Thank you to all the new reviewers – muah. You were all right - Draco IS going to use Polyjuice. I want to thank the reviewer who mentioned cklls – and having a similar writing style. It's a high compliment because she is fantastic. If you haven't checked out her stuff, you should (and some of you have because I got so many lovely recs from my reviewers, and she was one of several). I've read some of her stuff at H&V and she is glorious. Her stuff is on my to-read list (that's if I get a chance to read, which doesn't happen when my muse is in high gear). Speaking of reading, allow me to make a recommendation. If you haven't read The Fool, the Emperor and the Hanged Man, do yourself a favor. It is one of the best continuations of Deathly Hallows I have ever read and my no contest favorite Dramione fan fiction. Heck, it's probably my favorite fan fiction of all time. She's not published here, so just search the story or PM me. I only wish I had the author's talent. I can't say enough – even writing about it makes me smile. The author is epic and I aspire to her greatness – sadly it's her only fan fiction that I know of. Ok, I'm done now! And here we go!

LCailan

CHAPTER TWENTY

Draco stared down at the sludge of a potion for a moment, contemplating what he was doing and why. It wasn't like the idea of Granger going with him to the Lestrange's party had been a half-assed one; he had been considering it for weeks now. But bringing Granger to a party with Ministry presence? With Pansy and Bellatrix in attendance?

I'd have to be mental.

Perhaps he was. He pinched a single black strand of hair from Astoria's brush over the potion, hesitating for a moment.

Why not just force Astoria to go?

He didn't want to. It was a simple as that. He wanted Granger. Perhaps not forever, and perhaps for his own selfish and rather…lascivious reasons, but still, he wanted her. He tried not to think about Blaise and what he had been through because of his misplaced feelings for a Mudblood.

I won't be that way. As soon as he can get Lily out of London, I'm done with Granger. I'll just…I'll just…

Just what?

Disgruntled and at a loss of what to even think, Draco dropped the hair into the potion and watched with some interest as it swirled, cleared, and then clouded over until it turned a milky color with a pearlescent sheen. The potion was as lovely to look at as was Astoria.

Moving quickly, he poured it off into smaller vials, counting out enough to slip into his dress robe pockets to get him through several hours' time. He did not plan on staying long, and the less time, the better, he figured. Draco finished and cleaned up all signs of what he had been doing, and then moved into the hallway, lifting his head upwards. Where was she?

"GRANGER!"

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror critically. Her fingers, trembling slightly, pinned up unruly, stubborn waves of hair for the thousandth time. It was starting to irritate her that she couldn't control her own blasted hair. Malfoy had supplied her with another bottle of Sleekeasy's and all the pins she needed, and yet, her hair still looked like a half inhabited bird's nest.

Well, this is just brilliant, isn't it? I'm an adult who can't do her own hair!

In spite of the gorgeous dress and shoes, the image staring back at Hermione in the mirror looked tired and plain. And nervous – especially nervous.

Is he mental? Am I? This party is going to be overrun with Death Eaters, and here I am, Mudblood Granger. This is going to be a bloody disaster! Why am I doing this?

She turned just in time to see the reason for her insanity walk into the room. Hermione couldn't speak, forgetting momentarily about her hopeless hair.

He looks…

Hermione found herself surprised, and she realized for a second that she was staring, a foreign feeling swirling within her, making the room feel warm.

Well, it isn't like I ever found him hideous, it's just that…

He wore a dark grey, fitted suit. She was sure that it had been tailored just for him, for it fit perfectly, glorifying everything masculine about him, from the lean waist to the broad shoulders. The color seemed to illuminate his silver eyes, and his hair fell across his forehead in boyish carelessness, though Hermione wondered how long it had taken him to get it to look that way.

Stupid Malfoy.

He walked towards her with a quiet confidence, his lips turning up at the corners with a smirk, and Hermione wasn't sure she liked the warm, rushing feeling in her belly that was caused by his presence.

"Like what you see, Granger?" he purred, raising one eyebrow.

Flustered, Hermione looked away, trying to pretend she hadn't been staring. She hated him when he got so cocky.

"In your dreams," she replied. "You startled me, that's all."

"What's taking you so long? You've been up here for hours."

"I've been doing my hair."

"Forgive me for saying this, but it sure doesn't look it."

She turned pink, glaring at him in the mirror.

"Get out! I'm trying my best, Malfoy!"

Then she turned on him, her eyes blazing.

"This wasn't part of the arrangement, you know," she ground out accusingly. "I'm not supposed to be traipsing through London with you! This is bloody mental! Everyone is going to know I don't belong! Not only because I'm Hermione Granger, but because…well, look at me! I've no makeup, no jewelry, and the only thing I do have is yours! This dress, is…it's just…it's just like putting plain Jane into Cinderella's ball gown."

Frowning, she sat down at Astoria's vanity, staring at herself glumly. She picked up another pin that was sitting in front of her, and scowling, she finally moved to pin everything to the top of her head, the result being a mess of hairpins and flyaway curls.

Her eyes met Malfoy's in the mirror and he was wearing an infuriating smirk that made him more handsome, although that should have been impossible.

"The arrangement, as you so call it, was simply that you are mine. And I do with you as I wish. And I wish you could do your hair more quickly, although that can't be helped, can it?"

Hermione stood up, her hands down at her sides in fists.

"I really despise you sometimes, Malfoy."

Her eyes flashed hatefully and it elicited another smirk from him.

"Really, do you? Even though I've the solution to all your problems?" he said removing a vial from his robe pocket.

Hermione stared at it curiously, and then took it from him after he unstoppered it. It was a beautiful, pearly color and the scent was familiar.

"Wait," she gasped in horror, her eyes moving to his. "Is this Polyjuice?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Chalk one up for the brightest witch of our age," he drawled. "You won't have to worry about what you look like tonight, because you'll look like my wife in a crimson dress. Problem solved. Astoria is not here tonight, and I'm certainly not going to a family party without her. How people would talk."

Hermione stared at the little vial without saying anything, and not hearing the sarcasm in his voice. True, she was irritated with him for his constant snide comments, and she loathed him because of who he was, but she couldn't deny the fact that there was a side to him that she…well, perhaps she didn't enjoy, but she did…want to understand. And now, well, it was disappointing to Hermione that the dress hadn't been anything more than just something his wife would have worn. It wasn't Hermione that Malfoy wanted to spend the evening with, she was simply a stand in for Astoria.

Good, it's good. I must never forget who I am, and who he is.

She looked up at him skeptically.

"Still, this won't work, Malfoy. I have experience with Polyjuice. I…-"

She wasn't sure how much to tell him about transforming into Bellatrix Lestrange and the whole, gruesome experience at Gringott's, but in the end, she chose to stay silent about that.

"I don't know your wife! I don't know the first thing to say, or not to say! No one will buy it, and then what happens if someone finds out who I am?"

She watched as his lips twitched slightly.

"I do find you amusing when you're flustered, Granger. Why don't you leave all the details to me?"

"Because, you're not the one who has to spend the evening pretending to be your wife!"

"All you have to do is stay by my side and smile. Do you really think I married her for her intelligence, Granger?"

Hermione stopped, frowning. She truthfully had never considered Malfoy and Astoria's marriage. She wondered now if maybe it had simply been an arrangement of convenience. After all, it was like that in many pureblood families that she remembered hearing from others at school and reading about in the newspapers over the years. Hadn't it been that way between Malfoy's parents?

She spoke with trepidation.

"It's a party for your family, what if they…expect me to…know people, to talk to them?"

He stared at her, nonplussed.

"Then, you talk to them, Granger."

"And what if you leave me alone with them?"

She put her hands on her hips, staring at him haughtily, although beneath that veneer, she looked positively green with fear.

He shook his head.

"Granger, did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much? Now, drink it."

Hermione was flustered at his nonchalance, but realized she had very little choice and so, holding her breath, she closed her eyes, tipped back the contents of the vial, and swallowed.

Draco watched with fascination as the piles of caramel hair atop her head shifted, morphed, began to lengthen and darken. Her skin paled, grew translucent and porcelain-like and before his eyes she grew inches, and her legs and arms lengthened until she only stood an inch shorter than he. And those eyes, Granger's eyes, that haunted him so, became the dark color that he had long associated with his wife. The dress, which he had charmed to adjust to the wearer, fit like a glove.

Draco realized that he liked the crimson gown better on Granger. It was a realization that made his body twist deliciously.

For all intensive purposes, Astoria Greengrass stood before him now, her beautiful face turned up towards his with anticipation and curiosity. In fact, the face that looked back at him, although familiar, was equally as strange, for Draco had long gotten used to seeing his wife only in two ways – angry or indifferent. This woman that stood before him looked like his wife, but he knew instantly that it wasn't. There was something about her eyes, something that the potion could not change. Her eyes were still Granger's.

"Well, how about that," he marveled shaking his head, feeling a bit peaky. "We studied this in Potions, but Gods, you look…"

Just like Astoria, he knew. He felt…a bit let down. Disappointed. Trying to clear his mind of such thoughts, Draco reached into the pocket of his overcoat and then opened his palm, in which lay Astoria's gold and diamond wedding band.

"Put it on," he commanded gently, and although he saw Granger hesitating for a moment before she slipped the ring on her finger, staring at it as if it were a flobberworm and not an exquisite piece of jewelry, she said nothing.

"Remember, don't venture too far from me."

He heard her let out a snort.

"No chance of that, Malfoy."

"Draco," he corrected sternly as they left the massive house behind them and walked down the cement steps to the street. He felt her eyes boring into his. "If you're going to play my wife, you'll call me by my name."

"Fine."

She sniffed.

"There's no chance of that, Draco."

Hermione decided she liked the sound of his name. Though, she'd never tell him that.

Hermione stopped in the doorway of the massive ballroom where the Lestrange's party was being held, her breath stopping for a moment. For years, she had seen nothing but death, pain, and the bleak side of life. She had forgotten what life could be like; she had forgotten that others around her were still enjoying the things she had long forgotten existed.

She had been clinging to Draco from the moment they had left his home, and as he stepped into the semi-crowded room, she felt herself moving with him, although Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight before her.

All around her, men and women dressed in red and black walked around serving champagne in fluted glasses and appetizers on startling silver trays. Beyond that, tables were set for supper with linens, bone white china and shining silver cutlery. There were serving tables on either side of those, each covered with sweets and pastries that made Hermione's eyes water and her stomach lurch with delight.

When was the last time I had a chocolate éclair?

Not realizing how strange she looked, Hermione paused at the table piled high with every dessert creation she could imagine.

"Granger," hissed Malfoy against her ear, so only she could hear. "You'll make them stare. Astoria hates sweets, by the way."

Hermione nearly jumped at the voice that had invaded her thoughts, and she gave him a harsh glare, but allowed him to pull her along as she let out a sigh of longing and disappointment.

Although the ballroom was made to look like a classy dinner party gathering, she could see clear signs of magic throughout the room; the ceiling housing a plethora of light effects, which made the walls sparkle. The drink table seemed to refill itself at will, and she could see that for every treat that was taken from the dessert table, another would take its place. And there was the sound of music, but she could see no instrumentalists.

Hermione found it strange that the Lestranges, who were purported to hate Muggles and everything to do with them, would host their party at what was clearly a Muggle hotel, albeit one of the most beautiful ones Hermione had ever been at.

"How do they manage all this?" she asked the man at her side, wondering if Astoria would have even thought to ask. Probably not.

"Muggle-repelling charms, Granger. I don't think any of them are even aware this room exists tonight."

Hermione nodded, her eyes still riveted on the sight before her, wondering how anyone could miss it. Only when she had taken her fill of her breathtaking surroundings, did she start to notice the other guests, and her stomach dropped in fear. She knew who was here, and how much they hated her-

But you're not Hermione Granger tonight. Tonight, you are Astoria Malfoy. You are Draco's wife.

With that, she tightened her hold on him, trying to appear confident and as if she belonged in this place, and with this man.

He couldn't have made it more difficult for me, could he?

"There they are."

Hermione nearly groaned at those words, as they were the last three words she wanted to hear; the idea of spending any time at all with the Lestranges made her sick. Through the crowd she could see the focus of Draco's attentions - Bellatrix and Rodolphus sat at the central table, both wearing black from what Hermione could see. Neither looked like they were at a party, and the truth was, Bellatrix looked just as frightening as Hermione remembered her. She lost her footing for a moment, the memories of the past assaulting her so that she could barely take another step.

"Are you coming?"

His voice was tinged with irritation, and she could only hope that he would understand her sudden fear.

"I-I can't."

"Granger," he hissed, stepping back so that he was pressed against her.

Somehow, it felt right to Hermione. She didn't want to let him go. Her eyes turned up towards his with panic and supplication. His jaw clenched.

"If you don't come with me, my aunt is going to wonder what's wrong. I can't have that, see?"

"I-I…I need a moment, I just…I need a drink and a moment, and then…"

He tried to extricate himself from her tentacle-like grasp.

"Fine," he replied tersely, finally managing to loosen himself from her. "Have you drink and your moment. If you need me, I'll be with my family."

Hermione stared, helplessness washing over her, followed by a crashing wave of anger. How dare he? How dare he leave her alone in that room, knowing she had no clue who was who and how she was supposed to act? Standing in the center of the ballroom, watching the man she loathed with everything in her walk away from her, she took several breaths and gathered her wits. She would need those, after all.

Astoria. I'm Astoria Malfoy, and I need to act as such!

Hermione squared herself, forcing a smile and then reaching for a champagne flute, with one perfectly manicured hand. She walked as she had seen Astoria walk through the house so many times – with deliberate slowness and perfect grace. She nodded to those who happened to pass her by, forcing herself to remember who she was, and that the others probably knew it.

The wall next to the table of sweets was covered with mirrors, and it was in that moment Hermione realized the reality of the situation. The woman looking back at her was the one that she had learned to loathe since working at the Malfoy house. She had known it, of course, since drinking the Polyjuice, but it was something altogether different to see it. She was momentarily entranced with the woman reflected in the looking glass. She was both stunning and commanding. She was cold and yet expressive. The beauty on the outside housed a most loathsome soul. It was like that with everyone around her, Hermione realized with a sick, sticky feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She gazed down at herself, swathed the gorgeous crimson dress, feeling the weight of heavy, black hair that hung down her back in perfect array, and she glared at the amazingly beautiful wedding ring that adorned her finger, remembering only months ago, the gold band that had been there before.

That was real love, that was from my husband. All of this is a mirage, it's a veneer of decency and a pretty picture that hides the rot of hatred and evil that lies below it. All of this isn't real. I can't believe that I'm even here…

Her eyes filled over with tears for a moment, before Hermione remembered the role she was playing and knew that it would not do for Astoria Malfoy to be crying at a wedding celebration.

When she turned, Hermione scanned the room, which was starting to slowly fill with people, for Malfoy, who was still standing with his family. In spite of the fact that he was probably as unnerved as she was over the situation they had found themselves in, he managed to still hold it together. He was the picture of confidence, his face solemn, his mouth turned up with a touch of mirth, and his eyes a portrait of polite interest. He moved gracefully from person to person, and she could almost picture the eloquence with which he spoke.

That night, Draco Malfoy acted like the world revolved around him. Hermione found herself admitting that he certainly looked the portrait of a man around whom the world should revolve.

Amazing. Impressive, and yet insufferably irritating.

In this corner of the room it was much easier to slip the vial of Polyjuice Malfoy had given her earlier, and she quickly consumed it, before finishing her champagne, and making sure that no one had seen her actions. Luckily, she was invisible, or that's what it seemed like.

I wonder if this is what Astoria feels like. I wonder if Bellatrix, or even any of these others, care about what he is doing, and whom Draco is with.

As she stared curiously down at the wedding ring on her hand, Hermione pondered Malfoy's marriage once more. She wondered if he loved Astoria. She wondered if Astoria had been forced against her will into being with Malfoy, and if maybe there was someone else? In all the time she had spent at the house, cooking and cleaning for them, never had she heard a kind word, or a warm tone. Meals were eaten in silence, and if Malfoy gazed on Astoria at all, it was with nothing more than contempt. Their relationship was nothing like what she had shared with Ron. Or the sweetness and devotion of Ginny and Harry's short marriage. She remembered the way Remus had gazed on Tonks, and the way Molly's eyes would shine with unspoken adoration when Arthur would enter a room.

Hermione's heart began to race with the loss and pain that suddenly overwhelmed her at the thought of the people in her past, and she wondered if Malfoy had any of that.

Sighing as she gazed on the beautiful ring that was the symbol of his marriage, Hermione bit her lip.

I hope he has that.

It was unnerving.

Each time Draco turned his head casually to check on what Granger was doing, her eyes would lock with his across the dim, sparkling room. She had not left the shadowy corner nearest the table layered with sweets. Though he wanted to murder her for her inconvenient sugar cravings, Draco knew to walk over to the table would mean drawing attention to her, and it was the last thing he wanted. He simply decided to hope that no one noticed Astoria's sudden propensity for desserts.

All in all, however, he had found the evening only mildly insufferable. Bellatrix and Rodolphus had not even spared Granger a moment's notice, and in fact, Bellatrix sniffed with disdain, having told him that it was preposterous that he even bring a wife who so clearly didn't want to be there.

Perhaps she doesn't want to be here, but she sure isn't wasting any time on those treacle tarts, he thought, bemused, as he saw Granger finish her second treat.

Yes, so far things were far from horrid, he decided.

Hermione had found solace in the numerous delights of the dessert table, and just as she licked the heavy, sweet cream from her thumb after having consumed an unnamed slice of pie that tasted like the heavens, she heard a voice that froze her blood.

"Well, well, well…if it isn't the little wife!"

She whirled, mentally reminding herself over and over-

I am Astoria Malfoy…I am Astoria Malfoy…I am Astoria Malfoy…

Pansy Parkinson stood watching her, head tipped to side as if Hermione was a curiosity at a Muggle zoo.

"Fancy running into you here," she said sarcastically, offering a light laugh.

Hermione wondered if the woman on the arm of a familiar, albeit, hideous looking Ministry official, was the same woman from the alienage.

"Is it?"

Hermione forced the icy, contemptuous voice she had so often heard Astoria use when speaking with her, and anyone she found distasteful, she assumed.

"I am here with my husband."

Pansy's face blossomed pink, as if she were holding back a barrage of words she couldn't bring herself to say.

"Are you?"

The question was meant to mock, and Hermione didn't like the way Pansy was watching her – too closely, too suspiciously. She smirked then, tossing her thick, dark hair to the side as Pansy turned to her date with a sneer.

"Amazing isn't it, Marcus? Such a figure and yet she's quite the pig, isn't she?"

Hermione, who had reached for a lemon tart, startled at Pansy's words, her eyes widening.

"It is quite amazing," she replied haughtily. "I suppose not everyone has been as blessed."

She made sure to give Pansy a disdainful once-over, making the shorter woman red with anger.

Pansy snorted.

"I don't get the hype," she replied. "It's not like you're even that pretty. I suppose you have nice skin, but your nose is all wrong and that's quite a sizeable arse you're sporting."

Hermione looked down at herself, surprised that anyone would say such a thing, for she had believed Astoria to be perfect. In spite of the fact that she wasn't actually Astoria, Hermione bristled.

"Well, I think you're a bit blind then, aren't you?" she mocked.

Pansy laughed cruelly.

"Imagine that, the stupid little trophy wife's got herself an attitude tonight! And here I thought she didn't have two brain cells to rub together!"

Hermione grimaced internally.

Oh, bloody hell. Now what? What if she starts to wonder why Astoria is acting strangely? Doe she not defend herself? Does she not speak at all? Oh, Damn Malfoy for putting in this position!

Panicked, Hermione reached to finish her lemon tart, eating it with relish all the while, glaring at Pansy over the top of the dessert. She watched as Pansy leaned up to whisper something into her date – Marcus's – ear, and he smirked as she turned to glare at Hermione.

"So, where is your husband tonight then? Did he leave you all alone like he usually does? Merlin knows Draco has enough common sense. We're all still wondering why the hell he married you in the first place, Astoria. It's not like you've got anything going for you, is it? Just another pretty face, and everyone knows a pretty face can be replaced."

Hermione blinked. Is this what Astoria dealt with on a regular basis? Is this how she was treated? She wanted to lash out, to attack Pansy Parkinson for the nasty way she treated everyone around her, but she didn't know if she was supposed to or not. Swallowing back a response, she finished her tart and then smirked.

"I don't really care what you think. After all, I'm wearing the ring, not you."

As she finished speaking, Hermione offered the most syrupy-sweet smile she could muster, hoping it would drive the conniving, nasty Pansy off the edge. With a smirk of satisfaction, she watched as Pansy turned red, and then white, reaching forward vehemently.

"You little bitch-"

It was Draco who yanked her back by her upper arm.

"Did you just call my wife a bitch, Parkinson?"

Both women jumped apart as Pansy stared up at Malfoy without bothering to hide her contempt. Hermione took that moment to smooth the satin folds of her skirt, and touch up her hair, in a fashion she likened to Astoria, who she had found was rather vain. She found that she was livid with Malfoy for leaving her alone in that room, with these people, in this body which was not technically hers – but at the same time, she found herself grateful for his last minute arrival.

"No, we were just having a chat, weren't we, Astoria?" Pansy ground out, raising one dark eyebrow.

Hermione sniffed in an overly wounded way.

"She told me I had a fat arse."

Though Malfoy's face never twitched, Hermione could see the veiled amusement behind his glare. His voice was as rich as velvet and as smooth as leather when he spoke.

"This chat is over. Have a good night, Parkinson."

There was no arguing with him when he used that tone of voice, Hermione knew. Pansy's mouth opened and closed a few times, reminding her of a fish, and then Malfoy motioned to her.

"Come, Astoria."

Hermione's eyes swiveled towards him, words of protestation shimmering on her lips. How dare he? How dare he address her like she was some sort of…animal? When she didn't move, he wrapped his hands around her upper arm in a firm grip, pulling her away from Pansy.

"Let me go," she hissed as he stepped out of the room with her at his side. Her eyes flashed hatefully as he smirked down at her.

"Feisty tonight, Granger? I find it rather amusing, actually."

She smacked him.

"How dare you run off and leave me hanging like that? After you promised to stay close?"

"Tsk tsk, I never said I'd stay close. I said for you to stay close. You're the one who said you needed a drink and a moment."

He motioned towards the sweet laden table.

"And apparently two or six pastries," he finished with a smirk.

Hermione's face flushed a bright crimson.

"You insufferable little ferret!" she screeched.

As she glowered at him, he did something she didn't expect. He laughed, and everything else seemed to melt away. It was a strange sound, but not unpleasant. Soft and warm, like honey, bubbling up from deep within him, that set the depths of his grey eyes to dancing. It lasted only a few seconds, but not long enough.

"Come on, Granger. Just for tonight, can we forget who we are and just…"

He offered his hand. She glared at it as if were offensive.

"And do what?"

He cocked his head and gazed at her.

"Dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me," he repeated, reaching now for her hand, to take it in his. "It's a party, and you're my wife, and no matter how cold our marriage is, we still ought to dance."

Before Hermione could move or jump away, to back off, she was in the circle of his arms, pressed up against his soft warmth. Shock rendered her immobile, and she saw the corners of his mouth turn up for a brief flicker of a smile.

"Don't you dance, Granger? You never were one to have a good time, were you?"

Her cheeks blushed brilliantly.

"That's not true, Malfoy," she hissed.

Her touch hesitated along his shoulders, down his taut back, and along his waist, her fingers trembling slightly.

"It's just…this. This party, and being Astoria, and I'm just confused. You make me so confused," she muttered gazing up into his eyes.

He gazed into the dark depths of Astoria's wide gaze, but pictured Granger's eyes – brown warmth with flecks of the richest caramel. Gorgeous eyes, he realized. His fingers reached out, running along the planes of the familiar yet strange countenance of his wife, his heart hammering for a moment.

Neither noticed that the Polyjuice was wearing off, because he was lost to her, forgetting that it wasn't Granger he was supposed to be with. Her eyes followed the path of his tender hand as it ran along her face, and her eyes closed at his touch, and he neared her face.

Kiss me.

He did not have to speak. His lips shaped the words upon hers, and she answered. They were lost in the moment, to everything but each other.