dot bine, dot bine... *ahem* Sorry, blocked nose. That's supposed to read: not mine

As it turned out, the terms of the peace agreement were not discussed the next morning. Or at any time the next day.

Draco had finally given up on endless pacing after Hermione left his room; he sat at his desk, head in his hands and tried to sort of the jumble of thoughts he had been unsuccessfully trying to block out for several days. Likewise, Hermione lay in bed, in the dark, her mind replaying and analysing events relentlessly. Neither had much sleep, nor did they come to a satisfying conclusion.

However, both Hermione and Draco emerged the next morning with one clear thought in mind: it was not worth destroying their tentative truce by arguing over conditions. At least, given the increasing amount of time they had to spend together, the evidence that it was possible to reach an agreement bolstered both their spirits.

Daily life would paradoxically become both a lot easier and significantly more difficult for the Prince and his fiancée.

Hermione had a lot of opinions and, never one to be shy about what she thought, she certainly didn't mind airing them for all to hear. She couldn't in all truth say that it had never before happened, but it was certainly a rare occurrence that Hermione Granger had allowed others to take control and make decisions, rather than telling everyone in the vicinity exactly what she thought. But sitting there now, surrounded by fabric swatches and cards, she simply couldn't say she had a view one way or the other.

Hermione had never been personally involved in planning a wedding before, although she had attended many held during the postwar euphoria. If they were always this much hassle, she could definitely see why people would only want to go through all this once in a lifetime. Most brides would be looking forward to their wedding day with eager anticipation and not a sense of foreboding, and this probably made all the difference. And, admittedly this wedding was a larger affair than most.

Of course, Hermione's agreement, and therefore her presence, was somewhat irrelevant. There was not actually that much planning to do and few actual decisions to make; all but the minutest details were determined by tradition and ceremony, or had previously been arranged many years ago, probably around the time of Draco's birth. Almost every other aspect of the ceremony itself was pre-ordained, from the vows, to the appropriate colour, length and width of the ties and sashes for the wedding party.

Instead of planning, she sat and watched Draco shuffling through endless reams of dusty parchment, filled with notes, instructions and formal arrangements that were twenty or more years old. A number of rolls of parchment had been set aside in a smaller pile. These, Hermione noticed when she snuck a quick peek, were all directly related to the bride, identified in faded lettering each time as one Pansy Parkinson.

Although Draco did seem to have the final say in the fine-tuning of arrangements, there was very little he was able to change in reality. Despite the supposed authority and privileges of his position, for the first time Hermione could see that there were concrete limits to Draco's power.

His wasn't a hard life, by any means, no one could look around the opulent room she was currently sitting in and suggest that; it was, however, a life full of obligations and few options. All those clichés about gilded cages and 'poor little rich boys' suddenly came into context. He was a Malfoy by birth, a symbol for old magic and purity because of this, he had been born to take up the position but unexpectedly made a Prince by his father's untimely death, and the ruler of a small, troubled country by the same royal decree; none of this he had chosen. He had revelled in his position at times, used it ceaselessly to his advantage, and it was true that he probably wouldn't have picked any other life for himself. Nevertheless, it was not a life he had chosen. From even before the day he was born, Draco Malfoy had been all these things, but when did he have a chance to just be himself?

The fortunes of an entire country, and its people, rested on the back of the decisions he would make, and yet Draco couldn't even run his own wedding the way he chose… At least it now seemed that he could choose his own wife, if not the location in which he would be married, the music that would play or even the buckle on the belt he would wear that day.

In one tiny way, he had taken his revenge by choosing a bride that no one, not even the woman herself, had foreseen.

But the way he had gone about it had completely taken the power of choice away from her…

That realisation swept away most of her feelings of sympathy. Hermione may have gained a better understanding of Draco, but that did not mean that she was ready to forgive.

"I don't suppose you've managed to slip in any heraldry along with all that other study, have you?"

He hadn't looked up from the table and was still shuffling through parchment, but it had surely been Draco's voice that interrupted her thoughts.

"What?"

"An interesting thought… do the Grangers even have a coat of arms?" Draco mused. He pushed forward a particularly faded parchment filled with tiny, flowing script. "Right here," tapping a line of writing, "the family shields have to be placed together in on the castle gates, official seals and documents, they must be carried during the procession …"

"There's a procession?"

Draco laughed dryly, "Just like when the circus comes to town."

"Wizards have a circus?"

Ignoring her wide-eyed looked of incredulity, he continued, "Do you know if your family has a heraldic shield?"

Banishing all mental images of Draco as a lion tamer (and cursing the implication), Hermione sat up straighter and looked him directly in the eye, hoping the blush would not show on her cheeks. "I wouldn't know. My family decided to leave the 14th century behind when it ended."

Apparently, Draco decided not to take offence to that. He only nodded and went back to reading the parchment. "It's purely for ceremony, anyway, designed to show both families' long and distinguished bloodlines. Few people will care and even fewer will be able to recognise Muggle heraldry. You can think of your own if you'd rather; although you will have to do so for both sides," pointing to another line on the same document, "your father's family and your mother's."

If she were to design her own device, the thought struck Hermione that she could include something really Muggle, a car maybe? A vaccum cleaner? A computer? Or something calculated purely to annoy Draco, a red lion surrounded by gold lightning bolts?

In the end, diplomacy won out. If one ignore the whole 'forced marriage' business, he was being perfectly nice to her. While Hermione found that she couldn't ignore the forced marriage thing, she did appreciate that he wasn't making this truce hard on her. In the interests of continued equanimity, she would state her loyalty as clearly, yet delicately as possible. The first shield featured the twin devices of a deer's head and a hound, for Harry and Ron's patronus forms. The other two towers, to represent the strength and solidity of her parents, and a wheat sheaf.

"Wheat?" Draco raised an eyebrow, "For fertility?"

Hermione blushed. She should have gone with the lightning bolt idea… "That's not what it means… it's grain, for Granger."

If he looked disappointed, it could only have been because he really had expected red and gold lions. Or maybe a house elf?

Draco merely nodded, "These will be forged at the same time the coins are re-minted. They've been sitting around for 7 years with DM linked to the double P, obviously that has to change now."

And darn it all if most of that sympathy didn't come flooding back.

At the end of the day, although the majority of the (pre-arranged) preparations had been finalised, there were still some minor adjustments to be made. Despite tradition, Draco did not feel it appropriate to use green accents alongside the silverware now that the bride was no longer a fellow Slytherin. Hermione really couldn't care less about colour schemes, but was aware that he was trying to be understanding… that, or he was stating his defiance very clearly. Either way, it was still only a colour scheme.

There was also still the matter of a wedding dress. Even with custom and ceremony, the Malfoys seemed to have realised that, if she had control over little else, a bride would want to choose her own dress. Unfortunately for Hermione, this just happened to be one area of planning she would have most appreciated a few guidelines and advice. That was what friends were usually for, but all her friends were safely back home in England.

"May I see that guest list again?" she asked, holding her hand out to accept an especially long roll of parchment.

Countless names had been scratched off and added in different ink and handwriting as people died or worked their way into and out of favour. Several names were struck through and rewritten numerous times before that final cross. It wasn't quite as morbid as Mrs. Black's tapestry, but Hermione still shuddered upon recognising some of the names and remembering their ends.

"I want to invite my own guests."

"…Guests?"

"If I'm going to do this, then I want my friends and family there."

Draco looked nonplussed for a long moment. "You're going to do it? I thought your general policy was to ignore everything in the hope that it would go away."

"I still hope that you'll change your mind. But it's looking less likely every day that this whole thing is going to go away. I'd much rather talk to my friends now and explain what's happening than for them to find out from someone else."

"Explain? You mean you'll twist the facts and make me out to be the bad guy."

"And how different is that to the real reason I'm here now?" he looked like he might have wanted to interject, but Hermione continued to talk, "Draco, you'll always be the bad guy to them. That's why I need to straighten things out beforehand. How is it going to look if I show up married to a man that I've professed to hate for more years than I'd like to recall?"

His voice was strained, "You only want to tell them so that Potter and Weasley will show up to kidnap you away from me."

Obviously she heard that wrong… She simply attached the wrong meaning to the words… That only sounded dejected because Draco knew he'd wake up smarting from a hex or two to the head…

"Honestly, you're just being unrealistic now. I doubt I'll get more than a sternly worded owl or two. Harry has to stick close to home now that Ginny's due soon and Ron is on his honeymoon. If either one of them leaves his wife to come here for some rescue attempt, I'll kick them out myself."

His grey eyes considered her for a moment, taking in her earnest expression and steady gaze. Finally his eyes lowered. "You can explain all you want, but I doubt that they'll come. Still, invite them, I won't give you any more resistance... I'm not sure your parents will be hugely welcome though."

That cut - deep. Had he intended that to hurt?

The insult was evident in Hermione's voice. "That's what you get when you marry a muggle-born, you have to deal with muggles. You'll survive somehow."

"No. What I meant was… you know my mo–"

An ear-splitting crack, followed by the sound of an explosion stopped them both. Through the window they could see a plume of purple smoke rising in the distance.

Half way turned to race towards the door, a strong arm held Hermione back.

"I need you to stay here." Draco bit out roughly and strode from the room.

U/N (unnecessary note): Ok. That was a tough one to get out. If it sounds confusing or awkward in places, there's a reason. I'm tired, blocked up with the flu, and all in all, sort of disappointed with myself. Finally, we can all agree, haha. Anyway, BIG things up soon! Big, explosive things... or just explosions. And Narcissa, our own personal favourite ticking time bomb...

Hearty cheers to readers, reviewers and newbies. Thanks for putting up with my nonsense (smiley face)