Chapter Six

Warmth. It enveloped her completely, a soft, comforting embrace that seemed to seep into her very bones. Hermione took in a deep, contented breath, letting the heat surround her, filling her with a quiet peace. She sighed, the sound of bliss escaping her lips as she turned, curling herself deeper into the soothing cocoon of warmth that seemed to stretch endlessly around her.

As she began to drift back toward sleep, still heavy with the weight of comfort, she felt a shift beside her—a gentle movement that stirred her from her hazy drowsiness. It took a moment for her to fully register the sensation, but then she became aware of the steady pressure of an arm wrapped around her middle, pulling her closer. The rhythmic rise and fall of someone's chest pressed against her back, each breath a quiet reassurance that she wasn't alone.

A soft kiss, gentle and fleeting, brushed against the side of her neck, the warmth of it sending a shiver through her. She felt the tender press of a nose burying into her hair, the sensation so familiar, so safe, that she melted further into the embrace.

She mumbled something, her words too drowsy to make sense of, and yet it didn't matter. The comfort of the moment was enough. The only response she received was the low, rich sound of a chuckle—deep and soothing, a sound that seemed to resonate through her, like a soft melody. It was warm, full of something she couldn't quite name, but it made her stomach flutter in a way she had never felt before. It was the kind of laughter that made her heart feel lighter, as if the world outside didn't exist, and there was nothing but this quiet moment of peace shared between them.

For a moment, Hermione allowed herself to simply *be*—wrapped in warmth, in the softness of a quiet morning, and in the gentle rhythm of someone who cared for her in ways words could never express. The world outside could wait. In this space, she was home.

"Hermione…" a soft voice whispered, so gentle that it could've been a dream.

Unfortunately, the dream wasn't quite as peaceful as it seemed. What Hermione didn't see was Lucius Malfoy, standing over her with a look that could freeze an entire room, glaring down at his son. His eyes, cold and sharp like steel, were definitely not happy about the situation. His wife—his sleeping wife—was being woken by his son. He was not having it.

But Draco, in a rare moment of practicality, understood that they didn't exactly have all the time in the world. They were on a bit of a time crunch, and whether his father was busy playing the doting husband or not, it wasn't going to get Hermione awake any faster. So, with the kind of patience that only a Malfoy could muster in a stressful situation, he tried again.

"Hermione, love," Draco called, his voice more insistent this time, though there was still a tenderness to it. He was really trying to get her up.

And then, of course, there was Lucius. In an act that could only be described as a "fatherly display of affection"—and possibly smug satisfaction—Lucius leaned down and began to nuzzle Hermione's neck with his nose, like a cat making itself at home in a sunbeam.

Draco blinked in disbelief.

"Ugh." He made a face. "Really?" He stared at the scene, his distaste apparent. This was what it took to wake her up? His father, nuzzling like an oversized, affectionate puppy?

Apparently, it worked far better than Draco's words ever could. Hermione shifted slightly under the onslaught of nuzzles, her eyelids fluttering as she began to wake, still caught in the warmth of sleep.

Lucius glanced up briefly at his son, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips, before he leaned in and gave Hermione's neck another affectionate nuzzle, making a pleased sound in his throat.

Draco just stood there, arms crossed, looking as though he'd just witnessed something that should've stayed locked away in a family secret vault. "I'm so glad you're comfortable with this, father," he muttered sarcastically under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Hermione, meanwhile, was fighting to stay in the warm haze of sleep. She could hear her name being called, but it was muffled, distant. The warmth wrapped around her like a blanket. Her body just didn't want to leave this bubble of bliss.

She was remembering that bath earlier—the heat of it, the peace, the simple joy of being surrounded by warmth. The last time she'd felt this cozy was… well, probably before everything had gone so terribly wrong. Before the war, when her parents knew who she was, when Ron and Harry were still the same, and they all worried about things like Neville's disastrous potions attempts. Back when the biggest problem they had was, at worst, an accidental explosion in a classroom. Simple days.

Hermione's sleepy mumble was a mix of frustration and confusion, her brow furrowing deeply as she squirmed a little, her face pressed into something soft and warm. It shifted slightly beneath her, and suddenly, like a bucket of cold water to the face, awareness hit her. She blinked her eyes open slowly—only to find herself nose-to-neck with Lucius Malfoy's creamy white skin. Lucius Malfoy's neck.

She froze. His throat bobbed gently as he swallowed, and, for reasons she couldn't even explain, her heart did a little flip-flop in her chest.

Behind her, she could hear Draco let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh. And then... a soft chuckle.

Lucius chuckled.

Oh. How nice did that feel? His chest—still comfortably warm—shook slightly with the sound, and Hermione's mind was briefly overcome with the image of Lucius being both affectionate and ridiculously amused at her current predicament. It was oddly charming. And extremely embarrassing.

Cheeks burning a fierce red, Hermione slowly, carefully, peeled her hands off the T-shirt Lucius had been wearing. He didn't budge, though, and instead, with the precision of a man who had clearly been in far too many awkward situations to care, he gently helped her sit up. Hermione, now fully aware of the situation, was a little startled by how his broad chest supported her as she leaned back against it.

Oh dear Merlin.

Her face, which was already scarlet from the close contact, heated even further as the flush of embarrassment spread down her neck, making it feel like she was glowing.

She glanced at Draco, who, of course, looked far too amused for her liking.

"As sweet as witnessing this incredibly disgusting, intimate moment between you two…" Draco's voice was dripping with sarcasm, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I've got some news."

Hermione glanced at him through her now-embarrassed haze, trying to collect herself, but the sight of Draco on the floor still had her a little stunned. Here was the Draco Malfoy, immaculate in his perfectly tailored suit—the Draco Malfoy—sitting cross-legged on the floor of a closet like he was in some sort of absurd, high-end waiting room, rather than a closet. He shuffled closer, pulling out two scrolls with exaggerated care, as if presenting some ancient treasure.

The air in the room shifted, heavy with an almost unbearable tension as Draco spoke. His voice was steady, but there was a strange, nervous edge to it, as if he, too, could sense the weight of the unspoken words lingering in the space. He looked down at the scrolls in his hands, as if gathering his thoughts, and then met their eyes one by one.

"First, the bad news," Draco said, his words cutting through the quiet. He handed the first scroll to Hermione and Lucius, the parchment suddenly feeling far too heavy in her hands. She took it without looking at him, focusing instead on the feel of the paper, the way it crinkled slightly as she unfolded it.

"You two have to consummate the marriage tonight," Draco continued, his voice calm but with a sharp undertone that made Hermione's stomach drop. "If there isn't a sheet showing it's been done on Kingsley's desk by morning, the marriage is revoked... and Father is sent back to Azkaban."

The words hung in the air, thick with something Hermione couldn't quite place. She could feel Lucius tense beneath her, his body going rigid in an instant. The comfort, the quiet ease they'd found in each other's presence moments before, evaporated like mist in the heat of a rising sun.

Hermione felt the knot of panic tighten in her chest. It wasn't that she hadn't known this moment would come—she knew the laws, the expectations of the marriage, but hearing it *this* way, so bluntly, made it feel all too real.

She read the words again, as if hoping they would change. But they didn't.

Her eyes darted to Lucius's face, but his expression was unreadable, his features frozen in a way that made her ache. There was an elephant in the room now, large and unspoken. She'd always known this wasn't going to be simple, but hearing it laid out like this was something else entirely.

A marriage consummation. *Tonight*. The weight of that expectation pressed on her chest. She knew it had to happen, but the realization that it would be *forced* upon them, with no room to breathe, no time to actually... *want* it, made her skin crawl. Was Lucius even *well enough* for that? He hadn't exactly been the picture of health when they'd first arrived. She knew he was recovering, but to jump from this moment of tenderness to that, so suddenly?

Draco shifted beside her, clearly uncomfortable, his hand running through his hair with a nervous twitch. "I... I didn't—" He stopped himself, as if he didn't quite know how to finish the thought. His eyes flicked to Lucius, then quickly away. "I didn't expect it to be so... abrupt."

Hermione nodded faintly, her mind racing. She had expected some kind of time limit—perhaps a couple of weeks, enough to find a sense of *normalcy* between them before the weight of this duty. But the Wingzmat had obviously thought otherwise. They'd given her no chance to breathe, no room to build trust. Just this heavy, immediate *obligation*.

She glanced at Lucius again, and this time, she saw the flicker of something pass through his eyes—a mixture of discomfort and reluctant acceptance, but also something deeper. Something she couldn't quite name.

"Good news," Draco added, though it was hard to tell if he was trying to reassure them or simply forcing himself to get to the point. He wiped his face with his hand, the motion betraying his unease. "If you two... do well, yeah..." He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. "Then they can't send him back. He's free to do as he wishes. No other terms."

Hermione swallowed hard. The words were supposed to bring relief, but they didn't. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being cornered, forced into something far bigger than she was prepared for.

The second scroll in her hand felt like an anchor now, tying her to the uncomfortable reality of this marriage. Lucius was still as a statue beneath her, but his gaze never left Draco, his eyes dark with some unsaid thought.

She didn't look at him again, afraid that the turmoil she felt would show in her eyes. The tension in the room was so thick, it was almost suffocating. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, trying to clear her head, but the images, the fear, the uncertainty of it all swirled in her mind.

This was supposed to be a fresh start, a second chance—a way out of the chaos, a chance for healing. But instead, it felt like a cage. And the bars were closing in tighter and tighter.

Finally, Draco let out a low sigh, his words cutting through the silence like a knife. "I can't... imagine what you two are feeling right now. But..." He cleared his throat. "But I'm *trying, alright?" He almost sounded as if he was talking to himself more than anyone else.

Hermione let the scrolls fall from her hands, and for a moment, she just sat there, processing. The weight of Draco's words, of the *expectation* hanging over them, was suffocating, and there was no escaping it.

Lucius's arm, still wrapped around her waist, tightened slightly. His gaze, though unreadable, softened for just a moment as his hand brushed her hair from her shoulder, a subtle gesture that almost felt like a lifeline in the middle of all this.

But the elephant in the room was still there. The knowledge that, by morning, everything would either be resolved—or irrevocably shattered.

And Hermione had no idea what to do about it.

"It's okay, Draco." Hermione's voice was soft, but it carried a weight of reassurance she didn't quite feel herself. She placed her small hand over the one Lucius had firmly wrapped around her middle, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. The sensation grounded her in that moment, as if the very act of his embrace was anchoring her to something solid amidst the storm of her emotions.

It had felt so easy, so natural, just moments ago, to rest against him, to let his warmth envelop her, to feel the steady rhythm of his breath against her back. That comforting, unexpected intimacy had been something she'd allowed herself to enjoy. The tension between them had faded, and for a moment, there was no past—no war, no betrayal, no broken relationships, just the simple comfort of two people who had found solace in each other.

But now, with the weight of Draco's words hanging over them, everything felt different. She knew what was expected of her now, and the realization that tonight, of all nights, would be the time they had to cross a line she hadn't been prepared for made her stomach tighten.

She had thought they'd have more time. Time to build a rapport, to slowly come to understand each other beyond their roles in the past. Time to—*grow*—into something they could both look at without fear, without uncertainty. But now, that time had been stolen from them by the weight of an unforgiving law. It felt wrong. It felt rushed. And yet, she couldn't change it.

She glanced at Lucius, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those eyes—spoke volumes. In them, she saw more than she could have ever imagined. *Self-loathing, yes. *Doubt, yes. She saw a man who had been broken by choices he could never take back, and yet had never been given the grace to heal. His gaze was steady, but there was a rawness there, an ache beneath the surface that he tried to hide, though it was impossible not to see.

And in that moment, all of her own fears, her doubts, and insecurities seemed insignificant in comparison. She wasn't sure what she had imagined this would be like—the marriage, the intimacy, the closeness—but this was different. This wasn't just about her own feelings or the expectation of a cold, mechanical act. This was about *two people, both scarred in their own ways, trying to find something real in the wreckage.

Her eyes softened as she stared into his, willing herself to see beyond the man she had known in the past, beyond the legacy of cruelty he had left behind. This was different. She knew that now.

Lucius, for all his faults, was human. Just as broken. Just as vulnerable. And tonight, she wasn't sure if she was ready, but maybe it didn't matter anymore. They didn't need perfection, they didn't need everything to fall into place. Maybe it was enough to simply give each other the gift of presence, of patience. Maybe that was enough.

Her breath caught as she squeezed his hand, gently. "Lucius," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but full of something soft. He looked at her, his brow furrowing as if he had been lost in his own thoughts, but the vulnerability in his eyes was undeniable.

"I know this isn't how either of us planned this," she said, her words feeling like a confession, "but I want to be here for you. I want to try."

Lucius's grip on her tightened just slightly, a subtle acknowledgment of her words. He didn't say anything, but she could feel the tension in his shoulders lessen as if, for a brief moment, he was allowing himself to believe her. Allowing himself to trust, just a little bit.

Draco shifted uneasily behind them, clearly not used to the quiet vulnerability that had settled in the room. But he said nothing, respecting the moment. Hermione could feel his presence, though—his concern for his father, his unease for what was being asked of them—but she couldn't let that distract her now. This wasn't just about him, or the marriage, or the expectations. This was about her and Lucius, finding some small shred of understanding between them.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even close to what she had imagined. But it was *real*. And for the first time in a long while, that was enough.

Lucius slowly nodded, his expression softening as his gaze flickered over her. The self-doubt was still there, lingering in the corners of his eyes, but there was something else, too—something almost like relief. Or perhaps acceptance.

And Hermione made a silent promise to herself in that moment. No matter what happened tonight, no matter how uncertain she felt, she would meet him where he was, with all the care and compassion she could give. They both deserved that.

Even if it felt like they were both walking into the unknown, together.