A/N: Hello all! Very sorry about this much-delayed chapter. I had updated on a03 and forgotten to here! As always, thank you for your kind comments and reviews. Hope you enjoy!

November 20th, 1999 - Saturday

Draco Malfoy opens his eyes to stare at his sleeping wife. Hermione Granger — Malfoy, now — looks somehow delicate in a way he's never seen before when she sleeps. For such a small person, he always imagined her to be intimidating and larger than life; something to do with her outrageous hair and personality.

Draco feels his lips curling into a smile without his permission. He wonders how his mother would have felt about Hermione. Narcissa Malfoy, a paragon of pure-blooded sophistication, would have taken one look at her daughter-in-law and fainted. Still, Draco had seen his mother at the height of the war, and underneath all her ladylike poise, she had been as brave and fearless as any Gryffindor. Perhaps she would have approved of his unconventional wife, after all.

Unfortunately, Draco will never know. His mother is gone, buried beneath her favourite tree on the property; as far from the Malfoy family tomb and her late husband as she could get. They had been the first married pair in the history of the proud Malfoy line to be separated upon their death. It was one of the first Malfoy traditions Draco had been pleased to break, but certainly not the last.

His very muggle-born bride, curled into a small ball facing him with a single hand resting on his chest, is living proof of another tradition he is happy to be rid of. He watches her breath, finally still in her slumber. It's incredibly early, and Draco doesn't want to wake her. A full nights' sleep is a rarity for both of them, and he's not selfish enough to rob her of one.

He reaches gently out for his wand and casts a muffliato, sneaking out of their bed and tiptoeing out the door. He slides on his day-old slacks in the hallway and a rumpled shirt. It's precisely the type of outfit he wouldn't usually be caught dead in, but he has a feeling that mass amounts of caffeine may be required to get through this day.

Getting Theo and Luna's help on the Quibbler article had been a stroke of genius. It had come as a surprise that Luna was a natural interviewer and a gifted writer. Despite her eccentricities, her gentle nature made talking to her easy, and she had delicately led both he and Hermione to simple answers to all of her questions, no matter how odd they were. Theo had been insufferable the entire time they were being 'interviewed', simultaneously tossing him sarcastic shit-eating grins while making doe-eyes at Luna. Still, Theo had proven his worth by taking a few pictures on his wizarding camera, and the Nott Estate had made for a beautiful backdrop at sunset.

Draco had also convinced Hermione to go to Muggle London for dinner instead of Diagon Alley, since there would be plenty of opportunities to be trapped by reporters in the following days after news of their marriage broke. The dinner had been pleasant, with both of them squished into a small pub and sharing food. Draco had spent most of his time watching Granger rant about the treatment of werewolves in the wizarding world, and how much her proposed Werewolf Business Start-Up Grant could change both the public's views on werewolves, but also improve the economy; a significant improvement upon the Ministry's current plan for stimulating businesses through forced marriages.

It had been entertaining to see her in her full glory; face flushed with passion and nose turned into the air, regaling him with knowledge he didn't ask for nor particularly desire. Her hair had continually plastered itself to her face as she ate their dinner until she finally abandoned the relaxed style and tied it up into a large bun on top of her head.

To his disappointment, all the food and stress of the day had exhausted his wife, and when they had returned home she had fallen asleep on top of the covers, still dressed in the outfit she had worn for their interview with Luna. He had emerged from the washroom quite ready to pick up where they had left off only that afternoon, only to find Hermione Granger curled up and half-snoring. It had been surprisingly endearing, despite his frustration.

Draco sighs at the memory as he sneaks out the front door of their cottage, walking briskly until he's far enough away that he's sure the crack of apparition won't wake Granger.

He reappears in the alleyway beside Java Corner that he has become intimately acquainted with since his first meeting with Hermione. The coffee shop smells heavenly, and he doesn't hesitate to stroll inside and order two large lattes and two scones. The girl behind the counter seems to recognize him, and she smiles easily and drops two extra muffins into his to-go bag alongside his scones. He thanks her and doesn't bother to ask for any change. It's nice to not be publicly hated, and it's a large part of why he has become so familiar with Muggle London in the past year.

He returns to the cottage quickly and manages to open the front door while gripping his treats, still trying to be quiet until he hears a soft exclamation and finds Hermione standing in the kitchen. She's finally changed out of her outfit from the day prior and is wearing a long robe made of plush red fleece. Her hair is wild and loose, hanging in tangled curls down her back, and she has a startled look on her face, her hand creeping up to clutch at her chest in surprise.

He holds up the two coffee cups and the brown paper bag in apology for scaring her. "I just went to Java Corner to get us some coffee. I tried not to wake you."

Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, "You didn't. I thought maybe you had gone off to work, or whatever it is you do most days."

Draco huffs a laugh, "You've never asked what I do most days." He moves forward and sets their cups on the counter, sliding one towards her. "My estate comes with an extensive amount of accounts and investments. I spend a lot of time going over our books and managing funds."

"That makes sense, I suppose," Hermione admits. She reaches for her cup and takes a sip daintily, sighing in pleasure at the taste.

"I bought some scones, and the coffee shop lady gave some extra muffins, if you like."

"She likes you, did you know?" Hermione grins.

"Who? The coffee shop girl?" He demands.

Granger laughs, "Yes! Haven't you noticed her flirting?"

He stares at his wife, trying to think back on all the times he's been to Java Corner. The girl at the counter today had been entirely unknown to him.

"You've got to be joking." He informs her, "I don't even think I've seen her before."

Granger smothers her laugh in her hand, and Draco scowls at her teasing. He snatches at the brown paper bag and pulls out one of the scones just for a distraction.

Luckily, Hermione is feeling particularly charitable this morning, and she easily switches topics. "We're expected to be at Blaise and Padma's by two, for the ceremony. Did we get them a gift?"

Draco sips his coffee slowly before answering. "We made a sizeable donation to both their individual Gringotts accounts."

Granger frowns."That's hardly personal enough! I thought Blaise was your friend?"

Draco smirks, "He is my friend, which is how I know Blaise loves money more than almost anything, Granger."

She rolls her eyes but lets her argument fade. Silence settles between them, allowing the awkwardness from their interlude the day prior to finally bloom.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep so fast." She says so quickly he almost misses the words.

He shrugs, "It was a long day. I'm just surprised you didn't even get into those ridiculous cat pyjamas you love."

She blushes but argues, "Those are comfortable!"

"I'm sure they are, Granger."

She scowls darkly, and Draco holds back a laugh. Annoying her has been a favourite pastime of his since he was about eleven years old. To soften his teasing, he slides the still-warm muffins at her, and she takes one after only a moment.

"I have a dress for the wedding," she announces after a few bites, "but I swear this is the last nice dress I own. Thank Merlin this seems to be the last of the weddings."

"What colour is it?" Draco asks, staring at the ridiculous scarlet colour of the robe currently wrapped around her. He's imagining her clothed in a dress of matching Gryffindor red and golds, sitting at a table with the Golden Trio. She must read the horror on his face because her lips twitch and she drinks her latte for a long while, letting the tension collect under his skin.

"It's a sunny yellow colour." She finally admits, her smirk appearing. "I know it's not Slytherin green, but it seemed a suitable compromise."

Draco sighs in relief. "I suppose Hufflepuff colours will have to do."

The sun streams through their window suddenly, lighting up their little cottage. They have yet to put the tree up, though Draco supposes they're in no rush. As far as he understands, the only people on earth who have access to this small cottage are Potter, Weasley, Granger, and now him. Christmas is sure to be a small affair.

Granger shifts slightly and rests more heavily against their counter, letting the sunshine wash over her face. Her hair seems to get larger and more ridiculous by the moment, and Draco sees that she has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that he's never noticed before.

He sets his cup down and reaches out, his hand sliding around her waist as he steps forward. She flinches at the contact but doesn't move away, and before he can think twice he's leaned up against the counter beside her, the warm press of her body down the front of him. It's familiar in that he's spent a few nights pressed against her, but also new and terrifying.

"This robe is atrocious," he tells her. It's only right that he still mocks her when he holds her close.

She protests instantly, "I like this robe."

"You like ridiculous things," he sighs seriously, "like studying and exams, and Ron Weasley. Also, I've not forgotten that cat you used to have."

"Crookshanks," Hermione reminds him, "And Ron isn't ridiculous."

He opens his mouth — he's absolutely positive he's about to make a joke at Weasley's expense, but before he can Granger sneaks her own arms around him and squeezes. The words leave his brain immediately, and she presses her forehead against his chest. He wonders if she can feel his heart stopping.

She's hugging him. It's not as though it's the first time she's wrapped around him; he has steadied her on multiple occasions, and kissed her, and even danced with her. This is not that. She's simply holding him.

He tentatively rests his palms on her shoulder blades.

"What's all this, Granger?" He asks quietly.

She shrugs under his hands, and he lets her be. It's nice, having her rest against him, even as it's awkward. The minutes stretch, and Draco resists the urge to shift away, because it's very obvious that she's spent the past week hiding from him, and he doesn't want to scare her again.

"Granger," he murmurs, "yesterday — well, you have scars."

She stiffens, but he's already said the words. He shifts his hand to rest it against her side, pressing gently into her lower ribcage. He had been distracted the day before; the sight of Hermione Granger in a black bra will be imprinted on his brain for the rest of his life. The odd little burn markings on her chest and the vicious scars marring her side had seemed superfluous at the moment. Considering his torso was riddled with evidence of the war as well, he had decided on silence.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy has always been too curious for his own good.

"You do, too."

He nods, her curly hair tickling his chin. The silence is oppressive, but Draco is a patient man, and he is rewarded when she finally heaves a sigh.

"Antonin Dolohov cursed me in fifth year. Nearly killed me. That's what you saw."

He resists the urge to curse at the mention of Dolohov's name — he had been a vicious git, and Draco hadn't been sorry when he'd been killed in the war.

"And the burn markings?"

"Bellatrix," her name is a hiss on Hermione's tongue, "had a few wards on her Gringotts vault, and we all received a few nasty burns."

"What were—"

She pulls away abruptly, as though the honesty has been far too much for her. Her face is ashen.

"I'm going to go get ready now."

He lets her go when she strides towards their bedroom. It's not the first time she's run away from him, and he doubts it will be the last. Still, his chest is warm where she had rested her head, and Draco lays his palm against it.

For only the millionth time, Draco wishes his mother were still alive. He wishes he could ask her what the hell he was supposed to do. Not only with Hermione, but with the WPG itself. He wishes he could say sorry to her again, even though he knows she would only have told him there was nothing to apologize for.

Juney's sudden appearance startles him.

"Master Malfoy! Thelma asked me to bring this to you. It's from Lady Nott." His house-elf extends two different papers.

Draco takes the Daily Prophet with steady hands. He can already see Granger's hair in half the picture, and the headline screams at him in black and white: Golden Girl Turns Death Eater's Wife.

Rita Skeeter has never been subtle. Draco skims the article — it's not exactly what he had expected. Instead of painting Granger in the light of a victim of the WPG matches, Skeeter has gone straight for Granger's throat.

Hermione Granger, long associated with the Golden Trio (Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley) has now been caught in a torrid love affair with known Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Exclusive information reveals that the couple married quietly and has been lying low and avoiding the public eye. Just what does Hermione Granger — no, Hermione Malfoy — have to hide from us? And more importantly, exactly how far has she betrayed her friends in her quest for love? Join us as we gather more information.

He throws the paper on the counter haphazardly. He's half a mind to incinerate it, but he knows Granger will be furious if he does so before she has a chance to read it. He thought they would have more time before the public turned on them.

He snatches the other paper from Juney, who stares at him with droopy ears and doleful eyes. His own familiar profile stares up at him from the front page of the Quibbler. Granger is talking and smiling, facing forward, with her ridiculous hair waving about in the wind. She looks healthy and happy, and immediately recognizable as the girl who helped Harry Potter save the wizarding world. Draco is standing at her side in the picture, with a hand resting on her back. He's not facing the camera, just staring intensely at his wife. The expression is so unfamiliar that Draco almost wonders if Luna or Theo somehow edited the magic photos. He looks absolutely enraptured and vulnerable; which was precisely what Luna had wanted him to portray. He hates the picture immediately; however, he's not foolish enough to not see that it's the perfect message to release to the public. Draco Malfoy, reformed Death Eater, is harmless and absolutely besotted by his new muggle-born bride.

Above their picture is a screaming headline: Malfoys United - We Demand Reform!

"Not everyone can be as fortunate as us". Newlyweds Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy sit down with the Quibbler to tell all: how they were matched through the Wizarding Population Growth Act (WPG), their flourishing marriage, and their desire to help others in less fortunate circumstances. Hermione Malfoy (formerly Hermione Granger), details how the WPG has forced many witches and wizards into unwanted unions. "I've been lucky. I'm proud to call Draco my husband, but that's not the case for so many. What right does a government have to tell us who we are to marry? It's barbaric."

Both Minister Shacklebolt and the WPG have faced criticism from wizarding Britain at large. Though the need for change has been evident, and the magic population has been dropping, many have wondered if there may have been a better way to increase birth rates following the war.

"The WPG is a horrible piece of legislation. My wife and I would love to see it dismantled" - Draco Malfoy, the head of the Malfoy family and all its vast holdings, seems comfortable with his new bride at his side. The Quibbler has wondered if their old childhood rivalry caused any speed bumps for the couple. "It was definitely a shock" Hermione Malfoy shares, "but Draco and I have a lot in common. I'm glad it was him."

Despite the happiness the couple has found in their WPG match, they are eager to see the WPG removed. Both of the Malfoy's admit they have tried to get in touch with the Minister and have yet to receive an audience.

"I know that we needed a change, but I just can't see how this was the best option for our magical community."

When asked if the couple were considering divorce if and when the WPG is abolished, they both laughed.

"Honestly, he's stuck with me now" Hermione admits, leaning into her new husband's side. Draco Malfoy seems neither upset nor surprised by this news.

If you have been matched by the WPG and are interested in sharing your story (the good, the bad, and the ugly!) please contact The Quibbler.

He sets the Quibbler down with shaking fingers beside the rumpled Daily Prophet. He only notices Juney is still standing in front of him when she sniffs lightly, her little hands wringing together.

Draco watches her, looking at her harder than he has in years, perhaps ever. She's wearing a delicate little outfit with velvet buttons and her usual purple hat. When his father had been alive, she had worn a pillowcase. It had been satin, but still. Upon Lucius' death, Narcissa had seen fit to spring for a new wardrobe for the little elf she had been so fond of.

He realizes abruptly that since his mother died, he has not asked Juney once how she has been. The only real interaction he has had with the elf was the day after he married Granger — he had gone to the Manor and told Juney that he would be freeing her from duty, but if she was amenable, he would like to hire her on as help with a wage. It had been a criminally low wage, but he had done his research and technically Juney was the highest-paid elf in Britain.

She had burst into tears at the first mention of freedom, and they had not been happy tears. Draco had been furious at his new wife, and sure that he had been correct in his assumption that house-elves preferred masters. His rage had left him when Juney had appeared with dinner at the cottage and thanked Hermione before disappearing.

"Juney," Draco swallows. "How… how are you?"

It's absurd — he's never cared before. But Hermione would. Hermione does.

Juney's enormous eyes stare at him incredulously. "Juney is good, Master Malfoy."

"This… may sound silly… but when you aren't here… what do you do?"

Juney immediately wrings her hands together and glances around frantically. "Is there something Juney should be doing, Master Malfoy? Juney has dusted every room in the Manor this week but she could—"

"No! No." Draco heaves a breath and tries again. "You're doing great, Juney. I'm very pleased with your work. I only meant… you are allowed to have some time to yourself each day. You could visit Thelma, or other… elves you know?"

Juney's blue eyes seem uncharacteristically shrewd. "Juney will do that, Master Malfoy."

"Okay, great. That's good. Okay. Well, we don't need dinner tonight because we're off to a wedding, so you can do that today if you like. Thelma should be free, the Nott's are attending the wedding as well."

Juney bows so low the tips of her ears touch the ground before she disappears. Draco scowls at the empty space in front of him, and when he hears the sound of the bathtub being filled, he stomps towards the bedroom that he and Hermione share.

His formal robes are the same that he has worn to every wedding besides his own, and he slips them on easily. Granger is still in the bath by the time he is done, and he steps out the back door of their cottage to survey the space. A small table with two chairs are now near the door, though Draco doubts that they'll see any use until warmer weather. The small yard hadn't been spared Juney's decorating frenzy, and holly greets him at every turn. Twinkling lights and garland are wrapped around the cottage eaves, lending the space a cozy and magical atmosphere.

"Malfoy?"

He turns to find Hermione standing in the doorway, once again wrapped in her ridiculous robe. Her hair has been tamed into a half updo, and her eyes seem darker and more luminous than ever.

She frowns, "You're going to catch your death out here! Come inside where it's warm."

He rolls his eyes but follows her back inside. She slips into their bedroom and approaches their bed, gently tugging her robe off to reveal a tea-length yellow dress with three-quarter sleeves.

"Would you zip me up, please?" Hermione turns and bares her back, the edges of the dress nearly slipping from her shoulders. The only bar of colour across her pale expanse of skin is an emerald green strap of lace, obviously a hint of her bra; Draco nearly trips over his own feet, stepping towards her.

His hands are steady when he gently pulls the fabric together and slides the zipper up to her neck. It isn't lost on him that Granger has willingly allowed this, his hands on her skin; he cannot fathom a world in which she wouldn't have at least three charms available to her to zip herself into her dress.

"I'm trying to do this right."

He barely processes her soft whisper. She's still facing the wall, and he's been staring at the back of her head for longer than he'd care to admit.

"You've done nothing wrong." He answers. He's not really sure what she's on about, but if he's learned anything in the past two weeks, it's that Granger will tell him.

"No, I have." Granger admits quietly, "I didn't realize how important Rosmerta would be until you mentioned it. I didn't even consider Harry when I was wondering if Kingsley was the most powerful wizard in Britain until he said it. I have no idea how to beat this WPG."

"Granger, you don't need to take down the WPG on your own. Other people want to help you."

"I'm just used to having all the answers, you know?" Finally, she turns around, and although she looks lovely in her yellow dress, it's hard to ignore her damp eyes.

"I somehow recall that from our school days." Draco teases gently.

Granger rolls her eyes at him and clears her throat.

"I've been avoiding you and running away at every turn." She says softly.

Draco sighs, "I noticed that."

"I'm sorry," she whispers. They stare at each other. Draco wonders if he should tell her she's the first person to hug him since his mother died. Wonders if he should admit that he carries the journal she gave him and the words she has written him, everywhere he goes.

"You look lovely." He says instead. A blush blooms across her cheekbones, and she glances down at her dress as if to check that he's not lying to her. Her gaze slowly returns to him, the red in her cheeks more prominent than ever.

"Thank you." She whispers.

"In unfortunate news, there are two newspapers on the counter," Draco says, "The Quibbler did an excellent article on the two of us, but I'm afraid Skeeter hates you."

"That miserable cow," Hermione snarls, turning on her heel and storming towards their kitchen.

"What did you ever do to her?" Draco asks, rushing to keep up with her pace.

She's already halfway through the Daily Prophet article, her eyes darting across the words so quickly he wonders if she absorbs anything at all. She throws it down with violence, the exact way he had done upon first reading it.

Her brown eyes are on fire when she looks at him.

"She's an illegal beetle animagus. I trapped her in a jar for almost the entirety of fourth year."

Draco nearly falls over — Hermione Granger, the golden girl, forcibly abducted and held a hostage for an entire year?

"You what?!"

She sniffs, "I disliked how she portrayed Harry and myself in the media. She had absolutely no right."

Draco stares at his wife, a mere slip of a woman with ridiculous hair, and wonders if he's ever respected or feared her more.

"Granger, I actually think my mother would have liked you."

Hermione furrows her brows in confusion. "Thanks, I think?"

She picks up the Quibbler article and reads it with the same speed she had shown for the Prophet. Hermione stares at the photo, her blush back on her cheeks with full force, and Draco scowls.

"You look — intense." She mutters.

"Yes, well, that was the idea, right?"

She pins him with her gaze, and he wonders if she can see right through him. He had thought it was obvious to her how much he had wanted her, but only the day before she had admitted she hadn't known — does she know now? Can't she tell? He feels as though he has been broadcasting his attraction to her for the entire world.

"We should get going." Draco marches towards the door as if the movement will break her concentration.

"Alright," Hermione sets the Quibbler down gently. She pulls her wand out and drags it around the photo. It comes free easily, and Hermione sends it gently towards the fridge, pinning it there with a small magnet. She rests her fingers against the newspaper photo, watching herself smile at Draco in black and white.

Draco knows he is staring, but he can't seem to stop — she turns and meets his gaze and shrugs casually.

"It's a good picture. We should probably have one of those, don't you think?"

He nods dumbly — he doesn't think he could unstick his throat to force words even if he tried. Luckily, Granger simply summons her winter coat and slips on her shoes without words, linking her arm with his before they march out the door.