hermione Jean Granger take Draco Malfoy to be your husband – to live together in the magical bond of matrimony?"

"I do?"

She couldn't look at him, or at Draco, or at anyone. She just looked at the band of light that wove around their hands over and over, pulsing lightly. She knew what would come next, knew how the words would tie her down…

"Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon him your heart's deepest devotion, forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?"

For as long as you both shall live. No divorce, then, if it was Unbreakable. No Ron. She'd never be a Weasley.

Love him. Will you love him, Hermione? Will you have a choice? Magic couldn't actually force her to love her husband, could it? And plenty of other people in arranged marriages took mistresses or lovers, so it wouldn't be that bad, would it? They weren't bound by an Unbreakable Muggle Vow.

She felt all eyes on her, and took a deep breath.

"I will."

Another cordon of light wove to join its mate, and they formed a seamless chain, winding over and over around their hands, through their fingers, up and down their wrists. Hermione gasped when she felt something scalding on the ring finger of her left hand, burning hot against her skin, squeezing until…

All the light was gone. She and Draco reclaimed her hands, and she wasn't really surprised to see that she now sported a plain gold band, that still glimmered gently from the magic.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," Voldemort said wryly. "Draco, you may now kiss the bride."

Draco grimaced and kissed Hermione lightly on the cheek.

"Good, well, that's done." Voldemort inspected his long fingers boredly. "I'll expect the two of you to check in from time to time. I'd love to hear how the newlyweds are doing, and of course we'll have to present you to the rest sometime soon, won't we?"

Hermione felt numb as Lucius helped her to her feet and draped her over Draco's proffered arm.

"I'll send you two on your merry way, then," the Dark Lord continued, still studying his hands. "I hope that you do enjoy your wedding night, for it only happens once. It wouldn't be very traditional of you to ignore that, would you?"

Hermione had never wanted more to crawl up into a hole and die. Here she was, married to Draco Malfoy, pregnant with Lucius' baby, and listening to Tom Riddle talk to her about sex.

It wasn't exactly how she'd planned her life out.

Ron: Oy, Harry. What say you to going back to Hogwarts for a bit?

Harry: Why would that do us any good? We're looking for *message reducted*

Ron: But aren't there supposed to be *message reducted* at Hogwarts?

Harry: No. Too cliché. You know if we went back there, Hermione would show up hitched to Malfoy or something ridiculous like that. It happens in every bad plot. So not in ours.

Ron: Hermione and… Malfoy? But she was with Malfoy Sr., Harry…

Harry: Oh, sod off, Ron. I'm trying to translate this document from Parselmouth into something you'll be able to read. Why don't you ask the reviewers what they think? Honestly, I think there are far better ways of finding *message reducted* and what Hermione's up to, but if you want to be lame like that…

Ron: Well? *glares* What say you, hey? I want to save Hermione's ass.

Ginny: *under her breath* Ron, I think that's already done. She's not stuck with you, you miserable freckled oaf. She got herself a nice slice of Drake-Cake. And I think Lily made her decision concerning this plot. *brightens* But you can always review! I'd love to show up…

Lily: *loudly* THANKS ALL FOR GIVING OUT SPOILERS! While we're at Review Whoring, though, I have a question for you all. The next chapter calls for a lemon. Now, I could write my first lemon ever JUST FOR YOU and be explicit to show the emotion that needs to be conveyed in it, but I won't enjoy it. Hymnophile's not big on beta-ing lemons, and I'm not huge on writing them. But if you really, really want one, I'll be giving the least graphic lemon I can. Otherwise, it's charmingly clumsy evasion for you. Knowing how awkward I feel about this, please answer carefully. You don't want to make me regret what I do… Oh. And I have a fairly comprehensive plot outline that I'm QUITE proud of. You guys have treats ahead if you click the magic button. LOVE!!!