75.

"So tell me – how did it happen? The pure-blood reformed Death Eater, and the Muggle-born best friend of Harry Potter! Now there's an unexpected match." The reporter for Witch Weekly, Elizabeth Grey, leaned in – nearly breathless with excitement, her Quick-Quotes quill scribbling. "Enemies to Lovers! Forbidden Fantasies! Oh! Did you have feelings for each other even then, during the war?"

Elizabeth was younger; mid-twenties, Hermione would guess, and with the hint of an Australian accent, or perhaps New Zealand. Hermione found it hard to tell the difference. Either way, the war would only be a story to her, thanks to the distance of time and space. The Second Wizarding War was mere history now. It was strange. And it made the questions jarring at times – Elizabeth possessed little tact, and she was probing.

Hermione half-regretted this now that they actually sat here on their settee, the reporter perched on an armchair they'd sullied rather thoroughly three days ago, but Mariska had been right. They had an opportunity here with the wedding coming up to sell their narrative, and to sway public opinion – or at least the press. And the press told the public what to think – and the public listened.

Since Malfoy had made it clear to Hermione months ago that their daughter could face issues because of her parentage, she'd worried about it. It had been Mariska who'd suggested that they embrace the press, and make use of them, instead of being mere fodder to them. Don't react, Ms Granger, Mariska had said pointedly, as she'd frowned down at the latest Witch Weekly piece on Carina.

GRANGER-MALFOY BABY HIDDEN FROM PUBLIC EYE, BUT WHY? Rumours abound – is there something wrong with the newest half-blood addition to the Malfoy line?

Hermione had wanted to rip her hair out in frustration. They just wanted privacy. You can't have privacy, Ms Granger. Take control, Mariska had said, tapping her quill to her lips. Act. If you approach them, perhaps you'll be able to put them in your pocket.

"No, not during," Malfoy said, his eyes sliding to Hermione, the faintest curve shaping his lips. She knew what he was thinking of. His youthful fantasies while in Azkaban. She felt her cheeks heat.

"Oh! But maybe you, Ms Granger?"

"No! No, definitely not," Hermione rushed to make clear. "I was busy despising Malfoy, when I thought of him at all. Which wasn't often once we left school."

"Ouch," Malfoy said, clutching his chest. "You wound me, Granger."

"The two lovebirds call each other Granger and Malfoy, as though sparks of rivalry still fly, and they banter as if it's foreplay," Elizabeth said, clearly for the benefit of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and Hermione blanched.

"Good God. I –"

"Don't deny it, Granger," Malfoy said, dark and sweet, before dropping a wink at Elizabeth, who looked suddenly flustered, and Hermione fought the urge to hide her face. They'd agreed to give Witch Weekly an exclusive interview the month before their wedding, with photos of themselves and Carina, and then early access to photos of the wedding – a juicy scoop for the magazine, agreed to in exchange for the positive press.

"So when did you first connect, romantically?" Elizabeth asked, after clearing her throat and adjusting her glasses. "I hate to bring it up —" Hermione sincerely doubted that "— But we have to talk about the fact that when your fairytale began, you were indeed both married."

"Well, Ron and I had already separated, actually," Hermione said tightly, as they'd rehearsed, and she'd discussed with Ron. "We were trying to keep it hush-hush, publicly, but we'd been apart for weeks before anything – erm, untoward happened between Malfoy and I."

"Oh?" The quill was scribbling away. Hermione was sure it was writing more than Hermione was actually saying. She frowned. Malfoy squeezed her knee reassuringly.

"Yes. In fact, Ron is happily married again himself now, with a child a little older than Carina. And we're actually quite good friends." Hermione was mostly honest – 'good friends' was a stretch, but the other day they'd all had a picnic in Hogsmeade on Rose's birthday weekend, and Malfoy and Ron had willingly discussed Quidditch for half an hour.

"Oh reeeeally?" Elizabeth dragged the last word until it died with a stutter. "And what about yourselves and Mrs Astoria Malfoy? How are things there?"

"Astoria is very busy with her own life," Malfoy said smoothly, his voice not giving anything away, although his fingers tightened on Hermione's thigh. "We usually only communicate regarding our son, Scorpius. But she seems happy with Alexei – and I'm very happy for her."

"So the rumours of tensions are accurate?" the younger witch asked, with a note of delight in her voice. Hermione frowned, but smoothed her features to neutrality again before it gave her away.

"Rumours are never accurate, Miss Grey," Malfoy said without a hitch, and smiled coolly. It didn't reach his eyes. "And rarely illuminating. No – there are no tensions, beyond the average divorced couple."

"But you wouldn't classify yourself as friendly?"

"I prefer not to be put in a box," he dodged, and Elizabeth frowned, but didn't push. She changed the subject to lighter things, and they spent the next thirty minutes fairly pleasantly, as they talked about everything from Hermione's work, to how Malfoy found being a hands-on father, to the name of their crup, and what House they hoped Carina would be in.

"Hufflepuff," Hermione said, not meaning it in the slightest and grinning at Malfoy's faux horrified look.

"My mother keeps buying her green," he said when Elizabeth looked towards him, smiling wryly. "Clothes, toys, blankets. But personally, I don't think it matters much. People put a great deal of importance on Sorting, and in recent years I've come to see the negatives to that. As I said earlier, I don't like to be put in a box. I think it's limiting. House pride is all well and good, but these days I feel there's more value in inter-House community."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

"Really?" she asked, before Elizabeth could say anything, and they devolved into an animated discussion – Hermione not disagreeing, just querying. He'd never mentioned that before. The Quick-Quotes Quill scribbled madly, trying to keep up.

"I don't quite understand the whole Hogwarts House thing, I have to admit," Elizabeth finally said, when they let her get a word in edgewise. "New Zealand's so tiny that we didn't have a school – unless you went away to Australia. Nearly everyone I knew was home-schooled. And every term we'd all meet up in Feilding over a weekend, for academic and Quidditch competitions, and so our parents could all get pi– well. You can imagine. The drinks flowed like water. It was very different to your whole thing here. My House was my actual house," Elizabeth said, and laughed heartily, as they both gave her polite smiles. She glanced down at her notes.

"Speaking of schooling, will you be home-schooling Carina until she's of age for Hogwarts, or…?" Elizabeth rifled back through her notes. "I see Rose and Hugo went to a Muggle school, and Scorpius to an experimental school here in Ilkley?" And Hermione sat back and let Malfoy talk about the Ilkley school, full of enthusiasm for his pet project, before the conversation turned to other things.

Eventually, however, Elizabeth's time was nearly up.

"Well, we at Witch Weekly wish you both the very best for your wedding. I know we're all so excited to see the photos of the big day! Only thirty-one days to go!" The reporter smiled. "Are there any little titbits you can drop ahead of time? Location? The name of the designer you'll be using, Ms Granger-Malfoy? Or even just whether they're magical or Muggle? Bridesmaids?"

Hermione smiled. "Well, the ceremony and reception will both be at Malfoy's family estate, in Wiltshire – my future mother-in-law keeps the most immaculate, enchanting gardens," she said, laying it on thick. Narcissa would appreciate the public flattery. "Other than that, I'm afraid all I can tell you is that my dress designer is Muggle. My Muggle roots are, as you no doubt know, very important to me."

"Of course." Elizabeth smiled blithely. "What about your honeymoon? Any hints for us there?"

"As long as we're alone, I don't care," Hermione said, meaning it – although of course, she did know where they were going. Beautiful, bleak, and near the sea – and yes, totally isolated.

"We won't be sight-seeing, wherever we are," Malfoy added, and grinned wolfishly. "I don't plan on letting her leave the bedroom."

"Oh. I think that's a lovely place to leave the interview," Elizabeth said, thank Merlin. "A perfect quote to wrap things up. Very racy." She smiled brightly at them both, clearly delighted with what she'd got from them. "If I could just take some photos – with the baby, as well…?" Carina was currently sleeping in her bedroom. Malfoy patted Hermione on the knee and stood.

"I'll get her," he said, glancing down at her with warmth in his eyes, and she smiled up at him.

The camera flashbulb went off. "Oh, you two are just too sweet," Elizabeth said, grinning. "Sickening."

The day of the wedding dawned sunny and perfect, as though someone had cast a weather charm over Wiltshire. A light breeze stirred the early autumn air, and the stuffy heat of summer had already given way to a gentler, fresher warmth. It was pleasant, rather than the suffocating blanket of heat that had been present throughout the peak of summer. They'd slept at the Manor, in Malfoy's old bedroom – a bizarre experience, for all that it was long empty of his childhood things – and now Hermione flung open the windows and leaned out.

It smelt delicious, and the breeze ruffled through her curls as she went up on her tiptoes in her thin silk nightie, her arms folded on the wide sill. "It really is beautiful here," she said. Malfoy lay in the bed behind her drinking his morning coffee, which Mopsy had brought in. Hermione had winced internally, but externally been profusely grateful to Mopsy. It wasn't the house-elf's fault that she'd been groomed into servitude, and while Hermione was under the Malfoys' roof, she would grudgingly accept their rules.

"Mm," he agreed. "Beautiful." There was a particular note to his voice.

"Are you looking at my bum, Malfoy?" she enquired, without turning to look. She could feel his eyes on her.

"Mmhm," he agreed again. She grinned as she looked down over the tree-lined drive, and the expanse of lawn, all neatly manicured and garnished with carefully placed flower beds. The wedding would take place at the rear of the estate – on the strip of lawn behind the house that was laid out between herb gardens, the rose gardens, and the elaborate hedge maze, and partially shaded by maples that were already turning. Magnificent yellows and oranges, with a few beginning to shade toward red.

"It's a beautiful arse," he said, and she rolled her eyes, happy.

"That's so cliché," she told him warmly, and then took a deep breath in through her nose, and turned to face him. His hair shone white in the morning light, and his eyes were shining steel-bright, appreciation in his expression. He hadn't shaved yet, and the dark blonde of his stubble caught the sun and glinted. He was pale and golden, and utterly perfect, shirtless and languid in the expanse of the bed, the expensive sheets shoved down around his hips. Delectable. Warmth stirred in her abdomen, and she felt the sudden desire to have his mouth on her flesh. Wet and hot.

The perfect way to begin their wedding day. They'd been too tired last night to fuck, falling into bed exhausted, with grand plans that didn't come to fruition.

She hitched up her nightie around her hips – no knickers beneath – and leaned her elbows back against the sill. The breeze was cool on her thighs and her vulva, and a shiver ran over her skin. Anticipation and want mingled and heightened. "Come here and fuck me," she said boldly. "Right here in the window."

He raised a brow. "I'm not sure fucking on the wedding morning is meant to be good luck, Granger."

"I don't think it's traditionally even mentioned, actually," she pointed out.

"I think I'm not supposed to see you at all," he said, but he was throwing back the sheet and climbing out of bed in nothing but undershorts, his erection distorting the fabric impressively.

"In the dress," she protested, sliding her hand down between her legs, and smoothing her fingers over her mons, the hair there all trimmed short and neat. Trying for tantalising. He grinned as he crossed the room, sleek and lithe, raking back his fringe with one hand.

"If you say so, Granger. Either way, it's too late now." He stopped in front of her. "Take this off. I want you naked." He bit his lip and ran his eyes over her as she moved to do so. "I want to fuck you naked, bent over the windowsill, moaning, your tits bouncing, visible to anyone outside who looks up at the window."

There was in fact no one outside – it was not long past dawn, and no one would be up and about for some time. Which was perfect, considering Hermione didn't actually want to be seen. But the idea of it was incredibly arousing. The idea of someone seeing her bent over with Malfoy's hand heavy on her neck and his cock thrusting thick and hard into her, jolting moans from her throat. At his mercy. In his grasp. Impaled on him, in the very room where he'd lain as a teenager, and hated her.

Such a confusing muddle of feelings. It was really quite erotic.

Hermione stripped off her nightie and stood there stark naked; soft and curving, her skin hopefully glowing prettily in the morning sun. Malfoy bit his lip, hands coming up and cupping her breasts – softer than usual, given she was weaning Carina. Hardly perfect. And yet –

"Fuck, you're amazing," he said, awed. His eyes were soft as he stared at her there framed by the window, the sun streaming through behind her, warm on her naked back. His hands were soft too; gentle as they palmed down her body, over the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips. He leaned in, his lips brushing slowly over hers, and then drifting along her cheek as she held her breath, her skin tingling, her nerve endings firing.

"I should be on my knees worshipping you," he whispered in her ear, as one hand slipped between her legs and cupped her vulva.

"Hermione," he said, emotion thrumming in his voice, and her whole body shivered. His fingers parted slick folds, one finger sliding into her as she clutched at his shoulders and whimpered. Her forehead fell forward against his chest. "You're so fucking incredible."

Warmth suffused her as his left arm slid around her, her close against him as another finger slid into her. "Oh." She panted. "Oh. We're on a –" his fingers twisted and her hips arched out "– first name basis now, are we, Draco?" She smiled against his chest. He smelled faintly of cologne and sweat, and fresh coffee. Mmph.

"I'm practising," he said, his fingers pumping slowly in and out, a fire burning deliciously between her legs, and into her core. "For the ceremony. 'I take you, Hermione Jean Granger'." He kissed the top of her head, oddly tender during such a charged moment.

"I don't think they mean this sort of 'taking'," she said, looking up and giving him a wobbly smirk that fell apart into a cascade of panting moans as he met her eyes and held them, and curled his fingers very deliberately. He watched her with a kind of smug satisfaction as her eyes fluttered and her lips parted, little huffing whimpers escaping her. She felt so wired. On the brink with need and lust; ready to break at the slightest touch. The smallest rubs of his slippery fingers.

"Probably not," he agreed. "But it doesn't hurt to practise this either."

"Nn-no, probably not," she wavered out unsteadily.

He withdrew his fingers from her cunt, and began to rub the sensitive nub of her clit in little, careful circles. Fire lit her up from her head to her toes, her insides cramping with arousal. "Oh God."

"You should practise too," he said, and his eyes were dark, his expression focused. She was backed up against the window, her legs trembling, every swipe of his fingers sending a cascade of ecstasy tumbling through her. He eyed her as she clutched at the windowsill, and at his upper arm, and whimpered. He smirked wickedly, and then lifted her up, settling her on the wide sill, as she made a squeak of surprise.

"Oh Merlin!" She clutched onto the frame, glancing back. The sill carried on far enough outside that she could probably lie back with only her head and shoulders hanging off it into thin air, but she didn't want to. It was a long drop. So instead she stayed sitting, braced against the frame as Malfoy knelt, his hands gripping her bum firmly. She knew he wouldn't let her fall. The breeze was soft on her back.

"You'll need to say: I, Hermione Jean Granger –" He kissed the inside of her thigh, twice, slowly "– take thee, Draco Abraxas Malfoy –"

"Abraxas," she murmured in mockery. "Honestly. What are you? A flying horse?" She snickered childishly. He swiped the flat of his tongue over her vulva and her giggle trailed off into a breathy moan, her fingers tightening on the window frame. "Hnngh…Malfoy…"

"Mm, Draco Abraxas Malfoy," he agreed, his breath hot on her flesh, as he went on. "To be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward –"

He paused, his fingers pressing firm into her bum cheeks, and then pressed his face to her vulva and licked, and pleasure surged through her. Bursts of it blossomed from her clitoris as he circled his tongue and then gently sucked. Oh. It was exquisitely intense. Her thighs clamped shut on his head as her fingers scrabbled at the frame, and he made a chuffing laugh, and said something unintelligible, tapping her bum with a hand.

"Sorry," she said, gasping, as she slackened her thighs and freed him.

"I need to breathe eventually, Granger," he said with a laugh in his voice, looking up at her – his eyes were filled with a worshipful adoration that took her breath away.

She took a breath. "For better, for worse," she began, and his lips quirked and he hummed, pleased, and returned his mouth to her slick, sensitive flesh, lapping as though she were sweet water in a desert. An ice lolly. Honey on his tongue. He drank her – he feasted – saliva running down and mingling with her juices, her body a sea of pleasure, the morning air whispering on her skin.

It felt like magic. He made soft noises as he buried his face against her – a rumbling in his chest almost like a purr, and the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth against her vulva. Orgasm grew so maddeningly close that she felt poised on the brink. Teetering. It was within reach, almost.

"F-for richer, for poorer…in sickness and in health," she went on in broken gasps. "To love, and cherish –"

"And to obey," he cut in, his fingers tight and his eyes wicked as he looked up, and her progress toward orgasm stalled. She could've cried. Sobbed.

But: "I'm not promising that," she gasped indignantly, every nerve ending from thigh to belly button clamouring. Surging. Thrumming.

"Not at the ceremony. Of course not," Malfoy said, slurring slightly as if he were drunk. "But here. Just for now. Let me hear it. Let me hear you say it. Granger. Hermione." He was insistent. Inexorable. And then he sucked gently – so gently – on her clitoris for a second and her body arched like she'd touched a live wire, the sensation was so intense. So overwhelming. "Tell me you'll obey me, while I make you come," he said with that honey-dark sweetness.

A shudder ran through her.

"Or I won't make you come," he added, and her clit pulsated and her cunt twitched convulsively.

"Hnngh," she said and stared at him, wide-eyed and pleading, and so turned on she felt dizzy. High up, balanced on a windowsill, naked and dizzy. Probably not ideal. She didn't care. He plunged two fingers into her cunt – it fluttered around them helplessly, reacting to the sudden intrusion, and his thumb pressed down on her clit. Rubbed side to side, in firm little motions. Oh. Oh it felt fucking perfect. She choked in a gasp.

"I'll just get up, turn you around, bend you over this sill, and fuck your dripping little cunt until I come." Her body twitched, on the cusp of orgasm as his thumb kept rubbing and rubbing. "Nice and hard and rough –"

Oh God.

"Love, cherish," she rushed out in a desperate glassy-eyed urgency, "and obeyyy-nnngh…" Her orgasm gripped her in an iron fist and squeezed. Her insides convulsed and cramped as she folded forward, her heels digging into his back, and the nails of her left hand digging into the window frame as her right hand grabbed at his hair. He was looking up at her as his thumb circled and his fingers curled. Watching her with a satisfied expression as she shattered into helpless pieces. "Ohhh…hhnngh…"

Hermione was too loud and lacked the ability to care, breathless wails escaping her. It was a peak and a release. Explosive. Violent, as he worked her through it. Leaving her wrung out and wrecked, dragging in great mouthfuls of air. A heavy, full feeling in her abdomen. Hot and tender, and flush with pleasure.

He slipped his fingers out of her and stood, lifting her down. Her legs wobbled, but she turned with his nudge, obedient. He bent her over the sill, her nipples brushing the wood and her palms splayed flat as he pushed her legs apart and stepped between them. "Do you remember what I'll say?" he asked, voice unsteady. "When I put the ring on your finger?"

The head of his cock pressed against her slick, sensitive entrance and she made an inarticulate sound, her hips pushing back fruitlessly. He just drew back slightly, still teasing.

She remembered, but her mind was swimming right now, made stupid by orgasm, and desire, and forming the words seemed too difficult. She just wanted to shove back, and have his gloriously thick erection slide into her. Malfoy tangled his hand in her hair and leaned forward, his mouth near her ear and hips slowly pushing the blunt head of him into her. Her breasts crushed to the wood as he began to stretch her body around him, and she panted like an animal with need and arousal, pinned between him and the windowsill, needing him to just fuck her.

Malfoy spoke low and halting into her ear, as his cock continued its slow slide. "With my body I thee worship," he said, a tremble in his voice and his heart in his throat, and slammed home. Sheathed in her. The groan that was driven out of Hermione's throat was relief and pleasure mingled, as finally he was in her. Fully in her, fucking her hard, moans and gasps spilling from her lips as she hung out the window, the early autumn sun on her face, her eyes sliding shut and her fingers curling over the edge of the wooden sill.

The world fell away.