52.

Hermione arrived in her office at nine on the dot on Monday, giving the immaculately groomed Mariska a latte and a chocolate eclair with a smile. She'd slept fantastically, and woken to a cup of hot coffee, and a long kiss. Life was good, especially considering where she'd been two weeks ago. She hung up her coat – practical today in black trousers and her ivory silk shirt with the camel spots all over it. Malfoy had charmed her hair. He still hadn't taught her the incantation, and she'd joked that he kept avoiding it so she had another reason to keep him around. Not that she needed another, she had so many. He'd just grinned and kissed her cheek before helpfully fastening her necklace for her, the tanzanite gleaming against her skin. "See," she'd said. "So many reasons."

Mariska promptly brought through her mail and new case files. Hermione was still off the trial roster – her first hearing wasn't scheduled until Thursday morning. A straightforward case of misuse of magic, which had seen a disgruntled ex-employee setting their recent employer's shop on fire. She was honestly glad to be easing back into it slowly, although she wasn't about to admit that. Her abduction had left her shaken, and even knowing that Usbourne, Len, and Ciaran – she felt a stupid pang of pity – were dead, and Olinda and her accomplices were in remand, waiting trial, Hermione still felt emotionally battered and off-balance.

At least her physical wounds had healed, she told herself. And she was safe, she knew that – particularly in the Ministry, but even outside it now that she'd taken the necessary precautions. She twisted the charmed ring on her finger, taking comfort in it. Thinking about the way she'd slept so soundly, beside Malfoy. The way she'd woken, refreshed and happy. Her mind wandered. And then she saw it was quarter past nine, and she couldn't stall any longer. She needed to get to work. Hermione took a sip of her coffee, and pulled out the Barrington file, flipping it open in front of her and rummaging up her favourite quill.

She lost herself in work and before she knew it lunchtime had rolled around, and Mariska was knocking on her office door. "Mr Malfoy is here to see you," the young woman said, smiling meaningfully. "He has lunch." Hermione tried to keep a straight face, but a hint of happiness licked up inside her, and probably shone in her expression.

"Thank you, Mariska. Send him through."

Malfoy had flooed home to change after breakfast and she hadn't seen him since. He appeared in the doorway in a stylishly Edwardian suit in the shades of grey and black he favoured, wearing a tie with – Hermione narrowed her eyes – little hippogriffs all over it. Clearly a present from Scorpius, she thought with a small smile, as she shuffled her work into a neat pile, careful not to smear the ink on the scroll she'd just been working on. She set it aside, using an inkwell and Rose's glass otter birthday present as paperweights.

"Malfoy. Hi."

"Granger," he greeted her as he shut the door behind him. He had a shopping bag in one hand. "I went to a Muggle bakery," he said, as if delighted by the novelty as he held up the bag, putting it on her desk and then coming around to kiss her. She deliberately turned her face slightly last minute, and his chaste kiss to her cheek landed on her lips instead. Malfoy's mouth was soft and he hummed with pleasure at having caught her lips, the kiss turning into something rather less than chaste; his tongue skimming the seam of her lips and her tongue darting out to meet it, the glancing contact sending tingles up her spine before he drew away. His eyes were bright and pleased, a smile threatening as he sat opposite her and began unpacking the shopping bag.

"You look lovely this morning, by the way," Malfoy said as he pulled out what seemed to be a couple of pies and sausage rolls, glancing at Hermione who sat watching him, elbows on the desk and chin resting on her hands, feeling suddenly, blissfully happy. "Your hair looks particularly nice." He shot her a self-satisfied look.

She laughed. "I seem to have a new stylist. You look nice too." He did. Sleek and elegant, clean-shaven, and his hair perfectly arranged, as he pulled out more paper bags. He always seemed insistent on showering her with food. Hermione was going to end up putting weight on if she didn't watch it. "I like your tie. Birthday present from Scorpius?" He grinned, looking down and adjusting it.

"Christmas present, actually."

"I like his taste," Hermione said, tugging one of the paper bags over to peek inside, and finding chocolate eclairs. "And I like that you wear them." Ooh, one of the other bags had snowballs. Yum. He sat two cans of Irn-Bru of all things on the desk, sliding one across to Hermione who eyed it, bemused. An unexpected choice; the bakery he'd been to clearly had a Scottish bent.

"Why would I not?" He shrugged, flippant as he carefully tore the paper bags open along their seams, and passed her a pie and a sausage roll. "People already dislike me, no matter what I do. A novelty tie isn't going to lose me any respect. Not at the Ministry, anyway. At one of my parents' parties – well, that might be a different matter."

"You're a good father," Hermione said earnestly, after transfiguring a few scraps of parchment into two plates, passing Malfoy one, and he winced and shrugged.

"I try. But there's no making up for the past."

"I'd say you're doing a fine job of it." The pie and sausage roll were still hot, and smelt delicious. Hermione's stomach rumbled. "Thank you for lunch, by the way."

"You're welcome." He dipped a bit of cream out of a jam and cream doughnut, his expression shifting; serious, and slightly uncertain. "I know you said not to turn up in your office too often –"

"It's fine. I'm glad," she broke in, sincerely. "I've relaxed the rules, remember?"

"Oh, good," he said, and his expression relaxed too, warm and sweet as he sucked the cream off his finger, and Hermione bit her lip. "Does that mean I can fuck you tonight?" He grinned wickedly as Hermione blushed and hid her face in her hands.

"You know you can't, Malfoy."

"Oh shit," he said, huffing a rueful laugh. "You know, I'd honestly forgotten. Okay. As soon as possible, then?"

"Yes," she said, cheeks hot. "As soon as possible."

Malfoy offered to sleep at her house that night and Hermione accepted; she saw no reason not to.

First she stopped in to see Harry after work in his office, to see how her case was going – smoothly, as Olinda had confessed to everything. Hermione found herself feeling bad for the witch and her daughter, Elena; the poor girl would die with her mother locked up in Azkaban, unable to be at her side. It wasn't right. She said as much to Harry, and he shrugged, eyes cold.

"She shouldn't have helped her father try to kill you then, 'Mione. Her thirst for some pointless bloody vengeance is what's taken her away from her daughter. Not you." Stupidly, Hermione had needed to hear that. She gave Harry a hug and asked him to let Ron know she was fine, and forced herself out into the Muggle world.

Grocery shopping was slightly nerve-racking, somehow, even though Hermione knew her local Tesco's was totally safe. She felt on edge the entire time, and nearly drew her wand and hexed Hugo's friend Sanjeet's father when he'd said hello to her in the meat aisle. But she survived. Malfoy had offered to accompany her shopping as well, but she'd declined. It was important to Hermione that she be able to manage it on her own. She wasn't going to let the abduction control her. She categorically refused; life would go on as normal, even if she had to grit her teeth and force herself. The one exception Hermione was willing to make was having Malfoy stay the night – the idea of spending all night alone with her fear was too much, and how could she say no to spending all night in Malfoy's arms?

He texted her forewarning before he flooed through at 7 pm, bringing a bottle of elf-made wine with him, and she had dinner finished five minutes later. He'd arrived in his puffskein pyjama trousers and a white t-shirt, and she wore pyjama shorts and a vest, a flannel shirt she'd co-opted from Ron years ago thrown on over top. Hermione put on Disney, and they ate lasagne and salad sitting on the couch, watching Mary Poppins, Draco still enamoured by Muggle cinema. And then they shared the bottle of elf-made wine while watching 10 Things I Hate About You, and snogging on the couch like a couple of teenagers.

Hermione fell asleep with her head pillowed on Draco's lap as he learned to navigate the television, channel surfing like a pro, his feet on the coffee table and a glass of wine in his hand.

Tuesday and Wednesday went like clockwork. They had lunch at the Folly on Tuesday, and Malfoy stayed the night – her period still ruining their potential fun. And then on Wednesday evening Hermione finally forced herself to be brave, and told him she wanted to try to spend the night alone. "I'd rather have you in my bed for a multitude of reasons, but I can't keep being too afraid to sleep alone in my own house," she'd told him, and he'd understood. And while Hermione hadn't slept well, she'd managed several hours of sleep, and she hadn't caved and texted Malfoy. She counted it as a victory. She'd even gotten through her first hearing post-kidnapping without a single misstep, although it had helped that it had been a straightforward case.

Now, however, as the clock ticked toward midday, she was yawning, her eyes a little bleary, the words blurring on the parchment. She needed a coffee. She needed her Thursday lunch with Malfoy. She smiled. They planned on going to a new café in Place Cachée today, and Hermione felt pretty in her pale mint silk blouse and pencil skirt, her hair swept into an elaborate low bun, with a dab of lipstick and lick of mascara. There was a sudden, loud kerfuffle in Hermione's outer office, and she glanced up toward her closed door, startled by the sound of angry female voices through the heavy wood.

"Is she in there?" one voice demanded, clear and ringing, and filled with fury, and Hermione's heart sank. Even shouting, she recognised those bell-like, upper-class tones. Oh shit. Astoria. This was the last thing Hermione needed. She suddenly felt very wide awake. Clearly the witch had finally received Draco's owl with the divorce papers.

"Stop that!" That was Mariska, who sounded all bristling in defence of her boss. There was a rattle at the door handle as Hermione swiftly swept her papers into a stack, and shoved her photos of the children, otter paperweight, and inkwell safely into her desk drawer, her pulse thrumming like a hummingbird's wings. Damage control. She imagined the first thing Astoria would want to do was wreck the place, from the sounds of her.

"Get out of my way!"

"You can't just go in there!" Mariska shouted, and there was the sound of a scuffle. Her quills went in her drawer too, and then because she had time, Hermione grabbed her tallest stack of parchment and files, and dropped them on the floor by her desk, leaving it all but empty. The door slammed open and Hermione jerked upright, feeling rather exposed as she sat there facing the tall, furious blonde. She wore heels and a simple pale blue dress that would look frumpy and matronly on Hermione, but managed to look effortlessly stylish on Astoria, as though she'd stepped out of the pages of Vogue. Her sea-green eyes snapped with fury, her cheeks pink, her wand in her hand at her side.

Past her, Hermione could see Mariska hovering helplessly, apology on her face as she held her hands up, as if to say, what in Merlin's name do I do?

"Go fetch Mr Malfoy please, Mariska," Hermione called clearly, proud of the way her voice didn't shake, and her secretary nodded and hurried away. Well. Hermione inhaled deeply, turning her eyes to the witch standing furious and breathless in her doorway, her shoulders rising and falling with the strength of her short, heaving breaths.

"Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said coolly, trying to stuff all her panic down into a small box in her mind and sit on it. Panic wouldn't help. Being calm probably wouldn't help much either, from the looks of Astoria, but it might be slightly less embarrassing when the story of the incident eventually circulated around the department, and then spread to the rest of the Ministry.

"Yes. Yes. Mrs Malfoy." Astoria bit out, the words crisp and yet trembling with the force of her rage as she strode into the room, slamming the door behind her. Oh good, privacy, Hermione thought wryly, her thoughts slowing and clinging to a kind of humour even as her heart raced and her palms began sweating, adrenaline flooding her system. She hoped the other witch wasn't about to try to murder her. She'd had enough of that recently. "Mrs Draco Malfoy, you conniving, nasty, mudblood bitch," Astoria emphasised, and it sounded like she was slurring.

Wow. Hermione's eyebrows nearly flew off her head as she stood, feeling shaky, her hands clasped together so that she could yank her wand from her arm holster easily. "I assume you received Malfoy's owl," she said very calmly, but her even, neutral tone only seemed to make Astoria angrier.

"Yes. I did," she said shrilly, crossing the room to stand behind the chair opposite Hermione, gripping the back of it tight enough to whiten her knuckles, her wand still clutched awkwardly in her right hand. "I got back from a holiday in Bulgaria to find out that my husband wants to divorce me! Divorce!" Astoria shrieked, voice rising half an octave. "And to add insult to injury, he informed me by owl. By owl!" Astoria's face was blotchy and red, her mascara running slightly as her wide eyes swam with tears of rage. "He wants to shame me in front of the entire wizarding world, and he doesn't even have the decency to do it to my face!"

Hermione gulped. "And so what brings you here? To my office?" She was stalling for time, really. Waiting on Malfoy's arrival, so he can hopefully do something, although God knows what. She didn't think Astoria would do anything violent, but after her recent experiences, having a furious person screaming at her while holding a wand was quite frankly, terrifying. She slid her wand down half out of the holster, the butt of it exposed in her left hand, her right hand curling around it, poised.

"You. It's because of you," Astoria snarled, her perfect features distorted as she sneered at Hermione, who stood there frozen, her hands trembling. "Until you came along, Draco never, ever mentioned divorce. He would've never even thought of such a thing. It's shameful," Astoria hissed, leaning forward over the chair back. Hermione could smell the alcohol from across the desk. "Shameful. My parents are furious, and his parents will hate you even more than they already do! You stupid little bitch. You don't even have the class to be discreet."

Hermione swallowed dryly, her throat clicking, and her heart thudding frantically. She felt sick as the witch continued to spit venom at her, raging on unstoppably.

"– and you know, I would've even been willing to put up with you being his mistress, if you'd done it with some respect. Some dignity. If you'd known your proper place. Instead of running around, rutting like dogs in heat, thinking you're in love." Astoria's lip curled just as the office door banged open, and Malfoy stood there, out of breath and slightly panicked looking. Oh thank God, Hermione thought, her eyes darting to his face. "Merlin knows why he wants you. Some frumpy, middle-aged mudblood –"

"Tori!" Malfoy snapped, horror sparking in his eyes, and Astoria whirled around. When she saw him there she raised her wand, pointing it at him as she backed up against a wall.

"There's something wrong with him," the witch told Hermione, although she was looking at Malfoy. "He's wrong. He can't even be normal when it comes to picking a mistress. He can't go for some flighty little slut half his age. No, he chooses you. You're even older than I am, and fatter," she spat. Hermione blinked at the woman in disbelief. Fatter? It was such a bizarre insult she nearly wanted to laugh. But Astoria went on, snarling and venomous. "You're just some fat, ugly, mudblood cow. Merlin knows why he's so desperate to put his pathetic penis in you."

Oh Jesus.

Jesus, this was a nightmare. She was the mistress, being confronted by the wife, in her workplace, while the husband stood by impotently. At least she wasn't the pregnant mistress, she thought, slightly hysterically.

"You're drunk, Tori," Malfoy said, rather numbly. "You're making a scene. Let me take you home." But the witch just laughed, a wild look in her eyes.

"Home? Home where? We don't have a fucking home."

"Wherever you want to go," Malfoy said, quietly, his eyes awful. "Just please, Tori, let me –"

"Shut up, Draco. Shut up. I won't go, and you can't make me. Not anymore. You bastard!" She screamed the last, and Hermione and Malfoy both winced in unison. Behind Malfoy, Hermione could see Mariska, shutting the door to the department corridor as curious faces peered in. Thank Merlin for Mariska. She was an angel. Hermione was going to buy her pastries every day for a month. A year , she thought, and all the while Astoria kept ranting on, getting more vicious and more incoherent as she did. And louder. Malfoy couldn't do much other than shoot Hermione deeply apologetic, mortified glances, while he tried and failed to talk his wife down as she screamed toxic, horrible accusations and slurs, mostly aimed at Malfoy now. And then Astoria turned her attention back to Hermione.

"Merlin knows why you're so desperate for his defective seed," she said, low and drenched in bitterness. Hermione's breath caught in sharply, dread twisting in the pit of her stomach as Astoria levelled an awful, broken look on Hermione. Her tear-streaked cheeks were ruddy, her eyes red-rimmed. "His babies all come out dead, or wrong, you know," she said, her voice suddenly small and miserable, her hand clutching at her abdomen. Malfoy made a horrible, wounded sound. "All dead. Dead, or might as well be –"

"Astoria." Malfoy's face was bloodless, his eyes haunted, an agony of grief written in the lines of his face as he stood there, one hand reaching out toward his wife. It felt as though they'd both forgotten she was even there. It was just the two of them in the room, Hermione faded into the background. Invisible. She watched in horror, one hand pressed to her mouth, tears standing in her eyes as Astoria broke apart in front of them both. It was something Hermione should have never seen, but alcohol and anger had driven the witch here, and now, like it or not, Hermione was privy to this terrible thing she could never unsee.

"Now I'll never be married to someone worthwhile," Astoria gasped through a flurry of sobs as she slid slowly down the wall. "Never bear heirs that will carry on the family bloodline. I'm used up – damaged goods, and no pureblood man of any consequence will ever want me! Ruined me. You ruined me, Draco. Ruined my body, bearing all your dead children, and my heart, oh Salazar, my heart." The last word was a low wail as Astoria crumpled into a heap of fabric and limbs on the floor, burying her face in her hands as she wept like her heart was breaking.

Malfoy looked like a ruin himself. White as bone, his eyes spilling over with grief and his expression stricken. He finally moved, kneeling beside his estranged wife, his hands on her shoulders and her hair, caressing her helplessly, broken apologies and attempts at reassurance spilling from his lips, too quiet for Hermione to hear more than snatches of words. He sat then, slumping back against the wall, his arms sliding around Astoria, who turned into him, clinging and sobbing. Hermione could hear her well enough to make out her broken, weeping chant – I hate you, I hate you. Malfoy looked up, wet eyes meeting Hermione's, and there were tears on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Hermione knew he meant it for her as well, even as his hand rubbed Astoria's back. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione gulped and gave him a jerky nod, and then left her own office on numbed feet, feeling rather like she'd just been crushed beneath an avalanche. She shut the door quietly behind her, turning to see Mariska sitting tensely there at her desk, worry in her eyes. "I got you a cup of tea," her secretary said, indicating a mug. Another one sat in front of Mariska. And then the younger witch lowered her voice rather unnecessarily. "And I raided Higgins's office and nicked his firewhiskey." She withdrew the bottle from under the desk, and plonked it on top, and Hermione found herself laughing, weakly and tearfully.

She slumped into the chair off to one side of Mariska's desk, and buried her face in her hands for a moment, breathing deeply and slowly. "Have I told you lately how much I love you, Mariska?"

"You have not, Ms Granger-Weasley." There was a clink, and Hermione looked up to see Mariska taking it on herself to add a generous slosh of firewhiskey to each of their mugs of tea.

"Well, I do," Hermione said, adding, "Thank you," in a murmur as she took her mug.

"Does that translate to a raise, or just appreciation?" Mariska grinned, her own expression a little shaky. "Because I'd rather have the raise."

Hermione laughed again. "I'll talk to Higgins." She meant it, too, as she took a sip of her tea, the burn of the firewhiskey helping steady her. "Oh, that's lovely." She looked toward her office door. "I'm afraid I've lost my office for a while."

"Better in there, than out here with us," Mariska said, gulping her own tea, and adding more firewhiskey. "Mrs Malfoy is terrifying."

Hermione pressed her lips together, picturing Astoria. The look on her face as she'd gasped 'my heart'.

"And sad," she said, quietly. Mariska gave her a disbelieving look.

"If you say so."

It took over half an hour before Hermione's office door swung open, a time during which Hermione sat there flicking idly through Mariska's old copies of Witch Weekly, responsibly had only one top-up of firewhiskey, and tried not to think about what Malfoy and Astoria might be doing. Her traitorous mind pictured comfort that led to kisses, that led to expressions of feeling rekindled, and she told herself over and over not to be so stupid. But she was his wife. They had history. She wondered if Malfoy had felt like this when Ron had been able to sit at her hospital bedside, and he'd had to wait in the corridor.

And then the door swung open and Astoria scurried past, giving Hermione only a vague impression of reddened eyes and shame before she yanked the outer office door open and vanished into the corridor. She was followed by Malfoy at a more sedate pace, who strode up to Hermione, his eyes still burning and hollow with grief. He bent over her, hand cupping her face and right in front of Mariska kissed her hard and needy directly on the mouth, a fleeting clash before he straightened, his eyes glued to Hermione. "I have to get her home. I'm sorry. I might miss lunch."

"Oh," she said dazedly, breathless, aware of Mariska's eyes, huge and round on the two of them.

"Dinner, instead? At the Folly?" he asked, intent.

"I – yes." Hermione licked her lips, speechless.

"I'll meet you there? At six?"

Hermione nodded mutely, and then Malfoy was gone, following after Astoria at a brisk walk that quickly turned into a jog.

"Wow ," Mariska said, and Hermione looked across the desk at her secretary to see the witch fanning herself with a Witch Weekly, grinning broadly as she eyed her boss. "I'm definitely going to want a raise, if you expect me to keep that story to myself."