A/N: Hello friends! As stated previously I had forgotten to upload here from a03... thank you for your patience with me. I am hoping to update more regularly now until the finish :) As always, thank you for your lovely reviews. Also, if you're not one for sex, you can stop reading at the apparition point ;)

Also, you can see Parvati's outfit here (remove spaces): https . /articles/images/3/0/5/5/img_75503/4-mint-green-palazzo-set. jpg

Blaise and Padma's wedding is one of the most bizarre experiences of Hermione's life. The grand ballroom that plays host to their wedding is lavish, with twinkling candles floating high in the air. Each table holds opulent gold centrepieces filled with roses and eight matching table settings. The food had been excellent, and the wine and butterbeer delicious.

Hermione has no complaints, except for the fact that she's never seen such a sterile wedding before. Blaise and Padma are sitting side by side on a slightly raised platform — Padma is wearing a traditional witch gown similar to Hermione's own, with a silver belt with Slytherin green emeralds sparkling to honour her new husband's colours. Parvati sits beside her wearing a mint green palazzo saree with detailed silver embroidery along the edging. Blaise is wearing traditional wizard dress robes and looking exceptionally handsome, and though he is watching his cousin deliver his best man speech with focus, he is sitting as far from Padma as he can get.

Draco is sitting to her left, staring with intensity at Blaise's cousin as he speaks. There's a muscle ticking in his jaw that she hasn't seen since fifth year, and Hermione briefly wonders just how furious her husband is, watching one of his best friends marry a woman he doesn't love.

Hermione glances down at her plate, staring at the folded cardstock that had shocked her upon her arrival. 'Lady Malfoy' is written in swirling cursive — it feels incredibly strange to recognize those words as her title, and even more so to recognize the man beside her as her husband.

Hermione wonders if the rest of her tablemates were also greeted by foreign titles — did Hannah sit down and stare at 'Mrs. Weasley' and hate every single condemning letter?

As it stands, Hannah hasn't stopped glaring at Pansy Parkinson, seated on the opposite end of the hall with Neville beside her. Hermione is eternally grateful that Padma had the foresight to keep them far apart.

Theo and Luna sit on Draco's other side, with Harry and Ginny beside them. It's a strategic seating plan, placing Harry and Draco apart, and Ron even beyond them. Though Hermione has continued to be pleasantly surprised at the civility her friends and now-husband have shown, she doubts they could sit beside each other without coming to blows.

George Weasley is the last member of their table, and an empty seat is beside him. Parvati would join them after the speeches, but for now sits beside her sister, acting as both a support and a witness to the wedding. George is wearing a deep emerald green, and his wine glass is filled with water — it's an incredibly welcome sight, especially compared to Hannah's, which has been filled to the brim with wine since the moment she sat down.

A smattering of applause draws Hermione back into the present, and music begins. Padma and Blaise leave their stage and begin to dance together. It's very obvious that despite their lack of affection for each other, both of them are well-trained dancers, and Blaise easily sweeps her across the dance floor. At the end of the song, they bow to each other, and a few other witches and wizards join them on the floor.

"They must have paid attention at those Hogwarts dance classes," Hermione mutters to Draco.

He arches a single pale brow, "Granger, they've both had tutors to teach them to dance since they were young."

"What?" Harry blurts; and though Hermione is briefly annoyed at his eavesdropping, she's also glad he's asking.

Draco visibly holds back a sneer, "It's traditional, Potter."

"For purebloods," Hermione says quietly. Draco's sneer fades into a look of regret, and he nods slowly.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," he sighs, "I had a tutor during each summer growing up, and before I was eleven as well. Blaise was the same, and I assume Padma and Parvati as well."

"Both Theo and I did, too," Luna adds.

Theo laughs, "Luna, you told me your tutor let you explore rivers and caves and search for Nargles and whatever else."

"Hm," Luna hums thoughtfully, "but we also danced - usually under full moons. It was exhilarating."

Hermione schools her face into something serious and kicks Draco's leg under the table when he laughs. Luna watches them with large blue eyes, and absolutely no embarrassment.

"That sounds nice, Luna," Harry finally says, before standing and holding a hand across the table. "Malfoy, may I borrow Hermione for a dance?"

Draco nods slowly and Hermione allows herself to be led to the dance floor by Harry. "I thought Ron was supposed to ask me to dance," Hermione whispers as they walk. "This isn't part of the plan!"

"He will, later," Harry laughs. "Can't I have a dance with my best friend with no scheming involved?"

Hermione frowns, "Harry Potter, you are the only schemer out of the two of us! Plus, I'm still quite put out with you."

Harry smirks, "Oh, for interrupting the other day at your cottage?"

Hermione can feel the blush spread on her cheeks, and she purposefully steps hard on his toe as she gets into their waltz position, and grins when he winces.

"Not for that! I can't believe you cancelled on me for Fortescue's! It really would have helped me out, considering Rita bloody Skeeter has decided to drag my name through the mud." Hermione explains.

"Skeeter's an evil cow." Harry agrees as he spins her gently. Hermione follows his lead easily and her ire fades as they dance. It feels nice to dance with him again; the last time she had danced with Harry had been in that godforsaken tent on the hunt for Horcruxes.

"I am sorry, Hermione." Harry says earnestly, "I do promise it was for a really good reason."

Hermione studies her best friend, noticing the beginnings of fine lines on the corners of his green eyes, and his serious face. His glasses are perpetually askew, as well as his black hair, but he seems happy. His wedding band glints on his finger, tangled up in her hand.

Hermione sighs, "I know. You wouldn't have skipped that for anything unimportant. You'll tell me, though? When you're ready?"

Harry grins, wider than she's seen in ages, "Of course I will."

The music ends, and Harry bows to her. Hermione curtsies as gracefully as she can, and when she stands again, she sees Ron has joined them on the dance floor.

"Could I have this dance, Mione?"

Hermione nods, and Harry claps Ron on the shoulder, heading back towards their table and Ginny. Ron pulls Hermione close to him when the music begins again, and they step together as one.

Ron has always been a passable dancer at best; he's tall and a bit on the clumsy side. Still, he leads Hermione through the dance well, even if he's got a grimace on his face as he does so.

"You could try to look a little happier, Ronald." Hermione teases.

Ron's frown eases and he laughs, "Sorry. I'm a shite dancer."

"You're not!" Hermione assures him. It's a little hard to sound emphatic when she can see Neville and Pansy spinning gracefully in the corner of her vision. Despite years of animosity in school, they flow together as though they have been dancing partners for years.

Ron follows her gaze, "Hannah is devastated."

"I imagine," Hermione murmurs, "is this the first time she's seen him with her?"

Ron nods. "First time for most of us, I imagine. I'm surprised he can stand the snake."

Hermione opens her mouth to scold him, but shuts it almost as quickly. She's hard-pressed to think of a single redeeming quality for Pansy Parkinson.

"She's an excellent dancer, at least." Hermione settles on.

Ron chuckles, "Didn't you hear at the table? Most purebloods are taught all the traditional dances by the time they learn to walk. Neville and Pansy are no exception."

Hermione is no stranger to the reality of blood prejudice. Even now, after she has become the 'golden girl' and helped to save the wizarding world, she sees it all the time. She is muggle-born. Even those who don't think less of her don't understand her experience. Still, it's a surprise to realize that so many of her peers, her friends, have benefitted from their pureblood status in this tiniest of ways that they probably don't even realize.

"You never learned, though," Hermione says suddenly, turning her gaze back to Ron.

He laughs, "'Mione, you should know that the Weasley's are the exception to the rule. We're blood traitors, the lot of us, remember?"

"But you're pureblood," Hermione argues.

Ron shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah, but, you know how Mum and dad feel about that way of thinking. Besides, we couldn't have afforded tutors, and we're better off without them anyway."

Hermione smiles at him. Sometimes, it's so easy to love Ron, simply because he's so good. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you're a fine dancer."

"You never were good at lying to me, you know." Ron admonishes her as they spin together.

Hermione thinks of all the lies she has told to Ron, both in their brief relationship and in their school years. She thinks of the lies she's still telling, the information she's still withholding. She thinks of her parents and the way she had stared them in the face over dinner before cursing them in the back. Whatever else she may be, Hermione has no doubt that she is a good liar.

"You're right," she lies.

Ron laughs and she nearly trips over her own feet when they spin again. They barely right themselves before Ron's laughter dies out, and his smile fades.

"Malfoy is on his way," Ron informs her.

"Are you going to let him cut in?"

Ron ignores her question but pins her with his blue eyes. He's as serious as Ron ever gets. "You need to tell him the truth, Hermione."

It's the use of her full name that startles her. It's an old argument, one that she wishes would end.

"We're not discussing this."

"Fine," Ron says, "But you said you liked him. You'll lose him, 'Mione, if you don't tell him the truth."

"Oh, like I lost you?" She snaps.

Ron doesn't flinch at her tone. "Dolohov wasn't the—"

"Don't you dare, Ronald." Hermione interrupts venomously.

They stare at each other in frosty silence, and it's Draco's arrival that breaks it.

"May I cut in?" Draco asks easily. Ron's stony expression fades and he nods, taking the time to even send a smile over to Malfoy.

"Of course, mate." Ron says loudly, "Thanks for the dance, 'Mione."

Hermione lets go of Ron's hand and forces a friendly smile on her face. The whole point of this is appearances, after all.

Draco's hand is warm against her waist, and he tugs her close to him easily. He smells of sandalwood and sunlight, and Hermione breathes deeply and attempts to shake off the past ten minutes.

"How come every time I seem to leave you and Weasel alone, you fight?" Malfoy asks quietly.

Hermione sighs, "It's not you. Ron and I always argue."

"Not like this," Draco murmurs. "You forget I went to school with both of you for years. I do recall a few memorable spats, however, like in fourth year."

"What did you see fourth year?" Hermione asks. Memories of assaulting Ron with spelled birds flood her brain, all because he had ignored her for weeks. It had felt like years when they had been fourteen.

Draco huffs, "Weasel has always been a fool, Granger, but when I realized he took Padma to that stupid ball all while you wore that lovely dress, that really cemented it for me."

"What!?" Hermione laughs suddenly, "You remember my dress?"

Draco spins her suddenly, and Hermione has no choice but to follow. He leads her easily, and the movement feels sure and simple. It's quite obvious he is an excellent dancer, and Hermione wonders if it's just as obvious that she has no formal dance training.

"Granger," Draco finally says, "I'm pretty sure every boy who attended Hogwarts that year remembers that dress."

Hermione can feel her blush spreading across her face violently. She sputters, "But — but — I thought you hated me?"

Draco shrugs, "I suppose Weasley wasn't the only fool, then, was he?"

Hermione knows she's gaping at him, but she can't help it. To hear Draco Malfoy admit he had something in common with Ron Weasley is such a rare occurrence she can barely wrap her brain around it.

She's saved from responding when the music ends and Draco dips her gently. She can feel his arm banded across her waist, and when he pulls her back to standing, he doesn't release her.

"I suppose you aren't going to tell me what you were arguing with him about?" Malfoy asks.

Hermione stares at her husband. Draco Malfoy has grown into an incredibly handsome man, and he's watching her with what is unmistakably fondness. He wants her — he even admitted it, though not with so many words.

"No." Hermione says softly, "I'm not."

She has spent much of the past few months trying to understand what Draco is saying — trying to unravel his facial expressions and his desires and his dislikes. Watching the way his expression shutters and his silver eyes go cold leaves Hermione nearly breathless. There is no way to misunderstand — she is keeping secrets, again, and he knows it.

"Can we go get a drink?" She asks desperately. She's clinging to his dress robes as though he might disappear.

He nods and pulls her arm into the crook of his elbow. They make their way off the dance floor in silence, though they have to move out of Luna's way when Theo spins her out widely. Luna is laughing loudly, and more than a few people are watching her with frowns on their faces.

"Love hath made thee a tame snake," Draco mutters beside her, gesturing almost imperceptibly to Theo, who is sporting a grin Hermione has rarely seen before.

"Shakespeare?" Hermione retorts quickly, "I didn't realize you knew Muggle classics."

Draco glances her way. He seems amused, which is a far cry better than the frosty expression he had sent her way moments before.

"I didn't realize you considered Shakespeare a Muggle."

"What?!"

The corner of Malfoy's lip twitches, "Relax, Granger. I'm joking — by all accounts, Shakespeare was a Muggle. My mother was quite fond of him."

Hermione stops. They're halfway to the small bar, and she turns to stare at her husband.

"Your mother… that is to say, umm — I thought that, well—"

Draco raises an eyebrow. "You thought my mother was a rampaging Muggle hater and blood purist?"

Hermione flushes. She hardly wants to insult a mother he obviously loved, but his entire family seemed composed of pureblood extremists. Tentatively she says, "Not necessarily?"

Draco sighs, "I suppose you have good reason to think that. My mother was pureblood, and I have no doubts she harboured many prejudiced ideals, especially being from the family she was, and married to my father."

"But?" Hermione asks quietly.

Draco shrugs, "But she loved Shakespeare, and Beethoven, and Juney the house-elf. Andromeda was her favourite sister even after she was burned from the family tapestry, and when I was very little, before I followed my father around everywhere, she would read me stories and teach me names of famous constellations, and play Muggle games."

"And she told you to write to me," Hermione adds.

Draco watches her steadily. "Yes. She did. And I'm very glad she did."

"I am, too," Hermione admits.

All the letters they have exchanged since the first are important, but none so important as the one Narcissa Malfoy told her only son to write. The one that had given Hermione the chance to wonder if he had changed. If a Malfoy could change.

The peace of the moment falls between them like a security blanket, and Hermione's bracelet feels as comforting as her ring on her hand.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasant surprise!"

Draco turns from her to face a short older woman wearing vibrant orange robes. She's tall and willowy, with long blond hair and a mean grin painted on her face.

"Cereus, what a lovely surprise." Draco greets. "May I introduce my wife, Hermione Malfoy. Hermione, this is Cereus Greengrass."

Cereus turns to Hermione and nods briefly before turning back to Draco, "I had heard you'd been married off, Draco. It's a real shame, this law. Our own Daphne was married just a few weeks ago."

"Yes, I had heard that. To one of the Weasley's… Percy, was it?"

Cereus sighs heavily, "Yes. It's such a shame. Both our girls marrying into that family!"

Hermione goes still, fury licking up her spine, but Draco speaks before she can demand an explanation from this horrible woman.

"Last I heard, Daphne was quite happy with Percy, Cereus. Has that changed?"

"Oh, the little chit has no idea what makes her happy." Cereus waves her hand in the air as if a fully grown woman's thoughts and feelings mean nothing. "But I suppose we can at least be comforted by the fact that the Weasley's are a strong magical family from a good line if nothing else."

"A good line?" Draco repeats. His voice has gone dangerously soft, and Hermione stays as still as possible.

Cereus Greengrass presses her hand to her heart and stares at Draco with false sympathy, "Oh, my dear boy, how I wish your father were here to set this silly law straight. Alas, I'm just glad our Narcissa can't see you now, though of course, this is not your fault."

Draco's silver eyes practically flash with contempt, "Mrs. Greengrass, if you are meaning to imply that this law is in any way my wife's fault, or that my mother would disapprove of Hermione, you are extraordinarily out of line. Hermione is five times the witch that you are, and I am quite confident that my mother would agree with me."

He tugs Hermione, but she refuses to move. Instead, she pins Cereus Greengrass with her most furious glare and straightens her spine. She is not weak, and she'll not act as though some pompous old witch knows anything about her.

"Mrs. Greengrass, both of your daughters and their new husbands have already fought in a war you yourself were too cowardly to take part in. They are quite old enough to know exactly what they want, and frankly, their marriages are none of your business." Hermione almost takes a step before glancing back, "Also, that shade of orange clashes terribly with your hair, but not nearly so bad as it clashes with your horrid personality."

Instead of walking away, Hermione stares straight at the witch and watches as a red flush streaks up her neck. Cereus Greengrass looks as though she may spontaneously combust, and she opens her mouth a few times before clamping it shut.

"You insolent child, how—"

"Cereus," Draco snaps, interrupting her tirade, "I'd like to remind you that the Greengrass estate and your husband's job at the Ministry rely upon the continuation of the Malfoy Estate's support. I suggest you think very, very carefully about how you speak to my wife."

Cereus pales and turns, walking away abruptly. It's obvious they've made an enemy, but Hermione couldn't care less. She's shaking with rage; it's been a long time since someone has spoken to her like that — like that same little muggle-born witch she'd been arriving at Hogwarts so long ago.

Hermione turns on her husband, "What in the world do the Malfoy's support her for?"

Draco smirks, "Actually, the Greengrass family is incredibly in debt. The Malfoy's have been their personal loan location for many years, and the interest paid made my father a very rich — well, an even more rich — man."

Hermione huffs, "She's horrible."

"Cereus Greengrass is more than horrible," Draco agrees, "but you should meet her husband. He's even worse."

"How is that even possible?"

Draco lifts an eyebrow, "Granger, I'd think by now you've seen your fair share of evil."

Hermione sighs. "That's true, but I just hate everyday evil, you know? These are regular people, walking around free, and with each action and word they speak they drag down others. It makes me understand why Astoria is the way she is, actually."

Draco frowns at her, "How do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. She hates Charlie. She ignores anyone except Daphne, and poor Mrs. Weasley is quite at her wit's end."

"That's… not like Stori at all, actually." Draco muses, "I mean, don't get me wrong, Stori is a Greengrass and she's used to getting what she wants, but she's loud about it. I'm surprised she's not fighting and yelling and arguing with everyone until she gets her way."

"Oh… that is odd. Mrs. Weasley says she spends her days at the Burrow just wandering around the grounds, or sometimes spending time with Daphne. Apparently, if any of the Weasleys walk in she either goes silent or leaves the room."

They reach the bar and Draco is still frowning in thought as he gets the drinks. Hermione is struck by the urge to reach out and brush his frown lines away.

"Hey, Hermione." Neville's voice distracts her and she turns to see him standing with none other than Pansy Parkinson. She's wearing a pretty blue dress and has grown into her nose and sleek black hair. Neville's got one hand on her back, and he's wearing the same half-smile that she's always known.

"Neville!" Hermione beams at him, "It's so good to see you."

"Pansy," Draco greets. Pansy returns his hello quietly, and the foursome stands in awkward silence.

"Umm, hello Pansy," Hermione says. "You look nice."

Surprise seems to flash across Pansy's face momentarily before she schools it back into a neutral expression. It's so reminiscent of Draco that Hermione wonders if all Slytherin's had to attend some sort of emotion-hiding class. Snape probably taught it.

"Granger," Pansy replies slowly, "I hope that Draco is treating you well."

Neville jumps in before either Hermione or Draco can reply, "Pans and I were wondering if you two would want to meet for dinner at the Leaky sometime. I'd ask Harry and Ron but… well, things are complicated."

"Don't I know it," Hermione sighs. She can almost picture Harry trying his best to be civil while wincing every time Parkinson spoke, and Ron watching Hannah closely for tears every time Neville called his new wife 'Pans'.

"We'd like that, Longbottom," Draco replies. "It's been a while since Pansy and I caught up. I'm sure Theo and Luna would like it as well, if you wanted to make a night of it."

Pansy perks up at the mention of Theo, "How is that going? I haven't talked to Theo in ages!"

Draco rolls his eyes, "You'd have to see it to believe it."

"Don't tell me he's in love with her," Pansy smirks, and it's hard not to see her as the same girl who had teased and bullied her way through school.

"Is it so bad if he is?" Hermione asks bluntly. She's itching for an argument, and she knows it.

Pansy, however, doesn't decide to fight back. Instead, she lifts a dark eyebrow in surprise before looking at Draco in commiseration, "Gryffindors, am I right?"

Draco covers his laugh with a cough, but before Hermione can dive into that comment, Neville grabs her attention.

"Is that Cho?"

Hermione follows his gaze to what is obviously Cho Chang. She's wearing a black dress that covers her from neck to ankle, with a corded belt around her waist. She's as lovely as ever, though far more slender and pale than she's ever been. Her hair is down and she's curled in on herself at her table. It's so reminiscent of fifth year, Hermione is taken aback.

"She looks… upset."

Hermione nods, "Yes. She'd been doing so well after Cedric… I heard she had gotten a job in the Ministry."

"She's not upset about bloody Cedric Diggory," Pansy rolls her eyes. "Look who's beside her."

"Terence," Draco hisses.

Hermione glances at her husband. If looks could kill, Draco would have reduced the man Hermione barely recognizes to ash by now. "I take it you didn't get along?"

"It was pretty hard to get along with Terence," Pansy answers. "He was older than us in Hogwarts, and bigger too. He knew it, and he used it to get his way."

"I thought you replaced him as Slytherin Seeker in second year?" Neville asks.

Draco nods, "I did. He was furious, and he never let me forget it. Luckily, he graduated the following year."

Hermione watches the way Cho sits quietly beside her husband. It's a vast difference from the girl who had thrown hexes with the best of them during the war. It's different even from the girl who had cried over Cedric Diggory the entirety of fifth year. Cho has tucked herself in so tightly it's like she's a shadow of who she once was.

"We're heading off now," Neville breaks their silence, "but we'll owl you, yeah?"

"Sounds great, Neville. Good to see you both." Hermione replies. It's only half a lie — she's missed Neville terribly, and Pansy had been civil at least.

Hermione glances back to their table, filled with people she loves. George is laughing at some sort of joke. Padma is in her wedding gown, standing beside him, with Parvati at her side. Blaise is still sitting on their raised stage, though he doesn't seem upset that his bride is gone.

"What are you thinking?" Draco asks suddenly.

Hermione turns to him — she's contemplating Terence Higgs, and all the other names that Draco had written on a scrap of parchment so long ago. So many names of people who would destroy her, who would carve her out until nothing was left but a pretty shell, just like Cho.

"I'm thinking that I'd like to murder Terence Higgs," Hermione tells him honestly, "and also that I'm really, really glad to be a Malfoy."

Draco's entire expression softens at her words, and he loops an arm around her waist to tug her close. "That may be both the scariest and nicest sentence you've ever said to me, Granger."

She laughs and leans her head on his collarbone. He presses a kiss to her hair, and it occurs to her suddenly that she has been a fool. About so many things in this WPG, but more so, about her husband.

"Hey, Malfoy?"

He pulls away to meet her eyes, "Yes?"

"Maybe we should say bye to our table and go home."

A slight frown lights on his face, "Are you okay? Tired?"

Hermione blushes, "No. I just… would like to go home. To our home. With our bed. With you."

Understanding seems to dawn on him at the same time Hermione is ready to take all her words back, and his silver eyes burn with desire. "Granger, that sounds like an excellent plan."

He hurries her back to their table, and his hastiness eases some of her tension. He wants her.

Their tablemates are far drunker than they had been when they had left them, with the exception of George, who is laughing boisterously at something Padma has said with his goblet of water in hand.

"The Malfoys!" Theo greets loudly, his arm curled possessively around Luna's shoulders. "You should come to our Christmas party!"

"You're having a Christmas party?" Draco repeats, nonplussed.

Luna smiles airily, "Of course! That's when all the wood nymphs come out to sing, and Theo has agreed to decorate our manor with Fairy lights."

"You did?" Draco asks Theo, "Fairies? Really?"

Hermione ignores Theo's response in favour of watching Hannah, who has four empty glasses in front of her and a mean glare on her face. She's whispering to Ron, and despite the low volume of her words, Ron seems embarrassed. It's obvious that it's Neville and Pansy she's talking about.

"Are you two headed out?" Harry asks.

Hermione nods, "Yes, we just came to say goodbye."

"We'll come with you to the apparition point," Ginny says, standing easily. Harry jumps to his feet and grabs her elbow as if to help her stand.

"I think she knows how to walk, Potter," Draco smirks, "I seem to recall that Red here is not that clumsy."

Ginny rolls her eyes and Harry flushes, but he doesn't apologize or remove his arm. Hermione follows them out, Draco's warm palm pressed to the base of her spine.

They have just reached the apparition point when Harry stops suddenly. He turns to face them. "So, tonight, Pansy Parkinson apologized to me."

Hermione gapes, "Pansy what?"

"Apologized. To me. For the whole sacrifice him to Voldemort thing." Harry repeats. He looks just as confused as Hermione feels.

"Pansy has grown up a lot." Draco finally adds, his thumb tracing a warm band across her spine. "I know she made some bad choices, but so did I. So did a lot of people."

Harry nods once, decisively. "Good. I forgave her. Water under the bridge, you know? I just thought I'd tell you since I'm sure Neville feels like we're abandoning him."

"He actually asked Draco and I for dinner at the Leaky. He wanted to ask you, but, well, you know."

Harry winces. "Yeah, we better stay away until Hannah and Ron get settled."

"Whenever that will be," Ginny mutters.

Hermione shrugs, "Hopefully Christmas at the Burrow will ease some of that. It's always a pleasant time, and it's especially good to feel like family. Hannah might realize that it's not so bad, to be a part of your family."

Ginny beams, "Well, you're part of the family, Hermione. So I suppose Malfoy is, too? Going to be an interesting year."

Harry laughs. "You've got that right, Gin. Anyway, let's get out of here."

Draco wraps his arm closer and tugs her in, and the familiar sensation of apparition tugs her away. Harry and Ginny have yet to move by the time Hermione disappears.

She reappears at the gate of their cottage. It's lit up with small twinkling lights, and the smell of cinnamon and cloves fills the air.

"I admit that Juney has made our lives so much better," Hermione says. "But don't you feel so much better knowing you're paying her properly, now?"

Draco huffs, "Granger, I hope we didn't come home just to discuss house-elves."

Hermione laughs and opens the gate, heading towards their front door. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, why don't you come inside and find out."

She's barely spoken the words before she is suddenly being scooped up and pressed against Draco's chest. A blush burns on her cheeks and she grabs at his shoulders.

"Malfoy!"

Draco smirks, "I have been reliably informed that it's a Muggle tradition to carry a bride through their doorway."

Hermione gapes at him, "Only on their wedding night! Put me down!"

Draco tilts his head and their front door opens. It's a nifty bit of wandless magic that Hermione suddenly itches to learn, but she's hardly framed her question before Draco walks inside the cottage.

He sets her down gently inside the door, and she tugs her dress back into place while laughing. He shuts the door behind them, and even though he's not laughing, it's easy to see that he's proud of his stunt. Hermione sobers and turns to her husband. He lifts a single pale eyebrow in what could a challenge or a question. Either way, Hermione is sick of waiting.

"Just so you know, the Muggle tradition is to carry the bride all the way to the bed."

Draco's eyes flash and he nearly lunges at her. He's got his one hand cupped against her jaw and the other wandering down her back. He kisses her like he's been drowning, and she is the only air he has.

Hermione clings to his shoulders, and before she can think about it, Draco has both hands lifting her up. She wraps her legs around him and is vaguely aware he is walking at the same time he is attempting to kiss her.

He nearly hits a wall, and stops kissing her, only to complain, "Carrying you to bed is not so easy when I can hardly see past your hair."

Hermione tilts her head back and laughs, and Draco immediately laves at her neck and sucks bruising kisses at the juncture of her shoulder. He hikes her up a bit further, and she winds her arms around his neck and presses her breasts to his chest. This time, he makes it all the way to their bedroom door and through before dumping her unceremoniously on the bed. He follows her quickly, and then he's propped above her on one elbow, so close she can feel him breathing.

Hermione is swamped with sudden nerves. She imagines Draco can see it play out on her face. He's got one hand tracing her hip, and everywhere he touches feels as though it's on fire.

"You sure about this, Granger?" He asks.

Hermione is most certainly not sure about this — she's not sure if she can handle sleeping with Draco, and writing him letters, and reading books together in the evenings, only to lose him when they finally dismantle the WPG.

She's certainly not sure that she can ever go back to sleeping alone, without the comfort of his arm banded around her, or his stupid Slytherin green blanket warming her toes on their couch.

Hermione is, however, quite certain that she wants him. Wants him for the night — maybe even wants him for keeps.

"Yeah," she breathes. "Only if you are, though."

He doesn't answer, but he settles his weight down on her and kisses her again. This time, it's slow. He takes the time to learn her — he licks into her mouth and bites at her lips and lets his fingers skim down her ribcage. By the time he's palmed her breast through her dress, Hermione hardly remembers all the reasons she was scared.

"Can I take this off?" Draco rasps. His silver eyes are nearly glowing.

Hermione nods, not trusting her own voice. She lifts her hands to undo the buttons on his wizarding robe, and he catches them in his grip before pressing kisses to her fingertips.

She had gotten him to zip her into her dress earlier, but this time Hermione mutters a spell and her zipper opens easily.

Draco huffs a laugh, "I knew you had a spell for that! You were teasing!"

Hermione grins and lets her husband peel her dress off of her. She's left in only her lacy emerald green underthings.

"Did you buy these for me, Granger?" Draco asks lowly, tracing her nipple through the sheer fabric.

Hermione is far beyond words, so instead of answering she deftly sneaks her hand down and presses it to the front of his trousers. Draco drops his forehead to her shoulder and groans softly.

It's intoxicating — it's every bit of emotion she's been craving from him for weeks. Hermione pushes and tugs at his clothes until the only things left between them are her scraps of lace.

Draco ducks his head down and catches her nipple in his mouth through her bra; he sucks, hard, and the hint of sting leaves her gasping. He does the same over and over until she's nearly writhing beneath him, and the cups of her bra are damp. Only then does he undo it, and in the process, slides his hand down to where she is wet for him.

"Fuck, Granger," He breathes in her ear.

Hermione's laugh is throaty, "That is the idea, Malfoy."

Her laugh chokes out when he takes the time to delve his fingers into her, pulling out to rub at her clit. She's got her fingernails pressed against his shoulder blades as she chases the feeling of his fingers against her.

"Come for me, Granger," Draco demands.

Hermione has no choice but to obey; her body spasms around his fingers, and she's sure that she has left red scratches on his skin. Draco rears back and yanks her panties from her. She resists the urge to snap her knees together and instead watches as Draco stares at her.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters, and Hermione nearly doesn't hear the words. She blinks in surprise. He leans forward again, pressing them both into the bed. She can feel how hard he is against her thigh. She reaches down and grasps him, and she is sure that the sound he makes when she guides him into her will be imprinted on her brain for the rest of her life.

"Draco," she breathes. For a moment they hold perfectly still, sharing the same air.

"Hermione," he answers. He lifts a hand and gently tucks her hair behind her ear. He's got the oddest expression on his face, but before Hermione can study him further, he moves.

It's like nothing she's ever felt. Sex has always been a bit of an awkward experience for her, and though it had been good with Ron, it had never been like this.

Draco drives into her relentlessly, and Hermione matches each thrust, shoving her hips up into his. He's breathing raggedly in her ear, and her hands are trailing over the sides of his rib cage aimlessly. Her stomach tightens with anticipation, and Hermione can distantly hear herself pleading him not to stop.

Draco sneaks his hand between them and rubs at her clit, and Hermione tips over the edge, writhing in pleasure. She vaguely hears Draco swear under his breath before he is pulling out, and she feels warmth on her stomach.

He rolls to the side and collapses facing the ceiling. Hermione attempts to regulate her breathing in the sudden silence of their room. Draco waves his hand lightly and mutters, "Tergeo".

Hermione glances down and realizes she's been wiped clean. She turns and stares at her husband.

"Just how much wandless magic do you know?"

Draco huffs, "Why am I not surprised that not even that couldn't stop your questions."

Hermione flushes — her curiosity has always been insatiable. She'd even forgotten that she was lying naked with Draco Malfoy for a moment.

As if he can hear her thoughts, Draco rolls back to his side and watches her. After a moment's hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on her farthest hip.

"Come here, Granger." He mutters.

Hermione rolls towards him, and Draco wraps both arms around her and tugs her into his chest. Her blush is uncontrollable, but she's got her face buried in his skin, and her hands pressed against him. It feels stranger to do this when they're both awake than in the night when she sometimes wakes surrounded by him.

"I know a lot of wandless magic," Draco answers slowly. "It was invaluable during the war."

The war had stolen so many things from them. Had taught them so many skills they shouldn't need to know. Hermione's heart aches for him suddenly, the boy who had been on the wrong side and hadn't been given a choice about it.

"Did your mother teach you?"

Draco laughs darkly. It reverberates in his chest, and Hermione presses her cheek harder to his skin. "No. My Aunt Bella taught me."

"I can't imagine she was a very patient teacher," Hermione murmurs. Draco pulls away just far enough to look at her face. He takes one hand and grasps her forearm, pressing his fingers gently against the Mudblood scar that lingers there. Hermione stops breathing.

"You have a fairly good idea of what her teaching was like." Draco states.

Horror washes over her — Bellatrix haunts her nightmares, the memory of her Crucio and cursed blade still leave Hermione breathless. She had always known that Malfoy Manor must have been a terrible place to live during the war, but she had never dreamed that Draco would have been tortured as she was in his own home.

"Relax, Granger," Draco says, "I'm a fast learner."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Draco."

He tightens his arms around her, almost unconsciously, and changes the subject.

"Are you going to keep hiding from me after this?"

Hermione watches the way he is staring anywhere but at her when he asks. His jaw is clenched tightly, and though his grip is gentle, the tension radiating from him is obvious.

She wonders what it must have been like to grow up in a sterile Manor, with two parents who didn't love each other, and a tutor that demanded perfection even in dancing. With prejudice and hatred pushed upon you at every turn, and expectations that no child could ever live up to.

Hermione watches Draco — and she thinks how he has worked hard to fit himself into her cottage and into her life. The way he had called her beautiful only moments before, and all the reasons he has given her to trust that he's changed.

"No," she whispers, "I think maybe we're beyond all that, don't you?"

His silver eyes snap to hers, "Really, Granger?"

"Really," she assures, "but perhaps you could call me Hermione. I am your wife, after all."

His smile is slow and small, but somehow Hermione feels like she has won the war.