Matching a Malfoy

by LittleSixx

As a prominent war reporter and news anchor with political ambition, Hermione Granger needs to make significant changes to her public persona. Her publicist signs her up for Malfoy Matchmaking, known equally for their success and discretion. At the same time, Narcissa Malfoy has finally acquired the biggest client of her career: her widowed son.

20. My Achy Breaky Lockhart

Ron was too quiet.

He went straight to his room after breakfast and packed his things. Hermione stood in the doorway, watching him, curious. She asked,

"Have I done something wrong?"

Ron shook his head and insisted, "No."

"Shall we—"

"No, Hermione. We're not talking about it." Ron snapped, "I'm leaving."

"Harry is saying goodbye to Al, if you'd like to wait. I could say goodbye to you together."

"I think it's best if I leave right now."

Ron breezed past Hermione, duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. Hermione followed him down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door without a word passing between them. Ron nodded to the valet, who rushed to the garage. Hermione stood by him, waiting, wondering what happened between the time they woke up and his expeditious exit from the dining room. When the low rumbling of Ron's car could be heard from the garage, he finally said,

"I'm not …" He grimaced. "I'm not angry at you."

"Why are you angry, then?"

"It is none of your concern."

As the car pulled up to the front, Hermione said, "It seems to be."

Ron walked down the stairs and Hermione followed close behind. She said,

"Blaise and Dean are getting on well. Scorpius seems to have taken rather well to Dean, and Dean to him. It seems like Dean may finally heal the wounds Seamus left behind."

"Not all of us have that privilege."

"What does that mean?"

Ron opened the back door and tossed the duffel onto the seat. He closed the door and opened the driver's door without answering her question. He made to sit, but Hermione tugged him back by his hand.

"Don't leave angry!" Hermione said, "We never leave angry, Ronald. We promised that years ago and kept to it. Why are you—"

"I hate seeing you happy!"

That was so unlike him. Hermione felt her heart stop, and she wondered whether it would beat again. That was her best friend, her deepest friend. Her friendship with Harry was stronger, but the duality of love she shared with Ron had been and would always be deeper. How could he say such a thing? Hermione squeaked out,

"Sorry?"

"I've spent the past seven years hoping you'd find someone, but now that you have …" Ron shook his head, exasperated. "I wonder whether if I had stuck it out another few years if it'd be you and me. Happy together, with you being the best news anchor in the country—"

"That would be Cedric."

"I'd be able to say, 'That's my wife on the telly. Look how incredible she is.' When that blond bastard snogged you at breakfast, there was a moment when I thought, yeah, I'd give up my life now to have that again."

Oh.

"Just the briefest—a single second." The pain was obvious on Ron's face. He couldn't so much as look at Hermione when he said, "That's not fair to my wife and my kids. I'd rather be your husband than be their dad? That's fucking shit, Hermione. I've got to deal with that."

"Would you?"

"What?"

"Would you rather be my husband than be their father?"

"No."

"Then," Hermione said, "I don't see the problem."

"Because for a moment—"

"For the first time in seven years, you had to watch someone kiss me. Someone who isn't you! You were jealous, Ron; I'd be offended if you weren't. How do you believe I felt watching you get married and have a family? It's horrible and it feels like failure. You had one moment of regret? I've had seven years! Our marriage mattered to me. It was important to me, and it was important to you, too, otherwise we never would have done it."

"I want time to—"

"You don't get to ride off and say you need a few weeks to cope, because I got nothing from you! I came home from Libya and you weren't even there, Ronald. If you're going to leave someone, have the decency to stand next to the divorce papers while you do it!"

Ron glanced down at the ground and insisted, "I thought you were on a later flight."

"And you, what, simply left the papers and a pen on the table while you went out?"

"Yeah."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief.

"You're my best friend. All the pain you saw me through, I know it hurt you. The divorce was your decision, and I accepted it because it's what you wanted."

"What I wanted?" Ron shouted back. He looked at Hermione with regret in his eyes. "You think I wanted to leave? Hermione, you had always pushed yourself beyond your limits and would have continued to do so. I looked at our future and realized there was a strong possibility I would lose my wife and my best friend at the same time. Now I look at Malfoy loving you the way I did. If I'd only held out a couple more years … I would be there. You and me, we'd have the family we talked about ten years ago."

"No, we wouldn't. I still go on assignment, Ronald. Less now, but I still do field work. I'm being selfish letting Scorpius into my life only to know that a few months from now Draco may leave as you did. But this is the closest I've ever been to having a family of my own, and I want it more now than I did while I was with you."

"Thanks for that." Ron looked away and said, "Nothing a man wants to hear more than how he wasn't good enough to start a family with."

"You're the one who left; didn't exactly leave me with that option, did you?"

Ron didn't reply. There was nothing he could say. Hermione begged him,

"Please let me have this one thing for as long as I can keep it."

"Being in love with you is a fucking privilege. You're respected, never boring, and you're a great shag. You change the country and you change the world just by showing up to work. Being in love with you is the sort of thing that makes other men jealous. 'My wife makes the world work for everybody else.' That's what I used to say when we were together."

Hermione admitted, "I knew you were proud of me."

Ron continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"Then it was, 'My wife got blown up.' Then, 'My wife can't sleep at night because the pain wakes her up any time she moves.' 'My wife punched her physical therapist in the stomach.'"

"It was an accident."

"We both know it wasn't. 'My wife will never move her arm properly again.' 'My wife's body looks like a chess board because the surgery scars refuse to heal.' 'My wife's about to lose her job because she nearly gave her life to the fucking British Broadcasting Corporation!'"

Ron slammed the car door closed with such force that Hermione jumped backward.

"Malfoy's already lost one wife, he knows what the risk is and he's decided to take it. He won't leave you, Hermione, because you're not his best friend. You're his girlfriend. For both our sakes, I had to choose between the two. Oliver and I both knew you would keep pushing yourself until you could go back on assignment. If BBC hadn't given you an anchor spot, you'd've been dead by now. Whether in Saudi Arabia or covering BRICS in Iran or somewhere else in the Arab League, the only question would've been whether you were wearing a wedding ring in your fucking coffin, Hermione!"

Time stopped when he said those words. It was everything they never wanted to acknowledge summarized in one devastating image. She was lying in a casket, scarred and charred, only half-recognizable. Ron would be dressed in black and sat in the front pew, sobbing as Harry did his best to keep his composure. Maybe her parents would be there, or perhaps not. The flight from Australia was rather long for something they considered an inevitability. Cedric was standing at the pulpit to deliver a eulogy. On Hermione's left ring finger was her engagement ring and wedding band.

Ron dabbed at his eyes with the underside of one wrist. He shook his head and said,

"I feel like I did something wrong, even though I knew I did the proper thing. Those final months of our marriage, Hermione, I watched you cry yourself to sleep. You came home with bandages after every trip to hospital because they'd taken more skin and I started to think it'd be better if you had died. To have spared us both all that misery. Maybe …" He shrugged. "Maybe we should've had this conversation years ago, but you're right. I didn't realize how heartbroken I was until I saw him kiss you. I've pushed it off for seven years and I am feeling it now."

Hermione remembered the day he left with stark clarity. They had a ground-floor flat in Mayfair, walking distance to Broadcasting House. Hermione stepped out of the taxi, case rolling behind her, up the front steps and to their entrance on the left. It was a two-bedroom flat, rather exorbitant for two people of their means in central London, but it felt right. Hermione walked through the door the first time and knew that was where she and Ron were meant to be. Ron had said, "This is where we're going to begin our life together."

If only they had known how short that life would be.

The dining and reception were essentially the same room. There was a new sofa on the wall to the left, with one of Parvati's paintings above it. Hermione left her case by the door and shouted for Ron, but he didn't answer. She stepped into the reception and didn't find him asleep on the sofa. She turned further to the right, glanced at the dining area, and then she noticed the papers on the table. Hermione knew what they were. Ron had said when she left, "If you go, I will file for divorce." Hermione had rolled her eyes, believing she hadn't given him grounds to do so. Those papers proved otherwise.

"'Unreasonable behaviour.'" Hermione stared at Ron as he finally allowed himself to feel the weight of their divorce. "That's what you claimed as grounds for leaving me. Unreasonable behaviour."

"If I had another option, I would've taken it."

"I know."

"If I could've stayed, I would have."

"I know."

"It's …" Ron pounded the car door with his fist and Hermione jumped again. "Has it been this hard for you the whole time?"

Hermione nodded.

"Can I tell you something awful?"

"'mione," Ron softened his voice, "you're my girl. You can tell me anything."

"I turned down Ten when they first offered it to me."

Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Are you joking?"

"I thought Penelope would murder me, but I turned them down because I didn't want to be at a desk. I wanted to be in the field, getting to know people, humanizing conflict. When they asked again, I thought perhaps I wanted that family we talked about. You'd already been married, had a child, and I wanted it for myself. The only reason I said yes to Ten was I learned from you that I can't be in the field and be a mum. I was thirty, that's only ten years of life left on camera for a woman. I didn't intend to give up field reporting, but I knew if I was to have a family of my own then I had to start."

Ron frowned and said, "But you didn't."

"No." Hermione felt her cheeks turn pink. "Because none of the men I went out with felt like you. None of them felt safe, or easy, or worthwhile. Nobody made me feel like I could take my clothes off and be attractive. Not after everything healed and I still looked like this."

"You look fine."

"Fine. Exactly what a woman who lives her life in front of cameras hopes to hear."

"You know what I meant."

"No, Ronald, I don't. I took the job and nobody felt like you until Draco came along."

"Yeah …" Ron grimaced. "We don't have much in common."

"He made me laugh." Hermione said, "The way you did. I made him laugh, too. We began as friends and we are growing into something more. Whatever it is, I don't know, but this is as close to a family of my own as I have ever been."

"Is it … Is it really what you want? You do seem happy and, as I said, I fucking hate it. I hate knowing that tonight or tomorrow he's going to touch you the way I used to. The worst bit is …" Angry tears began to run down Ron's face. "I know you'll enjoy it. I see it, the way he makes you light up. The way his son looks at you, it's like you're already part of his family. It's the biggest regret of my life that I couldn't give that to you."

"Mine, too." Hermione kicked at the ground with the toe of her shoe before saying, "You're in no fit state to drive. Have Harry take you. I'll bring your car back tomorrow when I drop off Albus."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Is it what I want?" Hermione admitted, "I wanted a life with you and you took that life from me. It didn't matter how much I loved you; it wasn't enough. I have healed as best I can, and I want to be part of Draco's family because I trust him not to take it away from me."

"I'm sorry—"

"Wait for Harry."

Hermione turned around and walked up the stairs without another word.

.oOo.

Hermione woke up late on Sunday morning. She turned the slightest bit to see Draco was not in bed. She sat up, tossed her legs over the side of the bed, then stood to search for her trousers. She found them, fell to her knees, and fished her phone from the pocket.

9:15.

"Oh, God." Hermione pressed her palm to her forehead. "I can't believe I wasted so much of the morning."

She showered quickly in Draco's bathroom, and her body didn't ache at all. Normally there were so many aches and pains it faded together into a dull, bodily throb she pushed to the back of her mind. Hermione felt … relaxed? Perhaps that was the wrong word.

Satiated.

A good shag would do that, but something about the way Draco handled her without handling her made the sex feel safe. There was none of the usual, will he mess up my shoulder? Will he be put off by the scars? Can I trust him to listen when I say I can't do something? Hermione toweled off and made for Draco's closet, grabbing her bra and knickers off the floor along the way.

Whoa.

The first thought Hermione had entering the closet was, "That's a chandelier." Right there, hanging from a four-metre ceiling, was a chandelier that would have been in the foyer of any other home. It looked like a series of upturned stems with glass petals, scattering light across a closet the size of a second bedroom. The system of drawers and shelves was crafted from light wood, and everything seemed to be meticulously placed.

Hermione walked through the space, searching for something to wear. She had her eye out for another of his sweaters, that knit she'd become so fond of. Hermione found a stack in the third drawer she opened. She rifled through them and found a cream-coloured knit top with short sleeves. She let her towel fall to the floor, put on the bra, then shimmied the top over her head and forced her arms through: left then right. She turned her knickers inside-out before stepping into them. Hermione pulled on her trousers then made for the blue guestroom where she pulled a fresh pair of knickers and a pair of black jeans from her case. A pair of black wedges and she was ready to go.

She stole a glance at herself in the mirror and, there she was again, smiling. Hermione shook her head and could not recall the last time she'd been so happy. She looked good, too. Her eyes were usually drawn to the scars on her neck and left arm, but she hardly noticed them. Just as she was about to leave, she rushed to the bathroom, remembering to brush her teeth.

Hermione eventually made her way downstairs to the dining room where the staff were cleaning up after breakfast. Draco was fussing about the window, watching Scorpius and Albus as they played in the gardens below. She snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Good morning."

Draco stepped out of her hold and said, "I couldn't wake you, you looked far too relaxed. I've never seen you like that and I wanted you to … To …" He turned to face her and his eyes went straight to her tits. He glanced around at the staff shuffling about, preparing for an early lunch before Draco said farewell to the remainder of his guests. "Let me show you to your friends."

"Can I have a bit of breakfast, first?"

"I'll bring something to you."

"Okay."

Draco pulled her into the adjacent hallway, the one he carried her through all those weeks earlier. He closed the door at the far end then walked back and pushed Hermione against the wall. She didn't understand what he was on about until he leaned down to kiss her. He placed one hand on her waist and said,

"You're wearing my shirt, and that does something to me, golden girl. God, I love seeing you in my clothes. It's almost as good as seeing you in nothing at all."

Hermione kissed him on the cheek and said, "A privilege I hope you will have again."

"God willing."

Draco kissed her so sweetly, Hermione closed her eyes and followed his lead. His hand traveled slowly up from her waist until his palm was resting rather lazily against her chest. He pressed his hips forward, pinning her to the wall, and she stuffed her hands into the back pockets of his trousers. Those lazy kisses became increasingly intentional as the space between them became smaller and smaller. The two of them were in their own world where time seemed so slow. Hermione gave one of Draco's arsecheeks a gentle squeeze and he laughed against her lips.

"Must you truly leave today?"

Another quick kiss before Hermione answered.

"Yes."

Draco placed his hands on either side of her face and begged, "Don't."

"I promised I would bring Albus back."

Draco leaned in for another series of kisses that neither of them wanted to stop. Hermione parted her lips and pulled Draco closer by the back of his neck. The sticky sounds of them pulling apart just to breathe, and their tiny gasps of air cut through the quiet of the space. He pushed her up the wall just the slightest bit, keeping her at the perfect height for whatever it was they were about to do. Draco hitched Hermione's leg up around his hip and she wrapped her other leg around him, locking her ankles just below his bum. Hermione pulled him closer and pressed her chest out just to feel him push back. Every morning should begin like this. The sun rises, the alarm goes off, and Draco Malfoy is ready to fuck her against the nearest wall—

"Dad?"

Hermione had never pushed a man away so fast. She barely landed on her feet as Draco stepped to the other side of the hall. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes then turned to see his son and little Albus Potter standing in the doorway neither of them thought to close. Scorpius asked in the smallest, most innocent voice,

"Can we help Chef with lunch?"

Draco nodded and stammered, "Sure, sure, yes. Um, go, yeah, to the kitchen."

"Thanks!" Scorpius turned toward Hermione and said, "Good morning!"

She fluffed her hair and nodded.

"Good morning, baby blond. I am sorry I missed breakfast."

"It's okay. Bye!"

He spun around and dragged Albus away toward the kitchen. Hermione turned to see Draco let his head fall into his hands and groan.

"I can't believe that happened."

"Draco Malfoy, are you blushing?" teased Hermione.

"You make me feel too many things to name, Granger. Another minute and he might've caught us with your hand down the front of my trousers."

"He didn't appear to make anything of it."

"It's so silly." Draco glanced down at the floor and shook his head. "Three months ago I scarcely saw my son I was so wrapped up in business. Now you've come into my life and I feel closer to him than I've ever been. So close that he's nearly walking in on us having sex."

"I think we might have traumatized Al far more than your son," teased Hermione.

"Maybe." Draco shrugged. "He is smiling more, too."

"Again, I'd attribute that more to his friendship with Al, than to me."

"No, Hermione, he's smiling more because I am smiling more often. Hell, I think about you and it's complicated and messy, but the moments when it's just you and me? When we are together, we make each other laugh and the sex was …" Draco searched for the word and settled on, "Excellent, considering it'd been well over six years since I'd done it properly."

"Does that mean you could do better?"

"Most certainly."

It was Hermione's turn to blush.

"I look forward to it."

"I must tell you something about the manor. Staff are quite chatty amongst themselves, and their ears are everywhere. It seems you had a conversation with your ex-husband before he left?"

Hermione's heart sank.

"What do you know?"

"That you said you want a family with me more than you ever wanted it with him." Draco stepped forward, into Hermione's space, and placed his hand on her neck, the pad of his thumb gentle against her cheek. "Is that true?"

"Yes."

"The other half of that truth is, I was not part of my own family until you came into it."

"I disagree," replied Hermione. "You gave what you had to give, and I feel at home when I am with you."

"That is the best compliment you can give me. I love you, Hermione." Draco pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before heading toward the dining room. "I am off to ensure my son doesn't accidentally take off one of the Potter boy's fingers with a butter knife."

Hermione watched him leave, her heart full. She left via the other end of the hallway and found her way to another part of the gardens. She sat on a bench and considered what life might be like if she found her way to Malfoy Manor more often. Perhaps permanently?

In the distance, Hermione saw Parvati in deep conversation with Bastien. She was staring at the ground, unable to look at him, so Hermione guessed the topic of conversation. Hermione knew the moment Parvati revealed what happened because Bastien wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground in a tight hug. She sobbed into his shoulder and, perhaps, that was what she needed.

.oOo.

Standing on the steps outside after lunch, Hermione didn't want to leave. They were all there together: Blaise and Dean; Bastien and Padma; Scorpius and Albus; Draco and Hermione; Theo and Tracey … and Parvati. She looked so alone, so devastated, and Padma knew nothing. Bastien came up to Hermione and clapped her on her good shoulder, a bit too hard but she didn't let it show.

"You and me are driving together. Padma and Ti need some time."

Hermione agreed immediately. Bastien began instructing the valets which bags were to be put in which vehicle. Draco held Hermione close and insisted, for what must have been the fifteenth time,

"You really don't have to leave."

"I really do."

"I'm begging you not to."

Hermione looked up at him and teased, "Beg, then."

Draco laughed and said, "Who's the daddy now?" There was a brief moment before he asked, "If I fell to my knees and begged you to stay, would you?"

"Afraid not."

"If I thought it would work, I would."

"I know." Hermione said, "Make it a goodbye kiss to remember, then."

This kiss was slow and gentle, one that would linger without making everyone around them feel awkward. Hermione hugged him goodbye and said,

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Then a tiny pair of arms wrapped around Hermione's thighs. She turned to find Scorpius Malfoy asking for a hug. She knelt and opened her arms so he could embrace her properly. He said,

"I don't want you to go."

"I know, baby blond. I know. I'll see you again soon, and you can see me on the telly tomorrow."

He shook his head and said, "It's not the same."

No, it wouldn't be the same. Hermione loved seeing him at breakfast, at lunch, and at dinner. She appreciated the opportunity to tuck him into bed at night. Looking into those desperate grey eyes, how the hell could she leave? She said,

"I know it's not the same. All the happiness you saved over the weekend," Hermione pressed one finger to the centre of his chest, "the happiness you kept right here, you need to use it while I'm away."

"I don't have enough."

"You do." Hermione insisted, "You have so much happiness you might even be able to give some to your dad, too."

Scorpius said, rather solemnly, "He needs it more."

Hermione could hear Draco's heart cracking down the middle. He'd been so excited that morning because Scorpius had seen him happy. Yet, his son was right there saying that Draco wasn't happy enough. Hermione felt that was more a failure on her end than Draco's.

"I'll be back soon, I promise."

Scorpius didn't want to let go, so Draco gently pulled him away. He started crying, whether from watching Albus climb into Padma's car or watching Hermione leave, she couldn't say. That little boy was … What was he, family? Her son? No, Scorpius would ask her to be his mum when he was ready. Hermione wasn't ready for that title herself, and yet … She didn't want to leave him. She looked at Draco and said,

"Maybe I can—"

"Go." He nodded toward the car. "Be where you need to be, and we will be here when you are ready to come home."

"It is home, isn't it?"

Draco nodded and held his son's hand as Hermione made her way downstairs. She nestled into the driver's seat of Ron's car and watched Bastien slide his seat back, back, and back until his legs could stretch out nearly the full way. Hermione waved to them as she left, Scorpius's cheeks turning red as he watched them all drive away. Hermione glanced into the side mirror to see Scorpius with his arms outstretched toward the car, as if reaching for her. She wiped tears from her eyes and shook her head, noting it wasn't her family quite yet. There was still a lot of foundation left to build.

Hermione focused on the road. Neither she nor Bastien said anything for awhile. He fiddled with his phone as she drove out of Wiltshire. Eventually Hermione wondered,

"Did Draco tell you—"

"Mhmm." Bastien nudged Hermione's arm very gently with his elbow. "'Course he did."

Hermione swallowed thickly and asked, "What did he say?"

"That there was a lot of hair."

Hermione laughed and nodded, conceding, "I've never shagged anyone with long hair before, usually I've only got to be concerned about mine."

"I phoned Cedric." Bastien sighed. "He's torn up about what happened with Parvati. Is it awful that I feel she handled it wrong?"

"No, but I think it's wrong to expect her to handle it right."

"They'll both be okay, yeah?"

"Cedric will be okay." Hermione admitted, "I'm not sure about Parvati. This will take time to heal. I am glad Ti has you because I don't know if any of us know what to say to her right now."

"I don't think there's anything you can say. She needed a hug, and I'm pretty good for hugs."

"I believe that."

They rode in silence for awhile. Bastien would shift in the seat every so often, his legs a bit cramped. Hermione allowed herself to settle in for the drive, though it felt like she was leaving home. She casually said,

"Of the four of you, you seem to be the most well-adjusted."

"Like I say," replied Bastien, "you know you're a mad group when the best-sorted one lets other men beat the shit out of him for fun."

"I wouldn't say you are such an odd lot. Would you?"

"All three of them are weird. Theo's dad had him at sixty-two with a wife who was twenty-four. Lucius was sort of a father to him, bringing him to all the family events, feeling bad for this really bright kid whose father was decaying before their eyes. Theo's mum died when she was twenty-eight."

"Suddenly?"

"Suicide, so I suppose that answer is both yes and no."

"Oh."

"That's why Lucius kind of adopted him, and why Theo and Draco feel like they're brothers. He met Tracey in year eleven while she was in year ten. They were inseparable the moment they met, really. He asked her to marry him when he was twenty … Then she was pregnant. Not planned. Marriage didn't happen until the twins were three, Theo took two years off from school to care for them, and now he's inventing shit."

"I see."

"Blaise's mum murdered seven husbands before she died and left all their fortunes to him. Of course she never cared for him while she was alive, except to use him as a prop. Narcissa was his substitute mother and I've got my own opinions on that fucking mess."

"Oh?"

"Narcissa and I don't get on." Bastien's jaw twitched. "But she was a decent mum to Blaise when he had nowhere else to turn. Can't say the same about her own son, though."

Hermione asked, "Are you referring to—"

"Yeah."

"It seems to have stayed with you far more intensely than it stayed with Draco."

Bastien kicked at the floorboard.

"I'm a fairly large man—"

"You are absolutely massive," replied Hermione. "I'm shocked you can fit in this car."

"I did have to push the seat all the way back," he teased. His face darkened rather quickly. "At my size, you know how much force it takes to hurt someone. Draco showed up at my door with a broken kneecap. That's not a simple push down the steps, Hermione. I think Draco's mind has repressed some key bits of what happened in that moment. When Lucius died I took my dad to dinner to celebrate. We bought a bottle of champagne."

"What do you believe happened?"

"What do I believe happened?" repeated Bastien. "I believe Draco came out to his dad upstairs, not down in the drawing room. I think Lucius pushed Draco over the railing and Draco landed a floor down on his left side. From there, that's when Lucius grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to the door. He would've been in pain from landing on his side the way he did, so it wouldn't have taken much for Lucius to push Draco down the steps outside where he landed on that knee a second time. His throat hit the bottom step, so he had a bruise there and couldn't breathe right for a few days."

Hermione's fingers tightened around the wheel.

"I hope you enjoyed the champagne."

"I haven't told Draco any of that, so keep it to yourself. I don't want to pull on any memories he's stashed away."

"Understood."

"I blame Narcissa for staying with Lucius. I don't care that she loved him and they were soulmates or whatever it is she says. That man abused and disowned my best friend. I hope they've got him roasting on a spit in hell."

Hermione nodded and said, "I knew I liked you."

"I've got a match this Saturday." Bastien said, "Padma could probably use the company, if you want to come."

"I've never been to a boxing match."

"Never had a woman willing to come to one before Padma." Bastien smiled softly, looked out the window and watched the trees flit into then out of view. "Something about not wanting to watch other men hit their boyfriend. Padma enjoys it, sadistic little bitch that she is. My stepdad told me when I found Padma, he said, 'Bulti, it needs to be a wallet match, a friend match, a laugh match.' We made the same amount of money, our friends nearly overlapped, and I like her dry humour. It was clear to me from the off that she was my girl because it was easy."

Hermione wondered, "How did you all meet?"

"Me and the boys?" Bastien chuckled. "Primary school. My parents managed to get me into this really posh one because their marriage was on the rocks and I think they believed if I got a good education it'd make their relationship worthwhile. Met Theo and Draco my first year, and Blaise came in my second year. I was the one kid nobody ever wanted to bully, so Blaise would sit next to me when he could. Being next to me meant he was safe. I figured he might as well be friends with my friends. He and Draco hit it off immediately, for obvious reasons."

"Why didn't that work out?" asked Hermione. "They seem to really love each other."

"Blaise knew there was someone better. Both times he had to reject Draco killed him inside, but he can have any man he wants. When you have everyone at your disposal, you learn pretty quickly what you want. Draco couldn't fit into the life Blaise wanted. Then he became Scorp's godfather, which really was just … I mean, the first few years of that boy's life Blaise was his dad. Draco did what he could, but it wasn't much. Blaise never wanted to be a father, I think, until he had to be."

"It seems he's done a wonderful job."

"He did."

"What do you think of Dean?"

Bastien whistled low and said, "I think that's about as close to soulmates as any of us are ever going to see. I've known Blaise nearly thirty years and he's never been so chatty, much less this happy. You saw him, the man fell to the ground after Dean snogged him once."

"Blaise is an enigma."

"He grew up in England as a gay, Black, Italian Catholic with every potential father figure winding up mysteriously dead. Of course he's an enigma."

Hermione conceded, "That's fair. Dean is deeply in love with him, and he keeps saying he understands Blaise. I suppose Blaise hasn't had that before."

"Thirty years on, I still don't understand him. You learn to live with it. He cooks the best food, so really, what's to complain about?"

"Padma says you are an excellent cook, as well."

"Where do you think I learned?" Bastien shrugged. "Blaise doesn't speak much. I dunno why that is, probably something to do with his mum. None of my business. We were maybe thirteen when I started noticing the food. If I had a shit day, he'd bring fresh biscuits the next. If I got dumped by a girl, he'd make dinner for me and my dad. Food was his way of being a good friend, and I thought he'd like to teach me how to do it. Then when I was at uni I realized being a good cook was the easiest way to get girls."

"I can confirm that to be true," replied Hermione.

"Padma tells me you and her weren't very close in school."

"We weren't. Parvati was in our friend group, so Padma was a presence. Padma and I became friends when we went to NTU Singapore together, and—" Hermione realized why the words in Gilderoy Lockhart's book were so familiar. She shook her head. "I can't believe it."

Bastien frowned and ask, "What's happening in your head right now?"

"I think I've got another career to ruin."

"And you feel bad about that?"

"It was never my goal to be journalism's equivalent of the grim reaper."

"You've never ruined someone's reputation if it wasn't justified."

"My interview two Wednesdays from now isn't with a dignitary. He's famous, well-liked, and quite handsome. Now I must expose him as a fraud."

"You landed Cormac McLaggen in prison, so I think that counts as community service. It'll all balance out."

Hermione admitted, "It is rather scary to know Draco has that sort of power."

Bastien laughed and Hermione chanced a quick glance over to see he was staring out the window, shaking his head. She huffed,

"What?"

"D'you know why Padma and I work so well together?"

"Because you're perfect for each other and speak the same languages?"

"Because I know what I'm capable of, Padma knows what she is capable of, and neither of us have ever downplayed it. Look at your group of friends, yeah? Ginny Potter is probably the most celebrated female athlete in the country. Parvati speaks six languages fluently enough to be considered one of the government's premiere translators. They glue her to the PM any time he leaves the country. Padma's well on her way to becoming one of the most accomplished lawyers advocating for digital privacy across the globe."

"I don't see your point."

"Then there's you, Hermione. Look at everything you can do. You broadcast stories four nights a week that force people to pay attention. Nobody fucking cares about what's happening in, I dunno, Morocco, unless you tell them why they should. Cedric adores you, but he respects you and that's why he picked you."

"Picked me?"

"He didn't tell you?" asked Bastien.

Hermione shook her head. Bastien revealed,

"Cedric is the most respected anchor they have, so when they realized he needed a co-anchor they asked him for a list. He gave them one name."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Cedric never mentioned … He never said … He always said how lucky he was to have her as a partner. And to think she turned it down the first time. How hard must Cedric have fought to get her a second offer?

"Anyway," said Bastien, "when you look at Draco and see the kind of pull he has? So do you."

.oOo.

Hermione felt several things when Colin picked her up on Thursday. Anger, mostly, that Gilderoy Lockhart had the audacity to accept this interview. She glared out the window most of the ride. Just before she was about to step out at Broadcasting House, Colin said,

"I want to thank you for letting me drive Viktor Krum home that night."

Hermione blushed. It was a very, very good night.

"Thank you for taking him. If he'd been spotted it would have been a nightmare for us both."

"Well, Mr. Krum told me that he'd be in touch. Turns out he's on the cover of the next FourFourTwo and suggested me to photograph the issue!"

Hermione couldn't help but grin because Colin was smiling ear-to-ear. He pulled something from the passenger's floorboard, unzipped a bag, and revealed what appeared to be a rather large, quite expensive camera.

"He gave me this. Brand-new, and he gave me a Canon lens that—well, you probably don't care for the specifics, but this is a hell of a lot of money, Hermione. The sort of money I'd turn down normally, but … I mean … A couple more covers like that with a camera like this? BBC might have to find you another driver."

Hermione reached over and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

"You deserve a better career than driving me places."

"It is an honour to drive you, Hermione. Don't think I don't know that."

"I have never felt safer than when you are driving me."

Hermione stepped out of the car before she had time to think about what Colin said. It is an honour to drive you. Perhaps Bastien was right. Maybe there was a reason people feared her, and she wasn't meant for red sofa journalism. Someone held the building door open for her, as she made her way up, up, and into the familiar chaos of the newsroom. Hermione walked directly over to her producer and pulled two packets of paper from her briefcase. She slammed them down on the desk in front of him and said,

"He's plagiarized the Malaysian portion of this book."

Ernie frowned at the two sets of papers in his hands. He loosened his tie and fell backward into a chair.

"What are these, exactly?"

"The one on the left is the transcript of his book and the one on the right is my translation of Siew-Moi Fauzia's Lonely Wife Atop Mount Kinabalu."

The lines on Ernie's forehead, if possible, deepened. He asked,

"How do you know?"

"Fauzia was my classmate at NTU Singapore. The reason these words were familiar to me is that Fauzia phoned after her marriage fell apart and told me some of the stories she hoped to publish. She has beautiful descriptions of the Malaysian landscape, which Lockhart ripped word-for-word from someone's rather excellent translation."

"So he … What? Paid someone to translate a Malaysian book and claimed the English words as his own?"

"Exactly."

"Hermione, I won't let you bring down your career because Gilderoy Lockhart stole some flowery language from a Malaysian author who, no disrespect meant, nobody in Britain would give a single fuck about."

"That's just it, Ernie." Hermione took a deep breath before revealing, "He stole from two other authors as well. I don't believe he has ever been to Malaysia; that is why he didn't know it is illegal to overtake on one side of the road. Why would he have reason to know when he's never driven there?"

"Oh my God." Ernie tossed the papers on his desk and repeated, "My God, Hermione. You aren't seriously considering this?"

"No."

"Good."

"There is nothing to consider. We are exposing him on air next Wednesday."

"The network loves him. England loves him. This isn't a foreign dignitary or an ambassador who needs to be taken down a peg. He's not a war criminal. He is a bloody documentarian who—"

"Who hasn't documented a goddamn thing, Ernie!" Hermione watched people swivel in their chairs to glance over at her. "He plagiarized my friend! He thought he could get away with it because nobody reading his books knows Malay language, but I bloody well do and I will not let him get away with this!"

Ernie stood up and leaned into Hermione's space, keeping his voice low.

"If you do this, I think the network will sack you. He is more popular than you—"

"But not more respected."

"Respect and ratings are two very different things, Hermione. You know that."

"But—"

"If you insist on exposing him on-air, you will be fired by someone four levels above me. They will wrap it up in something else, but they like him more than they like you. I think we both know the network is already fielding pressure from certain secretaries and foreign governments."

Hermione insisted, "If I let him get away with this, I am no journalist."

"If you don't let him get away with this, then you will no longer be a journalist at BBC."

She considered that for a moment. Her relationship with BBC was, technically, the most stable relationship in her life. Hermione gave everything she had to give and found it difficult to believe the network would cut her loose over one documentarian with the moral fortitude of a Cadbury bar. She said,

"I have a boyfriend, now."

"Congratulations. Heard he's a billionaire."

"I started thinking about what my life would be like ten years from now. I'd like to marry Draco someday, which means his son would become my son. That little boy never knew his mother, and if he chooses me to fill that role, then I intend to live up to it. I would rather be fired from this network, to which I have given my entire body of work, not to mention the whole of my body. I would rather be fired than have to look that little boy in the eyes knowing I could have set something right and chose not to. If I am fired for this, at least I will have a family to go home to."

Ernie nodded.

"It's only … I know this is the proper thing to do, but I don't want to lose you on our team. Cedric is insufferable without you. I live in fear of you taking so much as a vacation."

"Cedric would tell me to do it."

"I know he would. Hell, I'm telling you to do it. If I wanted to produce fiction, I'd be working on a different channel. I believe in honest journalism, Hermione, so if you are ready to blow up your career then I will facilitate whatever you need."

"Won't be the first time my career's blown up." Hermione turned away and headed toward the makeup department. She shouted over her left shoulder, "Likely not the last!"

.oOo.

Hermione was out of her element on Saturday, sitting in the stands of Echo Arena with Padma at her side. Padma seemed quite at home, eating from a box of dirty fries drenched in cheese sauce. Hermione had watched multiple men get pummeled and couldn't stomach any more food. It wasn't the blows that made her stomach turn so much as the noises the men made as they fell to the floor of the ring. She made that fall once. Padma gently nudged Hermione and said,

"This is the one we're here for."

Bastien appeared in the far-left corner of the ring, wearing green shorts and a green tank top sort of thing. He wore white shoes and socks that stopped a third of the way up his lower leg. The referee was in black trousers and a white button-down with a black bowtie, standing in the available corner. There was a large white band at the top of Bastien's shorts, embroidered on the front was his name, "QUEENSBURY." When he turned to face his coach, Hermione noted on the back of the band the embroidery read, "PATIL." Padma smiled and said,

"That's my man."

The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, bout number eighteen, is an elite final at ninety-one kilos and above over three three-minute rounds. Introducing, in the red corner, representing the Slytherin Boxing Club, Bastien Queensbury!"

Bastien took one step toward the centre of the ring and bent forward in a slight bow as the crowd screamed for him. It was a roar of applause and praise that had Hermione asking,

"He's got fans, then?"

"When you're the best," Padma shrugged, "people either love you or hate you. It is difficult to hate Bas."

Hermione laughed, because she was clearly on the other side of that coin. Bastien stepped back into his corner as the announcer's voice came over the speakers once again.

"His opponent, in the blue corner, representing the Armed Forces, Jimmy Peakes!"

There were some cheers, but it was … noticeably less. Peakes stepped forward, gave his half-bow, and stepped back to the corner. Then, out of nowhere, both boxers seemed to understand they needed to be in the centre of the ring. The announcer said,

"Queensbury in the red, Peakes in the blue, your referee, Mr. Jumbo Hooch."

The referee said something to each boxer, but it was far too faint to be heard over the crowd. They nodded, touched gloves, then retreated to their respective corners. There was a small chorus of, "BAS-TIEN! BAS-TIEN! BAS-TIEN!" Which went silent as the referee spread his arms and the bell dinged to signal the beginning of the event.

Hermione felt all the blood drain from her face. That was Bastien. Her best friend's husband. This Jimmy Peakes was no lightweight, and yet … Padma didn't look the slightest bit bothered. She shouted,

"KICK HIS ARSE, BABE!"

Then returned to her cheese fries. Right away, Peakes swung for Bastien who ducked and returned with a blow to the side of Peakes's head. From there it was the strangest first round. Much of the time it looked like they were hugging, holding each other with one arm and pounding into the other's solar plexus with their free fist. Every blow Bastien took seemed like it didn't phase him, though Hermione seemed to feel each one. Hermione grimaced and asked,

"You actually enjoy this?"

Padma turned toward Hermione, completely relaxed.

"Bas competes in the ninety-one kilos and above category. He'll compete against people about fifteen kilos below his weight in some cases. This," Padma nodded toward the ring, "this is his hobby. He enjoys getting beat up a bit, and I love watching him."

"Why?"

"Because there is nothing sexier than a man with that sort of power. This is a safe place for him to get it out of his system. I've seen him fight outside of the ring and it was incredible."

When the bell dinged to signal the end of the round, the referee spread his arms wide and waited for each boxer to retreat to their corners. Bastien's coach was squirting water into his mouth and saying something. They might've been talking about the weather considering how nonchalant Bastien seemed to be.

"I envy your marriage so much. I think we all do."

"You should." Padma grinned as the bell rang to signal the beginning of the second round. "I have exactly the husband I want."

Hermione didn't enjoy the match at all, but Padma may as well have been at a spa. She sipped some water and watched as her husband took yet another punch to the head. The gloves were padded, of course, but a man of Peakes's size could do quite a lot of damage even so.

"Bas mentioned you are worried about the Lockhart interview on Wednesday."

Hermione grimaced and asked, "Are we really talking about this now?"

"GET HIM, BASTIEN!" She shouted before returning her attention to Hermione. "No better time to talk about it, in my view."

"The prevailing sentiment is that if I expose Lockhart for plagiarism, and subsequently prove he never set foot in Malaysia, the network will fire me."

"You are a fighter, Hermione. If there is no fight to be waged, you will find another one. You are just like Bastien, willingly stepping into the ring because you know you are going to win. You know you are the best."

"In this case," replied Hermione, "being the best may not be enough."

"What if it isn't?" asked Padma. "You think ITV won't scoop you up the moment BBC lets you go?"

"What if I don't want to be a journalist?"

Padma scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Maybe I want to leave this bit of my life behind. I'll have the surgery and get the plate removed from my clavicle. I could move to Wiltshire and be part of a family—"

"Stop it." Padma shook her head, not bothering to look at Hermione. "You're not a bloody housewife."

"But—"

"You could work at the Hague, for UNICEF, or Amnesty International. If you want to give up journalism, Hermione, do it with purpose. Don't do it because Draco Malfoy is in love with you."

Hermione shook her head and returned her attention to the match. Padma shifted away from Hermione and focused on her husband, who appeared to be bleeding from his left eyebrow. They spent thirty seconds in that uncomfortable silence, save for the cheers from the crowd when one of the boxers landed a particularly nasty blow. Hermione admitted,

"I think wanting to marry Draco might be a good enough reason."

"You are not this desperate."

"But—"

"If you wanted someone to tell you otherwise, you would have gone to Ginny or Parvati. You came to me because I am the only one with the stomach to tell you what you don't want to hear."

She was right, but there was something promising about a life with Draco Malfoy. Hermione could spend years reading through their library, watch Scorpius learn to draw, perhaps write a book of her own. Padma asked,

"What is in your head that has you considering this?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying. What could possibly be so bad you are afraid to tell me?"

Hermione revealed, "I want to be a mum. I see Ron and Harry with their families and I want it. I want that normalcy. A husband, two kids, not worrying about whether I've done enough to keep my job …"

Padma shifted in her seat to look Hermione in the eyes.

"Two kids?"

"Maybe."

"Draco would never agree to another child."

"Probably not."

"Hermione, what's changed?" Padma placed one hand gently on Hermione's arm. "You don't sound like yourself at all."

"Ron said something to me—"

"I will have Bastien knock his head into something and all will be right with the world."

"Ron said he left me because his only decision was whether or not I would be wearing a wedding ring in my coffin."

Padma hissed, "Tell me he did not say those words to you."

"My career or a family, it has always been a choice between the two. Perhaps this is the opportunity I need to finally choose—"

"Ron made that choice for himself. He knew the risks that came with your job. If he didn't understand what that meant until you were half-dead in an operating room on a separate continent? That was never your burden to bear."

"You don't believe Draco is the same?" asked Hermione. "Draco is terrified of losing another woman, and—"

"Yet, he opened himself up to you. Through all his grief, never once has Draco wished it hadn't happened. The three years he spent with his wife were worth the pain of the past six years without her. If he lost you? He would say the same."

Hermione knew that much to be true. Then Jimmy Peakes landed a strong blow just above Bastien's stomach. He crumpled and hit the floor of the ring with a resounding thud. Hermione clutched Padma's arm and placed a hand over her mouth. Bastien grimaced in pain while his opponent stood off to the side. The referee began a countdown and—

"Oh my God."

Padma waived her off.

"He's fine."

"He looks to be in a lot of pain—"

"He is," replied Padma. "Several years ago he took a kick to the liver that nearly killed him. That is his weak spot, but he will get up."

"Padma …"

Hermione watched as Bastien squeezed his eyes closed and placed one gloved hand over his abdomen. She could just make out his mumbled, Fuckfuckfuck that fucking hurt. Fuuuuuuuck. He pounded the floor of the ring with his other fist. The ref seemed to be reaching the end of the countdown.

"I don't think he's going to get up."

Padma seemed unbothered.

"He will."

"Pad—"

Bastien sat up and pushed himself off the floor, into a standing position. He shook his head, lifted his gloves, and it was as if nothing had happened at all. Padma didn't appear to be surprised, happy, or much of anything at all. Hermione asked,

"How are you so calm about him right now?"

"The difference between me and your ex-husband is I expect my man to stand up when he gets knocked down. I expect him to carry himself through the pain. I've watched Bastien come out of fights with broken bones, bleeding, an eye swollen shut …"

"I bet people love to see that when they arrive at the pharmacy."

Padma laughed.

"I know what Bastien can handle. His only issue, now, is his opponent knows his liver is a weakness. He must defend it while regaining the points he conceded to that hit."

Padma was suddenly very interested in the match, trying to calculate what Bastien needed to do to balance out that hit. The bell rang to signal the end of the second round, and Padma didn't say much until the third round began.

"A few weeks after we were engaged, Bas took me to a pub to meet his friends. Cedric was there; he could probably give you a better version of events. A man stood next to me at the bar, flirting with me, so I grabbed my water with my left hand to emphasize the engagement ring."

Hermione guessed, "It didn't phase him?"

"Not a bit. He stepped closer, put his hand on my back, and ordered me a drink."

"You don't drink alcohol."

"No, but he didn't know that. He stood between me and the rest of Bastien's friends so I couldn't reach to them for help. The man was quite large. I don't frequent pubs; I was terrified because I didn't know the etiquette. Then he was gone." Padma snapped. "Just like that."

"Oh?"

"Bastien appeared from nowhere, pulled this bloke away by the collar of his shirt. I remember him asking, 'Why are you touching my fiancée?' The man said something like, 'It's a beautiful woman you've got there. What are the import duties from India nowadays?'"

"Oh." Hermione could see where this was headed. "Oh, no."

Padma shrugged.

"Bastien punched him so hard in the side of the head that he fell to the ground, unconscious. One blow. A single blow. Bastien found his friends and shouted at them, 'Get this racist arsehole out of my sight. If I see him again, I'll rip his cock off for hitting on my fiancée.'" Padma grinned. "It's sort of humiliating and yet, there is something special about being protected like that. When you ask why I'm not concerned about Bastien picking himself up off the floor of the ring? I know what he can do, and I expect it of him."

Just as Draco knows what you can do, and he expects to see it.

Padma didn't need to say those words for Hermione to hear them. The third round ended with a ding of the bell, and both boxers returned to their corners. Bastien spat out his mouth guard and blood came with it. Hermione had to look away; some of his teeth were pink. The coach pulled his gloves off and Bastien stretched out his fingers before turning toward Padma and giving her a wink.

"You're just like Bas, really."

Hermione looked up at the ring to see Bastien and Peakes join the referee in the centre. The ref took one of their hands in each of his own as the announcer revealed the results.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what a way to finish the championships! Show your appreciation for both boxers, please!"

Padma stood up and clapped as hard as she could. Hermione made to follow but Padma plopped back into the chair. She leaned over and said,

"You are the best at what you do. Bastien competes here because it's better that he has rules to follow. Outside the ring, the rules are murky. The leaders of the world should be grateful you have chosen to stay at BBC, Hermione, because the moment you step into politics? The moment you become a lawyer? You will do what Bastien just did."

Hermione asked, "What's that?"

"The results of bout number eighteen," said the announcer, "and your winner by a split decision and national elite champion at ninety-one kilos and above, in the red corner, Bastien Queensbury!"

Padma leaned back in her chair, nodded toward her husband, then said,

"You win."