"What the fuck is going on here?" he hissed, his voice full of bitterness and malice.

"Stop jumping to conclusions," Hermione said coolly, not bothering to move. "Harry had a nightmare and I fell asleep here after administering another Sleeping Draught."

"It's completely innocent Malfoy," Harry insisted. "I would never cheat on Ginny."

A glare from Hermione silenced him. Harry's self-preservation instincts –which had been the bane of Voldemort's existence for seventeen years– kicked in and he decided to butt out of the conversation.

"I thought you said you had to guard us," Draco's voice was dripping with disdain. "I think your methods leave a lot to be desired if you don't even stir until someone is inside the room."

Hermione leapt off Harry's bed and drew herself to her full height, her eyes glittering with anger. "I fell asleep, don't tell me that you've never made a mistake." It was a low blow and she knew it, but she was too incensed to care.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Fine, you made a mistake. Either way, we clearly don't need a guard, let's go."

"Go where?" Hermione crossed her arms.

"To our room of course," Draco stepped closer. He wondered just how much of their intimacy came from the infallible force that was Narcissa Malfoy, because if the past few hours had been anything to go by, apparently all of it did. Hermione was choosing to play dumb about the fact that they were married and that they were expected to share a bed.

"You go ahead, I'll stand guard." Hermione waved him off.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying you don't trust your wards?"

Damn. She was stuck and he knew it. She internally battled with herself about whether to lie and say she was worried she had done a sub-standard job with their wards, or to follow him to their room and be put in her place.

"Come to bed, Hermione." Draco said languidly, as he held out his hand to her.

She had no choice but to take it. "Goodnight Harry," she called behind her back as Draco led her into their room. He intently shut the door with a restrained slam and locked it forcefully. Hermione struggled to keep her face composed into a blank mask, as she stood with her arms crossed. She wasn't going to make this easy on him by crawling into his bed.

"Surely you understand why you're here?" Draco enquired with a sneer, as he indicated to the bed.

Hermione shook her head. "No, actually, I don't," she said clearly. "I'm not sure what this sudden possessive farce is supposed to indicate."

"You are my wife, you will not show me up by sleeping in another man's bed to avoid sharing one with me," said Draco, in clipped tones.

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione demanded. "Why are you forcing this– this– unnecessary intimacy?"

"You needed a reason to come to my bed. I gave you one," Draco said simply, appearing not to notice the brazen connotations of his words. "I take it you don't like me besting you at your own games?"

"I'm not playing games," Hermione lied. She was more shaken by his understanding of her actions than she liked to admit, even to herself.

"Don't lie to me love," Draco's eyes were dangerously dark. "It's an insult to my intelligence, and Malfoys don't take insults kindly; not even from that deliciously sinful mouth of yours."

Hermione glared at him. "What's in it for you to have me here? Is this about some manly pride thing where you had to stake your claim in front of Harry?"

Draco remained stoic. "You can believe whatever reason it takes to get you to sleep at night," he drawled lazily. "It is of no consequence to me."

She was right in front of him in two strides. "If I'm of no consequence to you then why are you doing this?" she grabbed a fistful of his robes, goading him into losing control. "I need an answer."

"I never said you were of no consequence to me," replied Draco darkly, as he disengaged her fingers. "Now go to bed."

Hermione shivered at the passion and intensity in his eyes, but accepted the dismissal. Without another word, she threw herself onto the furthest side of the bed, until she was all but pressed up against the cloth wall of the room. She felt him get in beside her, and she stiffened her body, as though daring him to see what the consequences would be if he tried to bridge the distance between him. Draco, however, appeared not to care, because he turned his back to her and extinguished the lights.

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she found that the bed was empty. A note on the bedside table revealed that Harry and Draco were at the brook and that they would be back shortly. Harry's wand lay next to the note, and from the untidy scrawl on the parchment, Hermione wondered why her husband had given up being territorial and had let Harry be the one to leave a note and wand for her.

Perin Aldaine paced nervously in his small room. In the two years that he had been a guard at Azkaban, he had developed a tentative friendship with the wife of his most high security prisoner. Despite that, he had never before had the honour of her initiating correspondence with him, ambiguous thank-you notes excluded. The blackened ashes of note that she had sent him currently decorated the grate of his fireplace. The expensive parchment, with the single word 'please', had left him teeming with questions. Nevertheless, he had dismissed his fellow guard under the guise of receiving a visit from a ladyfriend. Perin checked his watch, it was almost time.

He made his way to the back doors with deliberate strides. Sure enough, the blonde was waiting for him, in her usual nondescript attire of dull grey. "Evening Madame," he called out softly.

"Evening Monsieur," she replied shakily. "Thank you for arranging for my request so quickly."

"Urgent business?" he asked affably, as he led her through the prison.

She nodded curtly.

They arrived at the door to the cell, and he announced her presence. "Monsieur Malfoy, your wife is here to see you."

At once, Lucius Malfoy was up and to the door, his normally passive face clouded with worry. "I thought there were two of you patrolling tonight?"

"There were," Perin nodded. "I'll leave your wife to explain." He tactfully bowed out of the room and into his own quarters.

Narcissa drew a deep breath and tried to keep herself together until the door of her husband's cell closed behind them. "It's Draco–" she managed to say, before she collapsed on to his floor in a sobbing heap.

"Draco? What has happened?" Lucius asked sharply, as he crouched next to his wife. "Cissy, what's wrong?" He tenderly brushed the strands of her fine hair off her face.

"He, along with Hermione and Potter disappeared from a ball," Narcissa choked out, as a fresh slew of tears wracked through her body. "Blaise and the youngest Weasley boy said they had been slipped a Portkey. They were taken somewhere, and none of us have any idea where they are. The Aurors have been trying to find leads to where they could be, but no one has managed to uncover anything yet."

"When?" Lucius asked curtly, his body stiff with anger. He drew Narcissa closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"A few hours ago," Narcissa said, against his chest. "Oh Lucius, what if something has happened?"

Lucius tenderly stroked the back of her hooded head. "Even if something has happened, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter are skilled fighters–" he broke off with a wry smile. "I should know."

"What do I do if Draco doesn't return?" Narcissa whispered, her voice full of terror.

"He will return," Lucius said firmly. "He and Miss Granger have been made to disappear before."

"And the last time they contacted me through Draco's ring asking for a Portkey. This time, they have their wands and they still haven't Apparated back."

Lucius considered her statement. "Perhaps they couldn't Apparate? Anti-Apparition wards are not uncommon, and maybe they have tried to contact you. I don't need to remind you how slowly that damned ring bird flies; a missive is probably on its way. You don't know where they are, it's very likely that the bird will take longer to arrive than it did the last time."

Narcissa sniffed. "But why wouldn't they make a Portkey home?"

"Perhaps there are wards against that," Lucius suggested gently.

"Do you really think that they were taken off somewhere and left unharmed?" asked Narcissa, as she pulled out a lace handkerchief from her robes.

Lucius gently took the handkerchief from her and tenderly wiped cheekbones. "They were the last time."

"I just don't know what is going on," Narcissa cried, as she wrung her hands together. "I don't know who wants to harm our family now."

"Do you think it was because of my… actions?" Lucius' face darkened.

Narcissa shook her head resolutely. "No. Whoever this is has a vendetta against our son. It has nothing to do with you."

They fell silent, drawing comfort from each other's companionship. Lucius softly ran his thumbs over his wife's delicate features, recalling the pleasant dream he'd had about her the previous night. Despite his outward impassive appearance, he was filled with frantic worry about his son. However, it was best that he stayed strong to help Narcissa calm down, especially since he had been rendered completely useless to take matters in his own hands by the confines of his cell.

"Where is Juls tonight?" Lucius asked eventually.

"I left him with Andy and Mr. Granger," Narcissa said, with a small smile. "Andy has been a great comfort to me on the outside, as has Mr. Granger."

Lucius forced a small smile, even as his chest tightened painfully and blood thudded against his temples. "Remind me to thank him."

Narcissa looked up sharply at her husband. "Are you jealous, Luke?"

He exhaled. "Only envious," a bitter smile twisted across his features. "Envious that he can spend time with my beautiful wife unhindered. But in answer to your unspoken question, I'm not going to hurt him out of jealousy."

"I know that," replied Narcissa defensively.

"You hope that," Lucius corrected, with a wry smile. "I'm not a monster Cissy, please don't dehumanise me, even in your thoughts."

"I'm sorry," Narcissa said, chastised.

Lucius took her hands in his and dropped a soft kiss on them. "Don't be. You have every right to be worried that my actions during the war have turned me into a monster with no regard for human life."

"Let's forget about it," said Narcissa, shifting uncomfortably.

"Alright, my love," said Lucius agreeably. "At least this has suitably distracted you from your distress."

"Ever the gentleman," Narcissa remarked dryly.

He took her in his arms and kissed her softly, and held her close to him. Narcissa felt a wave of calm wash over her as she snuggled into the warm expanse of her husband's chest. Lucius trailed feather-light kisses along her silky hair, while he murmured soft words of consolation to her. Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded on the door, and they broke apart. "Come in," Lucius called.

Perin shuffled through the door. "My companion has sent word that he will return shortly."

"I should leave," Narcissa rose swiftly. She turned to Lucius, "Thank you. It gave me great comfort to see you."

Lucius once again took her hands in his, uncaring of what the guard saw. "Everything will be fine," he whispered, and pressed his forehead to hers softly. "I love you, go and stay strong. Draco will be returned to us."

Narcissa nodded and they broke apart.

Thirty minutes of travelling through frigid waters later, Narcissa Apparated into the Manor with a faint pop. Herman and Andromeda looked up from their Firewhiskies with a start; the change in Narcissa was astounding. Before she had left, she had been a sobbing wreck incapable of keeping herself together. For the umpteenth time, Andromeda felt the slightly uncomfortable jolt of realisation that Lucius was Narcissa's strength and sanity as much as she was his.

"Feeling better?" Herman smiled up at her.

Narcissa unfastened her cloak. "Much," she gave a faint smile. "How about you?"

"I know that my worrying isn't going to change anything," Herman said carefully. "At least this time she has left me with my memories intact."

"I would not have put it past Nymphadora to do that to me," Andromeda said with a dry laugh.

Herman gave her a sad smile full of understanding. "It is difficult when our children insist on putting themselves on the forefront of danger."

"Where are Juls and Teddy?" Narcissa asked, as she sat down next to her sister.

"Asleep," Andromeda nodded in the direction of his bedroom. "Juls and Teddy were a bit difficult to pacify, but I ended up putting a mild Sleeping Draught in their cookies."

Narcissa cracked a smile at that. "They must have been elated to get sugar before bedtime."

"That, and I promised them they could stay up an extra hour to distract them after supper, but of course they fell asleep before I was called upon to make good on my word," said Andromeda unrepentantly.

This time, Narcissa joined Herman in laughter. "What about Mr and Miss Weasley?"

"Unfortunately no amount of cookies would tempt them," Andromeda rolled her eyes affectionately. "Otherwise I would've given them a Sleeping Draught too, or at least a Calming Draught for Ginny. I expect they are in the guest bedrooms. It was clever of Mr. Zabini to assign Ron to guard here, and kind of you to offer her a bedroom, otherwise Ginny would've been quite alone."

"It was nothing," Narcissa fluttered her fingers dismissively.

Herman looked at her fondly. "How is Mr. Malfoy doing?"

"As expected," Narcissa said evenly. "He did manage to calm me down, if I hadn't eaten anything there I would be wondering if he had dared to sleep me a Calming Draught."

Andromeda laughed. "I would not be surprised if he had a stock of it, labelled 'for hysterics' just for you."

"He wouldn't dare," said Narcissa confidently.

The three of them fell into easy conversation, until an hour later when Herman stood up and took his leave. Once he was gone, Narcissa drew Andromeda to the armchairs close to the crackling fire, and poured them both some Firewhiskey. Andromeda knew from experience that her sister was not much of a drinker, and accurately predicted that Narcissa was steeling herself with liquid courage to ask her some questions.

Sure enough, Narcissa broke the companionable silence and cleared her throat delicately. "How did you deal with… Nympadora's…?" she trailed off delicately.

Andromeda stiffened. "It gave me a bloodlust for our saintly sister."

"Bella?" Narcissa asked in shock. "Bella did that…?"

"Are you truly that surprised?" Andromeda asked bitterly. "Bella made it very clear that I was no family of hers, you could hardly expect her to refrain from killing my daughter out of a delayed sense of loyalty or affection."

"Your only child," Narcissa mumbled in horror, as she took her sister's hands. "I'm so sorry."

She patted Narcissa's hands kindly. "It wasn't your fault. I'm glad Molly killed Bellatrix, otherwise I would've been forced to draw my wand on my sister."

Narcissa's eyes were shimmering. "How did you find the strength to keep living?" she asked, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Andromeda's eyes crinkled with sympathy. "For Teddy. If it wasn't for Teddy, after Ted got killed I don't know what I would've done." She cleared her throat succinctly. "You have Juls, Cissy, and even if he is in Azkaban, Lucius is still with you. You need to stay strong just in case it is bad news… and you have me."

Narcissa lifted her head slowly. "Do I? Do you truly forgive me?"

"For marrying the wizard you love?" Andromeda asked gently.

"For marrying the wizard you loved," Narcissa clarified, wiping her eyes.

Andromeda pulled her sister to her in a warm embrace. "Silly child, I forgave you a long time ago. I was just too proud to tell you that."

"Reg is gone," Narcissa whispered brokenly, through sobs that she could no longer contain. "I know you never liked him, but he was a great brother to me."

"So is Sirius," Andromeda reminded. "We are the last of the Blacks. The end of the aptly named Black legacy."

Narcissa straightened. "Everyone is truly gone," she breathed. "Mother, father, everyone…where do we go from here?"

"On," said Andromeda simply. "We learn to live for our grandchildren when our children are taken away from us."

By mutual consent Draco and Harry had left their pajama bottoms on as they bathed in the brook. Draco reasoned that it was worth the Scourgify he would have to subject his genitalia to later just to avoid the sight of the Boy Who Lived in his full glory. He shuddered slightly at the thought and felt an outpouring of sympathy for Ginny, who was no doubt subjected to that nauseating sight frequently.

"I'm sorry for what you saw last night," said Harry suddenly, breaking the silence.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Just like men never talk at urinals, surely there has to be an equivalent code of conduct for communal baths? Typical Potter, thinking he is exempt from all the rules.

Harry ploughed on. "We weren't doing anything dodgy Malfoy. Hermione and I would never."

"Apology accepted," Draco said curtly. If the Dark Lord had been subjected to Potter's presence as much as I have been, he definitely wouldn't have stayed the Boy Who Lived for very long.

"Really? And you forgive Hermione too?" Harry persisted shrewdly.

Draco scrubbed the grime off his arm as he thought of, and then discarded several responses. "Granger and I are none of your business," he said eventually.

Harry stiffened. "If I caused a rift in your marriage, then it is my business."

"Our marriage?" Draco whirled around, forgetting his quiet vow to keep his back to Harry at all times. "We don't have a marriage. We are married in name, and name alone."

"That's not true," Harry protested staunchly, crossing his arms. "You and Hermione are getting closer, you're just using the curse as an excuse to pretend that you're being forced in to each other's company."

Draco turned his back on the saviour of the Wizarding world once more. "And why would we be doing that?"

"Pride?" Harry suggested. "Obstinacy? Sheer stupidity?"

"While these might be excellent reasons for a Gryffindor, I assure you that us Slytherins tend to have better motives," said Draco silkily, as he scoured the dirt off his chest.

"I'm not going to rise to your bait Malfoy," Harry said with a grin. "You're attracted to Hermione."

"No, I'm sexually deprived and she's all there is on offer," Draco corrected, willing it to be true.

Harry wasn't deterred. "You wish, Malfoy. We've all noticed that you and Hermione are getting closer."

"A certain amount of familiarity does come from spending time with each other," Draco conceded.

"You care about her," Harry said dangerously, as he splashed water across his shoulders.

Draco groaned. How does he have this uncanny ability to inspire thoughts of brutal homicide and still manage to stay alive?

They finished their bath in silence, and dried off their bottoms before putting on their Terego'd shirts. Draco was infinitely glad for the quiet because he knew that Hermione would have devised some inherently complicated method of passive aggressive revenge against him in the time that they had been away. Now that he was no longer smarting from her rejection, he was starting to feel bad for the callousness with which he had treated her the previous night. Somehow, no matter how much time passed, his insecurities always got the better of him. As they neared their tent, their wards shimmered to let them through. Even from outside, Draco could hear Hermione clattering away in the kitchen.

"About time," Hermione said acidly, without turning. "I made breakfast."

"What did you make?" Harry asked warily, as he sat down at the table.

"Pancakes," Hermione said shortly. "They were meant for a microwave so I don't know how they have turned out with magic," she slammed a plate full of mushy pancakes in front of Harry.

Draco cleared his throat. "I'm sure they're fine."

She raised a challenging eyebrow. "Eat, then."

Draco swallowed imperceptibly; Harry's warnings from the previous night about never letting Hermione cook still ringing in his ears. He was in the position many men had been during their forays into husbandry: forcing down questionable meals prepared by their industrious wives in order to save their marriages -or at the very least, to save their own sorry arses from being cursed into oblivion by aforementioned industrious wives. He slowly walked towards the table, feeling like a sentenced man walking towards the Dementor's Kiss and sat down with a soft thump. Harry helpfully passed him a transfigured plate and fork, and Draco dubiously stabbed one of the mushy blobs his wife had dubbed a pancake. The blob landed on his plate with a squelching sound that he was certain shouldn't accompany comestibles. Cautiously, he cut off a small piece and speared it with his fork, feeling oddly proud of stepping up to potential martyrdom–

"Enough drama already, it's just a bloody pancake," Hermione snapped irritably.

Draco placed the bite in his mouth and chewed. "Not bad," he forced out, even though his jaws felt as though they had been glued together.

Harry glanced at him dubiously, but nevertheless followed suit. His face brightened as he chewed. "They look a bit wonky, but they taste alright."

"Brilliant," Hermione muttered, completely unimpressed. "Can one of you hand me the plate?"

"What's the magic word?" Draco teased, holding the plate aloft.

"Accio?"Hermione suggested darkly.

Draco apparently had a death wish. "Now, now, Granger, surely you can do better than that."

Hermione glowered. "Just shut up and give it to me."

"Gladly," Draco trailed his eyes from the top of her unruly head to her bare feet with slow, sensual deliberation.

Harry sniggered. "You might want to re-phrase that."

"Honestly," Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously, as she stalked over and grabbed the plate from her husband. She stalked off while muttering about inflicting pain on immature wizards that should know better than to aggravate her.

Blaise tenderly brushed Pansy's hair off her face as she napped on his living room couch. The purple robes she had worn to the Annual Ministry Ball lay pooled around her, hopelessly wrinkled, but Blaise couldn't remember her looking more beautiful. Her face was serene as she slept, despite the tell tale glitter of tear tracks over her cheekbones. It had been so long since he had seen her this open and vulnerable, mostly due to the wall of distance that had sprung up between them since he had started dating Audrey. He wondered if it was worth trading potentially losing Pansy forever if they broke up, for the cool, distant woman she now acted like around him. His heart painfully clenched at the thought of living without Pansy in his life in some form for even a single day. Without really thinking, he gently brushed his lips across one cheekbone, and then the other, wishing he could ensure that she would never go to sleep with dried tears on them ever again.

Pansy stirred. "Blaise?"

He sat up straight. "I'm here," he said softly, as he took one of her cold palms in his.

"Any news?"

"Not yet love, go back to sleep," Blaise whispered gently.

Pansy's eyes filled with tears. "It's been almost twenty-four hours."

"And we're doing everything we can," said Blaise firmly. "We have tried tracking spells, which didn't work, so obviously they have wards around them. That's probably why they haven't been able to Apparate, and trust me, in no time we'll see Draco's metal bird pecking the life out of us so that he can take a Portkey back to them."

"If they've sent us a message then why isn't it here yet?" asked Pansy, as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Blaise attempted a nonchalant shrug. "Who knows how far away they are? And that bird is abominably slow."

"You really think that they're okay?" Pansy whispered, her eyes swilling over with tears.

"I do," said Blaise.

There was an awkward moment of silence as they realised the double meaning of his words, especially since he was yet to let go of her hand. Pansy nervously retrieved her hand from Blaise's grip, resolutely not meeting his eyes. Blaise, however, had no qualms studying her as she averted her normally challenging gaze. He memorised the sweep of her long eyelashes against her creamy skin, the gentle angles of her jaw line and, best of all, the rare moment of shy vulnerability she was sharing with him.

A faint pop of Apparition broke them apart. Blaise turned around to find Audrey standing in his living room, dressed in her Healer robes, an unfathomable expression on her face.

"I err just came by to see how you were doing," she said awkwardly, addressing Blaise. "I didn't realise Pansy would still be here."

Blaise felt an inexplicable need to justify himself. "She was worried about Draco and Hermione."

"Will she be okay?" Audrey glanced at the other woman, who looked as though she had been hit by a Bludger.

"I'll be fine," Pansy snapped irritably. Of course Blaise would give Audrey unrestricted access to his house, she's his girlfriend after all.

Audrey sidestepped Blaise and took in Pansy's haggard appearance. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I didn't mean to talk about you as though you weren't in the room. You look a bit pale, would you mind terribly if I checked you over?"

"Good idea," said Blaise firmly. "I'll just quickly pop by Malfoy Manor and check on things."

Pansy watched Blaise beat a hasty retreat. Coward. She suppressed a groan at the realisation that she was now alone in Blaise's apartment with Audrey, who was currently looking at her with an expectant professional smile.

"Ready?" Audrey asked politely.

Pansy nodded, and allowed her to cast several diagnostic spells, all the while appraising the young Healer's features. As was the norm with all of Blaise's girlfriends and conquests, Audrey was stunningly beautiful. From the top of her copper head to the tips of her elegantly manicured fingernails, Audrey was everything Pansy had ever wanted to be. She was blessed with a beautiful milk and roses complexion, and despite her strikingly pale skin, was freckle free. For the umpteenth time, Pansy rued the faint dusting of freckles across her slightly upturned nose. Even dressed in Healer's robes, Audrey was mesmerizingly beautiful.

"So, did you have fun at the ball?" Pansy asked listlessly, in a half-hearted attempt to break the silence.

The copper haired siren gave her a bright smile. "I did, thank you. I had a good talk with Percy Weasley about cauldron bottom thicknesses. It's amazing how knowledgeable he is, and I learnt so much from him. Standard cauldron thicknesses are a real problem for us Healers, because they can really affect the potency of our potions."

Pansy was at a loss. "That sounds lovely," she managed finally. How the hell is Blaise dating someone that enjoyed talking about cauldron bottoms? At a ball no less.

"You're a bit dehydrated," Audrey frowned, as she finished her diagnosis. "Would you allow me to make you some herbal tea? I have some herbs that will replenish you nicely."

"Thank you," said Pansy awkwardly. It didn't help that Audrey was so polite and courteous. Everything about her was so flawless.

Audrey rose. "Let me go find some mugs."

"First cupboard on the left," Pansy replied, without thinking.

The redhead surveyed her with a veiled expression of curiosity and understanding. "I'll be right back," she said finally.

When Blaise returned to his apartment half an hour later, he was greeted with the sight of Pansy asleep on his couch, while Audrey sat quietly by his fire sipping a cup of tea. He took a moment to process the unlikely scene in front of him, before he brushed the soot off himself. Audrey looked up and gave him a dazzling smile that almost knocked him backwards into the fire.

"Shall I make you some tea?" Audrey had leapt to her feet and as always was eager to make him comfortable.

Blaise waved her off. "I had some at the Manor. Is Pansy okay?"

"She was a bit dehydrated and her blood pressure was running high, so I slipped a Sleeping Draught into her tea," said Audrey softly, watching Blaise carefully. He had an expression of unguarded love and concern on his face that she had never before seen.

"You don't mind right…?" Blaise trailed off awkwardly as he turned to face his girlfriend. "About Pansy being here I mean."

Audrey shook her head slightly. "It's nice of you to look out for your friends."

He wasn't sure if she had deliberately emphasised the last word of her sentence, or if it was his own overactive and guilty imagination that had done it. Nevertheless, he awkwardly nodded. "Thanks for understanding."

"She really cares about Draco," Audrey commented as she took a step closer towards Blaise.

"That she does," said Blaise carefully, unsure of where the conversation was going.

"She must care about you a lot too," Audrey continued, observing Blaise closely.

Blaise froze, and then quickly recovered. "Draco, Pans and I have been through a lot together. We're very close friends."

"I'm glad," Audrey smiled at him and pressed her lips to his. "You're lucky to have such good friends."

"Thanks, I'm lucky to have you too," Blaise murmured against her lips, as a fresh wave of guilt hit him. He didn't know whether to be relieved that she bought his lies about the nature of his friendship with Pansy, or to be upset at her naivety. He settled for kissing her again, trying to ignore the fact that Pansy was asleep on the couch just four feet away from them.

Audrey broke the kiss. "I should go, I'm on call tonight."

"Thanks for stopping by," Blaise nodded. "And err thanks for taking care of Pans."

"You don't have to thank me for looking after the things you love," said Audrey, as she placed her palm against his cheek. She stood on tip-toe and gave him one last peck before she Disapparated. Blaise stood there, frozen to the spot. He ran his fingers over his lips, where he could still feel Audrey's sweet kiss, and looked over at Pansy's innocently sleeping form, feeling utterly torn.

The secret of wand-making had intrigued Hermione ever since she had come face to face with the Elder wand. However, her area of intrigue was on the opposite end of the spectrum to creating an unbeatable wand, it lay in the murky, unchartered territory of the minimum requirements a piece of wood needed to render it capable of channelling magic. Ever since the frustration of wand-shortages during the war, Hermione had idly wondered if it were possible to channel magic through just about any piece of wood that had been hollowed out to contain the magical elements that allowed for the conduction. Of course, actual efficient wands involved a great deal of precise measurements and skill, but in her research, Hermione had narrowed down the list of minimum requirements.

Wands needed to be tapering. Hermione had done several hours of Arithmantic calculations to finally determine that the narrow end of a wand had to be a minimum of one thirds of the thicker end. During her brief apprenticeship with Ollivander, who had started up his business not long after the culmination of the war, she had managed to conduct several studies on required wand thickness. Eventually, Hermione had determined that a wand needed to be no thicker than three inches in order to properly channel the magic of the wielder. This was, of course, much thicker than an average wand.

The second most important property that Hermione had researched was whether wands actually needed to be hollow and have their magical cores placed inside them to function. The results of her experimentation had been satisfying when she discovered that a wand was capable of channelling magic once the necessary element had been tied to it. She had successfully managed to cast a lumos through a three inch piece of vine wood that had a unicorn tail hair tied around it's middle. The resultant light had been feeble, and had flickered out a few seconds later when Hermione had fallen to the floor from the drain of the spell, but she had been successful.

Now, wandless and perturbed, Hermione was more adamant than ever to create a somewhat functional makeshift wand. With her research and thick scrolls of calculations spread out around her, Hermione sat cross legged in front of the tiny wooden table in the tent and proceeded to hack away at one of it's legs with her sharp silver potions knife. The old oak table stood no chance against the unyielding hacking of an obstinate witch, and after several minutes Hermione was successfully able to pry one of the legs away, causing the mutilated table to ungracefully tilt to the floor.

"Whatever did the poor table do to you?" Harry teased, as he walked into the tiny living room.

Hermione gave him a distracted smile. "It's made out of wood."

"How dare it!" Harry exclaimed in mock anger, as he set about fixing himself a cup of tea. He was far too used to Hermione's flights of fancy at insane hours of the day.

Wood shavings flew to the ground as Hermione eagerly whittled the table leg to suit her specifications. She made a mental note to see just how long it took her to whittle down a piece of wood to an acceptable thickness, just in case she was ever short on time and had to create a makeshift wand. As she whittled, Hermione made another mental note to test different sharp objects to make sure she could whittle just about any piece of wood to a serviceable wand even if she was stuck without a knife. It wouldn't do to have all the knowledge of how to create a makeshift wand and then be unable to do because she hadn't been thorough enough in honing her skills. Finally satisfied with her efforts, Hermione set about tying a single Unicorn hair to her makeshift wand.

Draco walked out yawning. He had stayed up to 'guard' the previous night, eager not to further irk his wife, and consequently had only been able to sleep at five in the morning, when Hermione had taken over. They had been stuck in their tent for two nights already, and he was fervently hoping that his owl would be returning with a Portkey soon.

"Err why is Granger demolishing our furniture?" he questioned, as soon as he took in his surroundings.

Hermione flashed him one of the angry glares that he had fondly speculated she reserved just for him. "I'm making myself a wand."

"Of course you are," Draco groaned. He idly wondered if she had finally read her way to incurable insanity. Just my luck.

"Breakfast, Malfoy?" Harry offered, as he cast a Heating charm over the leftovers of the sorry excuse for a stew they had made the previous night. Despite Hermione's quick thinking when it came to stocking up on provisions, there were only so many edible combinations that could be created out of tins of tuna, mushrooms and rice.

Draco shuddered. "I wish I had the luxury of declining, but yes."

"We could go scour through the forest for some sort of edible fruit after breakfast," Harry suggested as he ladled their handiwork on to two plates.

"Maybe the reason we haven't been harmed is because we're slowly being tortured by being made to act like House Elves," Draco grimaced.

Harry groaned. The words 'House elf' had the tendency to incite a truly horrifying response from Hermione Granger. Irrespective of how stable she had been prior to the dreaded words, she became unmanageable and wild promptly after they were uttered. It was hard to control the passion that currently radiated from her large eyes and impossible to run away from the oncoming diatribe that she always launched into the very millisecond her facial muscles caught up with her seething brain.

She rose from the floor swiftly, scattering books and scrolls of parchment in her wake. Her eyes were brimming with indignation, and two bright spots of scarlet rage stood out against her skin. Draco had a fleeting thought that this was how Hermione would look when she was amidst throes of passion, her hair curling wildly, her chest heaving, her breath coming out in short bursts…

He backed away carefully. He was slightly scared.

Hermione raised the mutilated table leg as though she was brandishing a sword. Harry gulped and slowly edged as far out of the line of fire as he could while still retaining some pretence of his Gryffindor courage.

"You filthy little slimeball," she hissed, her eyes manic with fury. "How hard is it for you to show some fucking respect?"

Before Draco could open his mouth and offer a reply that was destined to do more harm than good, a golden glow erupted from the sharper end of the table leg in Hermione's hands. One second Draco was standing a few feet from his wife, the next, his body flew across the confines of their tiny living room and hit a wall of cloth. There was a sickening thud as the cloth gave away, leaving Draco slumped on the hard wooden floor.

A/n: There is no doubt a mob forming outside my house of angry readers at the fact that I have ended two consecutive chapters on cliffhangers! Sorry! This chapter was so long that there was no way I could include the next part. Also, to all of you that are still annoyed at me over the previous cliffhanger, I was punished enough while writing this chapter by having to listen to "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" by Aerosmith on repeat to get into the right mood for the Blansy parts. Lovely song as it is, it really starts to inspire homicidal thoughts after the first three listens...

Thank you all so very much for all the reviews! I would also like to extend a special thank-you to my repeat reviewers! You guys are my muse and my motivation :)

Also, thanks for all the alerts and favourites. I hate to admit this but I'm still writing the next chapter, so it may be a few days before an update. So sorry! Though hopefully all the kind reviews I have received will spur me into action quickly enough.