In less than two seconds and far quicker than Draco could've possibly imagined, he and Hermione flung apart just in time for a fist to careen into his nose. Knowing the cartilage was broken, he stumbled backward, his hand under his nose to keep blood from staining his robes. Hermione was gaping at him, mouth hanging open in shock, and Ron was glaring daggers at him, practically panting in fury.

"Merlin's crusted nosehair, Weasley!" Draco hissed, his words distorted by the blood filling his nose. Mending it quickly with his wand, he added, "If you want to punch someone, punch her. She kissed me."

Draco had expected Ron to scoff and dismiss his claim, but quite the opposite happened. Instead of the expected rage, Ron turned white, looking wholly like a Crup that just got kicked in the ribs. "Is . . . is that true, Hermione?" Ron asked quietly.

The firm denial that any sane person would've issued never came. Instead, Hermione covered her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking in a manner suspiciously similar to sobbing. "I'm s-sorry," she sniffled. "I don't know . . . oh, this is a disaster!" When she finally deigned to look up, it was not at Draco but at her stricken husband, make-up drizzling down her cheeks. "Ron, I'm so, so sorry. I don't know why I . . . but —" Averting her gaze, she added, "— but this isn't the, er, first time."

"Bollocks!" growled Ron. "Just fucking bollocks!"

It was with an almost morbid fascination that Draco watched this interaction. Had this scene happened in his own marriage, there would've surely been a fire fight. Instead, Hermione put her hand on Ron's arm and said gently, "I don't even know what to say. This is all my fault."

Ron raked his fingers down his face and kicked the nearest thing in range, which happened to be a small bench sitting along the wall. He seethed for a solid minute, during which Draco was expecting to be hexed into a pool of goo the entire time. Oddly enough, both Hermione and Ron were ignoring him entirely. If he hadn't been so scared of what would happen if he were found out, Draco would've run for the door before they did take notice.

"No, Hermione, it's mine."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't say that, Ron. You've been a wonderful husband, and you've given me everything I ever wanted. This is not your fault."

"No, you don't understand," Ron said softly. "I should've known this would happen, but I hoped I had kept you, er, busy enough to offset the side effects."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked in an enviably measured tone.

Ron turned a spectacular shade of red, and Draco got the feeling that he would want to cover his ears to what was about to be said. He would've bolted for the door, but Ron's stance would make it exceedingly difficult. Resigned, Draco settled in for the rest of the squabble. "Well," Ron started, only to look away and bite his lip. "Last month, when I came home with your potion, it was a different one than you normally take. New product."

Hermione nodded, her face impassive, but Ron's pace of storytelling left a lot to be desired; Draco wanted to strangle him to make him speak faster. That was before remembering that what was transpiring was truly none of his business, so he would simply have to take the information as it came. Why he cared, he didn't even know. Nonetheless, he was curious, so he remained withdrawn from the conversation to eventually get to an answer.

"Anyway, I went in to get a new batch, and the apothecary told me about this state-of-the-art potion that he just got in. It does the same stuff as your old potion — you know, the head stuff —" To illustrate his point, Ron gestured toward his temple and waved his fingers around in a manner more consistent to amusing a toddler. Hermione's eyes narrowed in annoyance. Even Draco wanted to slap him.

Seeing he was on shaky ground, Ron quickly moved on. "But this new potion, er, does other stuff, too. Side benefits. It's got extra vitamins in it, it doesn't make you sleepy like the old one, good for the blood pressure . . ." His colouring deepened to rival that of his hair.

Unable to take the stalling anymore, Draco blurted, "For the love of Merlin's sagging bollocks, man, spit it out!" Hermione shot him a glare that would've meant grievous bodily harm in any other scenario, causing Draco to cringe. It was far more shocking that Ron didn't even seem to hear the outburst.

"And it, um, also makes one more . . . physically inclined."

Whatever that meant, Draco wasn't sure, but Hermione must have picked up on Ron's cryptic comment. He could almost see her teeth grinding together in thinly veiled rage. "You mean you . . . you drugged me so you could get more sex?" Without waiting for an answer, she slid her small purse from her shoulder and in one fluid motion whacked Ron in the chest with it. And then she hit him again. And again.

"I'm sorry! I didn't think you'd really notice, and, well, you've been a lot more friendly as of late."

No amount of scrubbing spells could undo the image that ricocheted through Draco's head at those words. All he could see in his mind's eye was the roll of fat at Ron's waistline flapping up against Hermione's —

"Fucking hell!" Draco swore loudly as he ground his palms into his eye sockets, hoping the stars it made him see would somehow cover that unholy thought. "Bugger, bugger, bugger!" But no matter how hard he tried, that beastly picture kept replaying itself in his head.

Hermione, however, was frosty. "I assure you that it will not continue any time soon. When I get home, you had better not be there, or there's no telling what I might do." Stabbing her forefinger solidly into his chest, she added, "And I can guarantee that you won't like it."

Extending a tentative hand, Ron said, "Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?"

"Overreacting!" Hermione screeched. "You made me think I was some unfaithful harlot because you wanted a little bit more action in the bedroom! Exactly how am I overreacting?"

Draco couldn't help but agree with her. That had been devious, even by his own standards, and he liked Hermione a lot more than he did her idiot husband. The thought shocked him a bit.

Still taking no notice of Draco's contemplation. Ron flung his arms wide, nearly smacking Draco in the process, and cried, "I'm sorry, okay! I'm sorry! What do you want me to say, Hermione? We hadn't had sex in months —"

At this point, Draco pressed his hands to his ears, wishing that Ron wasn't standing so close to the door that he was blocking any feasible means of escape. If this conversation went into any more detail, he was ready to take out his wand and Stun himself.

"— and you were never around anymore. Even when you were, you sure as hell weren't in the mood for anything. It was getting to both of us, and you know it!"

"And it never once occurred to you to just talk to me instead? Your mind just went immediately to drugging me like some random bar slag?"

Hermione's comment spurred an amusing mental image, and before he could stop himself, Draco chortled. Any hopes that it had gone unnoticed were summarily dashed when both their heads whipped toward them, completely absent of any traces of mirth.

"What the hell are you still doing here, Malfoy?" growled Ron.

"Exactly how am I supposed to leave?" snapped Draco. "Your fat arse is blocking the door!"

Barely subduing a growl, Ron grabbed Draco's upper arm and shovelled him roughly out the door. As he stumbled and fought to keep his balance, Draco shot a murderous glare at a flock of wedding staff who were walking by. "If you want to be paid in gold and not in hexes, I suggest you keep moving."

At his threat, while it didn't seem to resonate particularly deeply with the group, they quickened their pace, if only to get out of eyeshot of the man paying their commission. From there, Draco straightened out his robes and headed off to find something " anything, really — to do other than think about Weasley's jelly roll. However, his mind was lingering on one thing.

Hermione.

It finally made sense as to why she had let him come within a mile of her, but as for his own amorous advances, he simply had no such excuse. He had kissed her the first time, and he had no idea why. Well, maybe he knew a little, but he'd be damned if anyone was ever going to find out about his stupid crush during fourth year. Fucking Yule Ball and her fucking ability to not look like an electrocuted Puffskein for once in her life.

Suddenly not caring to oversee sweaty workmen or stupid servers, Draco found his way outside to the much cooler night air. To his relief, the grounds of the reception hall had a rather nice garden, which was all but deserted due to the chilly wind. But the gazebo was deserted, and the cold felt damned good after his body's violently passionate response to the earlier snog session was cut down in its tracks.

What he did not expect to find was that someone was already there; what he had expected even less was that someone being Hermione. Who was crying.

"Bollocks," he muttered as a wave of guilt trickled through him. Her distress was very much her husband's fault, but had Draco been nearly as disgusted by Hermione as he had told himself, he would've pushed her potioned-up arse as far away as possible when things started to become awkward. And since Weasley was nowhere in sight to clean up the mess he'd made, Draco could not quite talk himself out of approaching.

He sat down on the bench next to her and sighed. "What a fiasco," he said, cringing at the rank obviousness of the comment.

Hermione didn't avert her gaze from what must have been an utterly fascinating support beam on the other side of the structure. "I can't believe he did that to me."

Frankly, Draco could believe just that after months of no sex, but for once, his better judgment kicked in before his vocal chords and he said nothing of the sort. Instead, he offered, "Well, he did it because he loves you." The platitude burned his mouth like the piss and molasses taste of Marmite, and he had to bite his lip to keep from spitting on principle.

Hermione looked over at him and tried to smile. "I'm sorry you got pulled into all of this. You probably would be happy to never see me again."

Draco considered her words. He tried to imagine what it would be like to never see Hermione again, and he was surprised to find that he wouldn't have minded seeing her again at all. He thought back on all their squabbling and snapping and begrudgingly admitted that he'd found it entertaining, if not maddening. "I'll admit it, Granger; you're all right. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but all this was actually kind of . . . fun."

"Really?" she said before sniffling and looking at him. Her make-up was spectacularly smeared. However, her expression soured as she crossed her arms. "You're just saying that so I won't tell your wife."

Taken aback, Draco realised that he had never considered Astoria in all of this — neither her knowing or caring about anything that had happened between him and Hermione.

As she had emphatically stated on their wedding night, Astoria was not interested in him exclusively and had continued other sexual relationships for years into their marriage. Even she wasn't capable of the level of hypocrisy necessary to condemn a little harmless groping.

With a shrug, Draco said, "Tell her, I don't care. And neither does she. I'm just the purse she occasionally deigns to have sex with. Though in my defence, I've never tried to drug her."

At his jibe, Hermione groaned in frustration before flinging herself off the bench. "Ron, why are you such an arse?" She paced back and forth. "I've worked hard to make our home a place where we could build a future for ourselves and our children, and all he can think about is how often we're not having sex?"

"The nerve," Draco said dryly, digging deep to keep himself from scoffing out loud. She clearly had no idea her husband had desired her despite her rampaging shrewishness from time to time. He found himself oddly sympathetic towards Weasley's numb-skulled coital plot, and for whatever reason, he thought Hermione should know. "To think, he just wanted to be with you a little bit more."

Shooting him a sour look, Hermione snapped, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco stood and found himself toe to toe with her. "What I mean is that you have to be some sort of frigid bitch for your marriage to dry up for that long and not even notice! You had no problem jamming your tongue down my throat, so don't get fucking cross with me because you can't keep that ginger, biscuit-gobbling, cream cheese philanderer you call a husband happy!"

Her hand rose as if to slap him, but as Draco braced for the blow he was so sure was coming, it didn't. Instead, her hand fell to her side limply, and her chin drooped almost to her chest. "You're right. He was just trying to . . . oh, I was so awful to him."

Suddenly, her arms wrapped around his waist, and her head rested on his shoulder as she began sobbing anew. Draco felt something tug in his chest at the sound, and if he didn't know any better, he could've sworn it was something resembling empathy. But that would be insane. And out of character.

They stood there like that for at least an hour — or, that was about as long as it felt to Draco's protesting knees. It was only when he patted her back gently that she realised who she was actually with. "Oh, this is . . . Draco, I know you're not, um . . . I'm sorry. This is really awkward."

"No," he lied. "It's all right. Let's just consider it a, um, down payment for you never, ever telling your husband that I kissed you first. After which you did, to your credit, hit me until I had a Quaffle-sized bruise."

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I guess I was — wait." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why did you kiss me?"

Wholly wishing he had never been moronic enough to bring the incident at the wine tasting up at all, Draco shrank back. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so can't we just forget and move on?"

"No!" she cried. "I cannot forget about it, because it doesn't make sense. You hate me and always have done, so how the hell am I supposed to believe that you would do something like that and it not be something horrible?"

Draco shook his head. "It's really not that convoluted." He sighed and rubbed his face. "Back in fourth year, when you were dating Krum, I sort of, well, fancied you because he did. Then the Yule Ball with that get-up of yours and . . . I'm a bloke. What do you want me to say?"

His bald honesty surprised even Draco, but the look on Hermione's face was as if she were looking at a completely different person. "Bullshit," she said, deadpan.

"At least it's not unicorn piss."

For a moment, they stared at each other, but in unison, they both started to laugh until Draco wasn't sure he could ever breathe normally again. It was several minutes before either of them recovered enough to speak.

Hermione sat down on the bench once more, and as Draco settled in next to her, she said, "Thank you. I know you probably came out here to get away from me, but you . . . you made me feel better."

Gratitude was not what he had expected, to say the least, but it did not feel as disgusting as he might have thought. "It hasn't been all that bad, Granger. We made it through the wedding. The kids are happy and eating a fortune's worth of food with a room full of people who don't like me as we speak. No, we did all right."

"We did."

After a while, Hermione turned to Draco and asked, "I should probably forgive him, shouldn't I?"

"Probably," he said before both of them went quiet.

They sat there like that in silence, and Draco couldn't help but appreciate the moment. There was no chance in nine circles of hell that he would ever get to kiss her again, but he felt an urge to do so as he watched her contemplate the clear night sky. She really was pretty — at least, when she wasn't talking.

With a tight smile and an absurd amount of reluctance, Draco patted her shoulder and headed back inside. This was certainly an experience he would never forget, but maybe with the help of time and a few bottles of Zin-fan-whatever, he could get a head start on trying just the same.